information Mark would give. Edgar reported the
conversation to his father, who was also perplexed.

"Mark Mason is a strange boy," he said. "I don't understand him."

CHAPTER XXVII.

LAST INSTRUCTIONS.

Mark had intended to find a new and more comfortable place for his
mother, being dissatisfied with their humble rooms in St. Mark's Place,
but the journey he was called upon so unexpectedly to make, led to a
postponement of this plan.

"You can move, mother, if you like," said Mark, after placing the
hundred dollars in her hands. "You'll have money enough."

"That's true, Mark, but you wouldn't know how to address me, and I might
lose some of your letters. I shall be satisfied to stay here till you
return. But do you think you had better go? You are very young to cross
the continent alone."

"I am nearly sixteen, mother, and I have been in the habit of looking
out for myself. Besides Mr. Gilbert thinks I am old enough, and if he
has confidence in me I ought to have confidence in myself."

"I suppose it is all right, but I shall miss you terribly."

"It is for my good, and will be for yours, mother. I have long wanted to
leave the messenger service and get into some steady position where I
can push myself ahead, and this seems to me my chance."

"You will write often, Mark?"

"I will be sure to do that. You don't think I will forget my mother?"

On Saturday evening Mark went to Mr. Gilbert's to receive instructions.

"I must tell you something about the boy of whom you are to be temporary
guardian," said Mr. Gilbert. "Perhaps it will be best for me to read you
in the first place the letter I received from my poor cousin just before
his death. It was written at his dictation, for he was already too weak
to hold the pen."

He drew from a desk this letter which he proceeded to read aloud:

"GULCHVILLE, CALIFORNIA,

"Oct. 17.

"MY DEAR COUSIN,

"When this letter reaches you I shall in all probability be in a
better world. I am dying of consumption. I leave behind me a boy of
ten--my poor little Philip. I leave him to the mercies of a cold
world, for I am penniless. I had a little property once, but I
speculated and lost all. Poor Philip will be an orphan and
destitute. I know you are rich and prosperous. Won't you, in your
generosity, agree to care for my poor boy? He won't require much,
and I shall be content to have him reared plainly, bu