“It tells me that to his godson and namesake he has left the contents of his studio, including all his pictures except such as are bequeathed to some one mentioned in another clause of the will. He also leaves me ten thousand dollars.” “But you said his namesake,” returned Ellen, looking puzzled. “My legal name is Peter Reed Marshall. Uncle Pete didn’t like the name of Peter, so I dropped it and always have been called Reed.” “Dear Don Pedro,” murmured Ellen with a faraway look. “How we shall miss him! It was fine for him to remember you in that way. I am glad he did.” “It was just like him to do it. He has always encouraged me to go on with my studies, even when it was hard sledding and it looked as if I couldn’t make my way. He always came to my rescue, and told me not to sell my soul for Mammon.” Again Ellen looked puzzled. “But I thought you were very well off. I never dreamed that you had any sort of struggle.” “What made you think so?” “Why, the violin. You paid a good price for it, you know, and how could you, if money wasn’t easy to get?” Reed flushed up. “You’ve caught me, Cronette. I paid for it with the check Uncle Pete gave me for Christmas, and he made up the rest. He wanted me to have it if you couldn’t keep it, said it should not go to a stranger. He knew how I longed for it.” “Dear, dear Don Pedro,” again sighed Ellen. “You wanted me to have it, didn’t you, Cronette?” “Oh, I did, you know I did, and now, since I know you so well, I am more than ever glad.” “It brought us together, and so I value it more than ever,” said Reed softly. “Cronette, I think you’d better look at your letter. From the look of the envelope I believe it is from that same lawyer.” Ellen hurriedly drew forth the letter, opened it, read it hastily, then, after handing it to Reed, buried her face in her hands. “Don’t cry, dear,” she heard Reed say in a few minutes; and he drew her hands away from her face, gently enfolding them in his. “But—but,” quavered Ellen, “I can’t help it. It was so lovely of him to think of me in that way, to leave me the pictures my father painted and that he bought at the sale when Mother had to part with everything. And to leave me five thousand dollars, too. I can’t help being overcome.” “No, of course you can’t. The lawyer says there is a letter of instructions, and that he will forward me a copy of the part that concerns me. Perhaps you will get one, too. I know Uncle Pete often spoke of having an exhibition of his pictures and your father’s, a joint affair. We must follow out his wishes, Cronette.” Ellen agreed with him, and they sat a long time talking over this unlooked-for situation. Little curling waves rippled in at their feet, “nosing around among the rocks like a dog,” said Reed. He looked off over the blue expanse to the hazy horizon line. “And over there is Spain,” he said musingly. “I want to go there some day, don’t you?”