t. "Why, Andie!" she gasped, and, crowding to the light, she
also read it again. Her face was alight when she looked up at last.
"Andie, Andie, isn't it splendid! If Mr. Necker could only hear this:

"'It is a fine thing in these days of materialism that a man of your
genius can set aside the allurements of money and fame, and exile
yourself to a region where certain hardship and probable disease await
you; and this only that your country may be served.' And the rest of it!
O Greg!"

Welkie was back with his boy in his arms. He took the letter from his
sister. "Look here, Sonnie-Boy, what do you think? Here's a man says
your papa is the greatest man ever was in his line. Years from now
you'll look at that letter and perhaps you'll be proud of your papa.
Your papa's boasting now, Sonnie-Boy, but only you and your auntie and
godfather can hear him, and they'll never tell. So that's all right.
'Our papa was as good as anybody in his line'--a great man said so.
What do you say, little five-and-a-half, you'll be a good man, too, in
your line some day, won't you?"

"Can I be a fighter, papa, on a big gun-ship?"

"Well, if you're bound to go that way, I don't see who's to stop you,
Sonnie-Boy. But if you are, whether it's a sword to your belt or a
lanyard to your neck, here's hoping you'll never go over the side of
your ship without"--he picked the ensign up--"you leave your colors
flying over her. And now we'll go back to bed, Sonnie-Boy, and this time
we'll go to sleep." In the doorway he stopped. "What do you reckon
Necker would say to that letter, Andie?"

Balfe smiled. "He'd probably say, 'Welkie, you ought to publish that
letter--capitalize it,' and think you were four kinds of a fool if you
didn't."

"Well, I won't publish it or capitalize it. I'm going to frame it and
hang it at the foot of your bed, Sonnie-Boy, where you'll see it
mornings when you wake. Up we go, son."

Facing each other across the little work-table were Marie Welkie and
Andie Balfe. She had said: "You surely have been my brother's friend,
and, if you were not already so successful, I could wish a great reward
for you."

He laid one hand of his gently down on hers. "Wish the reward, then,
Marie. Do, dear, wish it, for I'm not successful. I played hard at my
game, because playing it made me forget other things. Almost anybody
playing a game long enough becomes half-expert at it. But successful?
No, no, dear. So far I seem to have travelled o