not think it but I put
the letter there on purpose. Every time I went to the jar, you know, I
was sure to see the letter; and every time I saw the letter, I was sure
to say to myself, 'This must be answered.' There's nothing to laugh at;
it was a perfectly sensible arrangement, if I could only have remembered
where I put the jar. Suppose I tie a knot in my pocket-handkerchief this
time? You have a wonderful memory, my dear fellow. Perhaps you'll remind
me in the course of the day, in case I forget the knot next."

Midwinter saw his first chance, since Mr. Brock's departure, of usefully
filling Mr. Brock's place.

"Here is your writing-case," he said; "why not answer the letter at
once? If you put it away again, you may forget it again."

"Very true," returned Allan. "But the worst of it is, I can't quite make
up my mind what answer to write. I want a word of advice. Come and sit
down here, and I'll tell you all about it."

With his loud boyish laugh--echoed by Midwinter, who caught the
infection of his gayety--he swept a heap of miscellaneous incumbrances
off the cabin sofa, and made room for his friend and himself to take
their places. In the high flow of youthful spirits, the two sat down to
their trifling consultation over a letter lost in a tobacco jar. It was
a memorable moment to both of them, lightly as they thought of it at the
time. Before they had risen again from their places, they had taken the
first irrevocable step together on the dark and tortuous road of their
future lives.

Reduced to plain facts, the question on which Allan now required his
friend's advice may be stated as follows:

While the various arrangements connected with the succession to Thorpe
Ambrose were in progress of settlement, and while the new possessor
of the estate was still in London, a question had necessarily arisen
relating to the person who should be appointed to manage the property.
The steward employed by the Blanchard family had written, without loss
of time, to offer his services. Although a perfectly competent and
trustworthy man, he failed to find favor in the eyes of the new
proprietor. Acting, as usual, on his first impulses, and resolved,
at all hazards, to install Midwinter as a permanent inmate at Thorpe
Ambrose, Allan had determined that the steward's place was the place
exactly fitted for his friend, for the simple reason that it would
necessarily oblige his friend to live with him on the estate. He
had accor