s very fond of handsome horses, and Sultan stirs a sudden
enthusiasm. Eugene expatiates eloquently upon his merits, which are
evident. The shady road, the fragrant air, the glimpses of the broad
river glittering in the morning sun, and the purple cliff opposite, are
indeed a dream of beauty. He more than half wishes there was no
business to distract one's mind.

"How it has all changed!" he says, presently. "I was amazed yesterday,
looking from the tower, to see how Westbrook had enlarged her borders
and indulged in high chimneys. There must be considerable business in
the town. There is quite a length of dock and shipping, and streets in
every direction."

"Yes. Floyd, will you go to Connery's first or to the factory? The will
is in the safe, the letter of instruction at the lawyer's."

"Why not stop and get that? I want to see both, you know."

"And Connery's room is a stuffy little den. Well, we will stop for it,
and if you want to consult him afterward, you can."

Mr. Connery has gone to the city on important business. The clerk hunts
up the packet, and they go on.

The old factory has altered as well. A new part has been built, with a
pretentious business office, and an ante-room that is quite luxuriously
appointed, with Russia-leather chairs, lounge, a pretty cabinet,
pictures, and several lovely statuettes.

"Now if you want to go through all these things, Floyd, you can do it
at your leisure. We can't talk business until we know what basis it is
to be on, and the will is a sort of dead letter without further
instructions. I have a little errand to do which will take an hour or
so, and----"

"Yes," is the quick affirmative. He is holding his dead father's letter
in his hand and wishing to be alone with it.

"Here is the will," taking it from the safe. "There are cigars, so make
yourself comfortable, and if you should prove the arbiter of my fate,
deal gently." And the young man gives a gay little laugh.

Floyd seats himself by the window, but fond as he is of smoking, the
cigars do not tempt him. His eyes rest upon these words until they all
seem to run together:--"For my eldest son, Floyd Grandon. To be read by
him before any settlement of the business." How different these
irregular letters from his father's usual firm business hand! Ah, how
soon afterward the trembling fingers were cold in death! He presses it
to his lips with an unconscious, reverent tenderness.

The love between them had not bee