er
still, old chap, you never sting."

"Ever hear anything of Mr Deering now, uncle?" said Vane, one morning,
as he stood in his workshop, smiling over some of his models and
schemes, the inventor being brought to his mind by the remark he had
made when he was there, about even the attempts being educational.

"No, boy; nothing now, for some time; I only know that he has been very
successful over his ventures; has large works, and is prospering
mightily, but, like the rest of the world, he forgets those by whose
help he has risen."

"Oh, I don't think he is that sort of man, uncle. Of course, he is
horribly busy."

"A man ought not to be too busy to recollect those who held the ladder
for him to climb, Vane," said the doctor, warmly. "You saved him when
he was in the lowest of low water."

"Oh, nonsense, uncle, I only saw what a muddle his work-people had made,
just as they did with our greenhouse, and besides, don't you remember it
was settled that I was to carve--didn't we call it--my own way."

The doctor uttered a grunt.

"That's all very well," began the doctor, but Vane interrupted him.

"I say, uncle, I've been thinking very deeply about my going to
college."

"Well, what about it. Time you went, eh?"

"No, uncle, and I don't think I should like to go. Of course, I know
the value of the college education, and the position it gives a man; but
it means three years' study--three years waiting to begin, and three
years--"

"Well, sir, three years what?"

"Expense to you, uncle."

"Now, look here, Vane," said the doctor, sternly, "when I took you, a
poor miserable little fatherless and motherless boy, to bring up--and
precious ugly you were--I made up my mind to do my duty by you."

"And so you have, uncle, far more than I deserved," said Vane, merrily.

"Silence, sir," cried the doctor, sternly. "I say--"

But whatever it was, he did not say it, for something happened.

Strange coincidences often occur in everyday life. One thinks of
writing to a friend, and a letter comes from that friend, or a person
may have formed the subject of conversation, and that person appears.

Somehow, just as the doctor had assumed his sternest look, the door of
Vane's little atelier was darkened, and Mr Deering stood therein,
looking bright, cheery of aspect, and, in appearance, ten years younger
than on the night when he upset the table, and the Little Manor House
was within an inch of being burned down.