diverted by injustice from its natural and just channel does not carry a
blessing with it. I have noted this over and over again in going through
life."

"Anything more?" she contemptuously asked.

"And Walter will not need it," he continued persuasively, passing her
question as unheard. "As my son, he will be amply provided for."

A very commonplace interruption occurred, and the subject was dropped.
Nothing more than a servant bringing in a letter for his master, just
come by hand.

"Why, it is from old Richard Pratt!" exclaimed Mr. Hamlyn, as he turned
to the light.

"I thought Major Pratt never wrote letters," she remarked. "I once heard
you say he must have forgotten how to write."

He did not answer. He was reading the note, which appeared to be a short
one. She watched him. After reading it through he began it again, a
puzzled look upon his face. Then she saw it flush all over, and he
crushed the note into his pocket.

"What is it about, Philip?"

"Pratt wants a prescription for gout that I told him of. I'm sure I
don't know whether I can find it."

He had answered in a dreamy tone with thoughts preoccupied, and quitted