shoulder. "We all like you here."

"Thank you, old fellow! I appreciate the kindness I have received here;
but I must strike out for myself."

"How do you feel about it, Carl?"

"I hope for the best. I am young, strong and willing to work. There must
be an opening for me somewhere."

The next morning, just after breakfast, a letter arrived for Carl,
mailed at Edgewood Center.

"Is it from your father?" asked Gilbert.

"No; it is in the handwriting of my stepmother. I can guess from that
that it contains no good news."

He opened the letter, and as he read it his face expressed disgust and
annoyance.

"Read it, Gilbert," he said, handing him the open sheet.

This was the missive:


"CARL CRAWFORD:--AS your father has a nervous attack, brought on by
your misconduct, he has authorized me to write to you. As you are but
sixteen, he could send for you and have you forcibly brought back,
but deems it better for you to follow your own course and suffer the