This cold and selfish letter Herbert read with rising color, and a
feeling of bitterness found a place in his young heart, which was quite
foreign to him.

"Well, Herbert, what do you think of it?" asked the doctor.

"I think," said Herbert, hotly, "that I don't want to have anything to
do with an uncle who could write such a letter as that."

"He doesn't seem to write with much feeling." acknowledged the doctor.

"Feeling!" repeated Herbert; "he writes as if I were a beggar, and asked
charity. Where is the money he inclosed, Dr. Kent?"

"I have it here in my vest pocket. I was afraid it would slip out of the
letter, and so took care of it."

"Will you let me send it back to my uncle?" asked Herbert.

"Send it back?"

"Yes, Dr. Kent; I don't want any of his charity, and I'll tell him so."

"I am afraid, Herbert, that you are giving way to your pride."

"But isn't it a proper pride, doctor?"

"I hardly know what to say, Herbert. You must remember, however, that,
as you are left quite unprovided for, even this small sum may be of use
to you."