he folly
of the Rands in "runnin' into debt for a shif'less fellow" who had no
claim upon them. "If they expect me to pay the funeral expenses they're
mistaken," he added, positively. "I ain't no call to do it, and I won't
do it."

But he was not asked to defray the expenses of the simple funeral. It
was paid for out of the minister's charitable fund.

"Some time I will pay you back the money, Mr. Morris," said Chester. "I
am Mr. Bruce's heir, and it is right that I should pay."

"Very well, Chester. If your bequest amounts to anything I will not
object. I hope for your sake that the lots may become valuable."

"I don't expect it, Mr. Morris. Will you be kind enough to take care of
the papers for me?"

"Certainly, Chester. I will keep them with my own papers."

At this time Tacoma contained only four hundred inhabitants. The
Northern Pacific Railroad had not been completed, and there was no
certainty when it would be. So Chester did not pay much attention or
give much thought to his Western property, but began to look round
anxiously for something to do.

During the sickness of Walter Bruce he had given up his time to helping
his mother and the care of the sick man. The money received from the
minister enabled him to do this. Now the weekly income had ceased, and
it became a serious question what he should do to bring in an income.

He had almost forgotten his meeting with Herbert Conrad, the young
artist, when the day after the funeral he received a letter in an
unknown hand, addressed to "Master Chester Rand, Wyncombe, New York."

As he opened it, his eyes opened wide with surprise and joy, when two
five-dollar bills fluttered to the ground, for he had broken the seal
in front of the post office.

He read the letter eagerly. It ran thus:

"DEAR CHESTER:--I am glad to say that I have sold your sketch for
ten dollars to one of the papers I showed you at Wyncombe. If you
have any others ready, send them along. Try to think up some
bright, original idea, and illustrate it in your best style. Then
send to me.

"Your sincere friend, HERBERT."

Chester hardly knew whether he was standing on his head or his heels.
It seems almost incredible that a sketch which he had dashed off in
twenty minutes should bring in such a magnificent sum.

And for the first time it dawned upon him he was an artist. Fifty
dollars gained in any other way would not have given him so much
satisfaction. Why