not want the shilling."

"All right," was Archie's response, as he walked on never dreaming that
he had that morning sown the first germ of the ambition which was to
overshadow all Daisy Allen's future life, and bear fruit a hundred-fold.

CHAPTER II.

THE McPHERSONS.

The room in which Hugh McPherson was lying was the largest, and coolest,
and best furnished in the house, for since he had been confined to his
bed Dorothy had brought into it everything she thought would make it
more attractive and endurable to the fastidious invalid, who, on the
June morning when his son was in the garden talking to Daisy Allen, was
propped upon pillows scarcely whiter than his thin, worn face, and was
speaking of Archie to his brother John, who was standing before him with
folded arms, and a gloomy, troubled expression on his face. Just across
the room, by an open window, sat Lady Jane, pretending to rearrange a
bowl of roses on the table near her, but listening intently to the
conversation between the two brothers.

"I don't know what will become of Archie," the sick man said, speaking
very slowly. "I shall leave him nothing but Stoneleigh, with a mortgage
on it for four hundred pounds, and a little annuity which came through
his mother. Strange, that from dear little Dora, who, when I married
her, had nothing but her sweet voice and sweeter face, the boy should
inherit all the ready money he can ever have, unless you or our sister
Betsey open your hearts to him. You used to fancy the boy, and talked
once of adopting him, when I had that fever at Pau, and you came to see
me."

Here Lady Jane's long neck arched itself more proudly, and John felt how
intently she was awaiting his reply.

"Yes, Hugh," he said, "I like the boy. He is bright and intelligent; and
I did think of adopting him once, but that was before Neil came. Now I
have a son, which makes a difference. I cannot take Archie, or do very
much for him either. You know I have very little money of my own, and I
have no right to spend Lady Jane's."

Here the willowy figure near the window bent very low over the roses,
as if satisfied with the turn matters were taking, as John went on:

"As his uncle and guardian, I will see to him, of course, and will write
to our sister, asking her to do something for him. Perhaps she will
invite him to come to her in America, and if so, what are your wishes?
Shall I let him go?"

The invalid hesitated a moment, while his co