ure of your continued presence at home?"
asked the father.

"To-night," replied Quincy, with a smile, "I shall be with you at
dinner, stay all night, and take breakfast with you."

"I trust your long visit will not oblige you to neglect other more
important matters," said the father.

"Oh, no!" answered Quincy. "I have looked out for that."

"And when do you think your health will allow you to resume your
position in the office?" inquired the Hon. Nathaniel.

"That is very uncertain," replied Quincy.

"If you do not intend to come back at all," continued the father, "that
would simplify matters. I could then make room for a Harvard graduate to
study with us."

Quincy reflected. He had been taught by his father not to give a
positive answer to any question on the spur of the moment, if more time
could be taken, as well as not, for consideration. So, after a few
moments of thought, Quincy said, "I will write you in the course of ten
days or a fortnight, and give you a positive answer."

"That will be entirely satisfactory," answered his father. "As you are
going out, will you kindly tell Mr. Crowninshield that I wish to consult
with him?"

Quincy knew that the interview had expired by limitation. He went home,
but found that his mother and sisters were out riding.

"They will return in time for dinner," said Delia, the parlor maid.

Quincy went into the parlor and opened the grand piano. He sat down
before it, touched a few of the keys casually, then sang, with great
expression, the song by J.R. Thomas entitled "Pleasant Memories." He
next wandered into the library, and took down and glanced at several
books that he had devoured with avidity when a boy of sixteen. Then he
went upstairs to his own room, which he had occupied since he was eight
years old. It looked familiar, everything was in its accustomed place;
still, the room did not look homelike. Strange as it may seem, Quincy
had been happier in the large west chamber, with its old-fashioned
bureau and carpet and bed, than he had ever been in this handsomely
furnished apartment in the Beacon Street mansion. There was no wide
fireplace here, with ruddy embers, into whose burning face he could look
and weave fanciful dreams of the fortune and happiness to be his in the
future.

He spent a pleasant evening with the family. His father was present, but
passed the time in reading the newspapers and a legal brief that he
wished to more closely examine. His mo