seems to me a good deal."

"To a boy it may seem so. Once I thought I might have a good deal more
to leave you. Go to the trunk and search till you find a paper folded
in an envelope, and inscribed with your name."

"Shall I search now?"

"Yes."

Ernest went to the trunk, and followed the old man's directions. He
found the envelope readily, and held it up.

"Is that it, uncle?"

"Yes. Put it in your pocket, and read it after I am gone. Then be
guided by circumstances. It may amount to something hereafter."

"Very well, uncle."

"I have told you, Ernest, that I do not expect to live long. I have a
feeling that twenty-four hours from now I shall be gone."

"Oh, no, uncle, not so soon!" exclaimed Ernest, in a shocked tone.

"Yes, I think so. If you have any questions to ask me while I yet have
life, ask, for it is your right."

"Yes, Uncle Peter, I have long wished to know something about myself.
Have I any relatives except you?"

"I am not your relative," answered the old man slowly.

Ernest was amazed.

"Are you not my uncle?" he asked.

"No; there is no tie of blood between us."

"Then how does it happen that we have lived together so many years?"

"I was a servant in your father's family. When your father died, the
care of you devolved upon me."

"Where was I born?"

"In a large town in the western part of New York State. Your
grandfather was a man of wealth, but your father incurred his
displeasure by his marriage to a poor but highly-educated and refined
girl. A cousin of your father took advantage of this and succeeded in
alienating father and son. The estate that should have descended to
your father was left to the cousin."

"Is he still living?"

"Yes."

"But my father died?"

"Yes; he had a fever, which quickly carried him off when you were five
years of age."

"Was he very poor?"

"No; he inherited a few thousand dollars from an aunt, and upon this
he lived prudently, carrying on a small business besides. Your mother
died when you were three years old, your father two years later."

"And then you took care of me?"

"Yes."

"And I have been a burden to you these many years!"

"No! Don't give me too much credit. A sum of money was put into my
hands to spend for you. We lived carefully, and it lasted. We have
been here three years, and it has cost very little to live in that
time. The hundred dollars of which I spoke to you are the last of your
inheritance. You are not inde