This wasn't done in a month or two, nor even in a year or two. Indeed the
returned prodigal grew middle aged in the process. He also saw the
possibilities of harnessing the water power above the factory to make
electric current. This current was sold so cheaply that more and more
factories were drawn to New Bethel until the fame of the city's products
were known wherever the language of commerce was spoken.

At the height of his son's success, old Josiah died, joining those silent
members of the firm who had gone before. I often like to imagine the
whole seven of them, ghostly but inquisitive, following the subsequent
strange proceedings with noiseless steps and eyes that missed nothing;
and in particular keeping watch upon the last living Josiah Spencer--a
heavy, powerfully built man with a look of melancholy in his eyes and a
way of sighing to himself as though asking a question, and then answering
it with a muffled "Yes... Yes..." This may have been partly due to the
past and partly due to the future, for the son whom he had brought home
with him began to worry him--a handsome young rascal who simply didn't
have the truth in him at times, and who was buying presents for girls
almost before he was out of short trousers.

His name was Paul--"Paul Vionel Olgavitch Spencer," he sometimes proudly
recited it, and whenever we heard of that we thought of his mother.

The older Paul grew, the handsomer he grew. And the handsomer he grew,
the wilder he became and the less the truth was in him. At times he would
go all right for a while, although he was always too fond of the river
for his aunts' peace of mind.

At a bend below the dam he had found a sheltered basin, covered with
grass and edged with trees. And there he liked to lie, staring up into