h. But at my father's death he owned this estate, and we had to live
with him or go homeless. He had plenty of money, and he repaired and
restored much about the place. But even in this he was erratic. He would
have masons in to renew the crumbling plaster and brickwork in the
cellars, while the drawing-room furniture could go ragged and forlorn. He
spent his money freely for anything he wanted himself, but was niggardly
toward mother and myself. However, he always told us that at his death we
should inherit his wealth. The estate, also, he willed to mother. He
lived with us for about five years, and then was killed by a fall from
his horse. I was a girl of fifteen then, and when he was brought in,
mangled and almost dead, he called for me. I went to his bedside,
trembling, for even then I feared he was going to scold me. But he could
only speak in hesitating, disjointed sentences. It was with difficulty I
gathered that he was trying to give me some information about his
fortune. I wish now I had tried to help him tell me; but at that time it
seemed heartless to think of such things when the poor man was dying, and
I soothed him, and begged him not to try to talk, when it was such an
exertion."

"Oh, Mother," wailed Bob, "if you'd only listened, instead of talking
yourself!"

Mrs. Hartley smiled, as if she were used to such comments at this part of
the story.

"Well," she said, "I think Sinclair may take up the recital here. That
is, if you're interested, Patty?"

"If I'm interested! Indeed I am! It's very exciting, and I want it all
now; no 'continued in our next.'"

"We don't know the end, ourselves," said Mabel, with such a wistful look
in her eyes that Patty went over and sat by her, and with her arm round
her listened to the rest of the story.

"Well, then," said Sinclair, in his grave, kindly voice, "Uncle Marmaduke
tried very hard to communicate to mother and Grandy something about his
fortune. But his accident had somehow paralysed his throat, and he could
scarcely articulate. But for an hour or more, as he lay dying, he would
look at them with piercing glances, and say what sounded like dickens!
gold!"

"Did he mean gold money?" asked Patty, impulsively.

"They didn't know, then. But they thought at the time that dickens! was
one of his angry expletives, as he was given to such language. The gold,
they felt sure, referred to his fortune, which he had always declared he
would leave to Grandmother. Then