him the piece.

"Nay, father, I do not encourage the lad to be a spendthrift," says
Grafton, taking the pistole himself. "I will place this token of your
appreciation in his strong-box. You know we have a prodigal strain in
the family, sir." And my uncle looks at me significantly.

"Let it be as I say, Grafton," persists Mr. Carvel, who liked not to be
balked in any matter, and was not over-pleased at this reference to my
father. And he gave Philip forthwith another pistole, telling his father
to add the first to his saving if he would.

"And Richard must have his chance," says my Aunt Caroline, sweetly, as
she rises to leave the room.

"Ay, here is a crown for you, Richard," says my uncle, smiling. "Let us
hear your Latin, which should be purer than Philip's."

My grandfather glanced uneasily at me across the table; he saw clearly
the trick Grafton had played me, I think. But for once I was equal to my
uncle, and haply remembered a line Dr. Hilliard had expounded, which
fitted the present case marvellously well. With little ceremony I tossed
back the crown, and slowly repeated those words used to warn the Trojans
against accepting the Grecian horse:

"Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes."

"Egad," cried Mr. Carvel, slapping his knee, "the lad bath beaten you on
your own ground, Grafton." And he laughed as my grandfather only could
laugh, until the dishes rattled on the table. But my uncle thought it no