it while he lived,
but miserable after his death. As for happiness, she had been happy
that summer, happy with her uncle and with--him. And with him now, even
though they would be poor, as she was used to reckoning poverty, she
knew she could be very happy. She wondered what he was doing then; if he
was thinking of her. She ought to hope that he was not, because it was
useless; but she wished that he might be, nevertheless. Then she told
herself that all this was wicked; she had made up her mind; she must be
true to the task she had set, duty to her brother and uncle.

Her uncle! why had her uncle done all this for her? And why had her
father made him their guardian? These were old questions, but now she
asked them with a new significance. If that strange suspicion of hers
was true it would explain so much; it would explain almost everything.
But it could not be true; if it was, why had he not told her when the
discovery of her father's dishonesty and of the note forfeiting the
estate was made? Why had he not told her then? That was what troubled
her most. It did not seem like him to do such a thing--not like his
character at all. Therefore, it could not be true. Yet she must know.
She resolved to question Sylvester the next day, if possible. And, so
resolving, she at last fell asleep.

Her opportunity came the following morning, the day before Thanksgiving.
After breakfast Captain Elisha went downtown to call on some
acquaintances. He invited Caroline and the lawyer to accompany him, but
they refused, the latter because he judged his, a stranger's, presence
during the calls would be something of a hindrance to good fellowship
and the discussion of town affairs which the captain was counting on,
and Caroline because she saw her chance for the interview she so much
desired.

After the captain had gone, Sylvester sat down before the fire in the
sitting room to read the Boston _Transcript_. As he sat there, Caroline
entered and closed the door behind her. Miss Abigail was in the kitchen,
busy with preparations for the morrow's plum pudding.

The girl took the chair next that occupied by the lawyer. He put down
his paper and turned to her.

"Well," he asked, "how does this Cape Cod air effect your appetite,
Caroline? I'm ashamed of mine. I'm rather glad to-morrow is
Thanksgiving; on that day, I believe, it is permissible, even
commendable, to eat three times more than a self-respecting person
ordinarily should."

S