Mr. Tyler lived in a house not far from the Burdock station. An old
woman did the cooking for him and went home at night. For the rest he
dwelt almost like a hermit, and so far as any one knew he had not a
relative in the world. But the report had gone out as it always does
in such cases, that he was very rich, and now his desire to see a
lawyer and make a will convinced Roy that for once rumor must be
right.

"I wonder how much he's got and to whom he'll leave it?" he asked
himself, but now they were within sight of the little house and the
old man leaned so heavily upon him, that all his attention was
centered on getting him safely to the end of their journey.

By the time this was accomplished Mr. Tyler was so completely
exhausted that he dropped down on the first chair they reached.

"After you are rested a bit," said Roy, "I'll help you to get to bed."

"No, no," protested the old man; "so many people die in their beds. Go
and tell Ann to get a little more for dinner to-night. You and Sydney
must stay and eat it with me. It will take quite a time to have my
will drawn up. You'll find her in the kitchen."

The woman was not much surprised when Roy told her of the condition in
which her master had come home.

"It's what I've been expecting every day," she said. "He doesn't eat
enough to keep a bird alive. I'm amazed to think he should ask you to
stop to dinner. It's little enough you'll get, Master Roy, but I'll do
my best."