"I understood at last the possible value of my property. Mosquito stock went up! This child had given me the clew to what was going on. At once I laid the facts before Mr. Wheatleigh. He chuckled. 'Leave this matter with us, my boy. Railroads are bulldozers! They pay low to the poor, but high to the rich and strong. If this thing works out as it should, and you should care to enter our firm as its youngest member in, say another year, I think it can be arranged.' Well, Father Lawton, it has been arranged, and the day that made me independent of money worries was the very day of the railroad accident in the tunnel. And as the crash came I was looking at Dorothy with all my heart in my eyes, for I had seen her twice before, and I knew quite well that I loved her, and that I should marry her, if we both lived long enough. You, sir, can have full details of my financial situation whenever you may desire. 'Tis true I have no splendor to offer. My only Aladdin's lamp is the partnership, but in such a firm that means rare opportunity, and good work brings good pay. But even Aladdin had to rub his lamp before his wish was granted. So, never doubt my willingness to rub my lamp hard. I may not promise both town and country houses; and butler, coachman, and groom may be conspicuous by their absence--just at first. But a home, a pretty one of her very own, a few maids inside, a man to potter about a bit of lawn, and a jewel-box not quite empty--so much I can safely and reasonably promise to my wife, if you will trust your little girl to my honor and my love! Once more, Mr. Lawton, will you give me your daughter Dorothy for wife?" Lawton closed his eyes, and in that moment he recalled the day when she was gurgling on his clasping arm, the yellow, downy covering of her baby head so like a wee new chick's coat that he had laughed, and when, at the sound, her blue eyes opened wide at him, and with a thrill he noted her likeness to himself. Then, half proud, half pitiful, he had kissed her many times--why! that was only yesterday--surely but little more! Yet, here was this man, almost a stranger, asking her for his wife. He opened his eyes, and asked, piteously: "D-o-e-s, does Dorrie wish this?" "I think she will tell you so, sir," Leslie answered, gently. "Have you spoken to Leti--to Mrs. Lawton?" "N-no, sir," said the young man. "I--I thought I should speak first to you." "Dear me! I'm afraid you've made a mistake, my boy," murmured the old man, innocently. "Letitia thinks that, in the case of daughters, you understand, the mother is in authority--is the head, so to speak--of the family. You--er, you should have spoken to her, but--now----" "Yes, sir, now?" eagerly repeated Galt.