resources. But I always meant to give you a lift whenever it should
seem wise, and whenever a lift could be most advantageously
arranged.

Your father was never able to lay up any money; his work was of a
kind that did not permit that. But he would always have shared with
me whatever he had. I have had it in mind to do the same by his
children. I have sold half the farm—the western half—your half and
Lawrence’s. There is four thousand dollars in cash for each of you,
and four thousand on a mortgage for each of you at six per cent.
You had better draw out of school-teaching as soon as possible and
study law—if that is still what you most want to do.

Your aunt is well and sends her love. We are both looking forward
to seeing you and Lawrence at Christmas.

Your affectionate uncle,

ROBERT UPTON.

A flood of warm emotion poured through Irving; his eyes filled. He had
sometimes thought his uncle selfish and narrow—and all the time he had
been working towards this!

Irving wrote his reply; he wrote also to Lawrence. Then he took his
letters down to the Study building, to post them so that they might go
out with the night mail. On his way he passed the Barclay house; it was
all brightly lighted, the sound of laughter and of gay boy voices rang
out through the open windows; the notes of a piano then subdued them,
and there burst out a chorus in the sonorous measured sweep of “Wacht am