ould ever have been said about it. He was the soul
of generosity, a prince among men. But, unfortunately, at his death he
left his mother Eleanor's trustee."

"And she has simply _hounded_ Papa Claude," Eleanor broke in. "She has
tried to make him pay interest on that old note every single year, when
she knew I didn't need the money in the least. And now she had notified
him she will not renew the note on any terms."

"She can't collect what you haven't got, can she?" Quin asked.

"She can sell the roof over our heads," said Papa Claude, with streaming
eyes lifted to the object referred to. "She can scatter my beloved family
and drive me back into the treadmill of teaching. And all through this
blessed, innocent child, who would give all she has in the world to see
her poor old grandfather happy!"

Again Eleanor, moved to a passion of sympathy, flung her arms around him,
declaring that if they made him pay the note she would refund every penny
of it the day she was twenty-one.

But Papa Claude was not to be consoled.

"It will be too late," he said hopelessly. "All I required was one year
more in which to retrieve my fortunes and achieve my life ambition. And
now, with success almost within my grasp, the goal within sight, this
cruel blow, this bolt from the blue----"

"Haven't you got any other property or stocks or insurance that you could
turn over?" asked Quin, who felt that the occasion demanded numerical
figures rather than figures of speech.

"Only a small farm out near Anchordale, which belonged to my precious
wife's father. It is quite as worthless as he was, poor dear! I have
offered it repeatedly in payment, but they refused to consider it."

"Is there a house on it?" persisted Quin.

"Yes--an uninhabitable old stone structure that has stood there for
nearly a century. For years I have tried in vain to rent or sell it. I
have left no stone unturned, Quinby. I know I am regarded as a visionary,
a dreamer, but I assure you----"

"What about the ground?"

"Very hilly and woody. Absolutely good for nothing but a stock farm.
Utterly incapable of cultivation. It's no use considering it, my dear
boy. I have viewed the matter from every conceivable angle. There is no
reprisal. I am doomed. This beloved house will be sold, my family
scattered. I an old man, a penniless outcast----"

"No, no, Papa Claude!" protested Eleanor. "You _sha'n't_ be turned out.
We must borrow the money. It's only a little over