something more than five years. Since their death he had been
living with a penurious old uncle who led a hermit-like existence
in a shack on the outskirts of Edmeston.

But the lad could remember when it had been otherwise--when he
had lived in his own home, surrounded by luxury and refinement,
until evil days came upon them without warning. His father's
property had been swept away, almost in a night. A year later
both of his parents had died, leaving him to face the world
alone.

The boy's uncle had taken him in begrudgingly, and Phil's life
from that moment on had been one of self-denial and hard work.
Yet he was thankful for one thing--thankful that his miserly old
uncle had permitted him to continue at school.

Standing high in his class meant something in Phil's case, for
the boy was obliged to work at whatever he could find to do after
school hours, his uncle compelling him to contribute something to
the household expenses every week. His duties done, Phil was
obliged to study far into the night, under the flickering light
of a tallow candle, because oil cost too much. Sometimes his
candle burned far past the midnight hour, while he applied
himself to his books that he might be prepared for the next day's
classes.

Hard lines for a boy?

Yes. But Phil Forrest was not the lad to complain. He went
about his studies the same as he approached any other task that