“I can help you, Chester. A rich lady of my acquaintance sends me a hundred dollars every year to bestow in charity. I will devote a part of this to the young man whom you have so kindly taken in, say at the rate of eight dollars a week.” “That will make us feel easy,” said Chester gratefully. “How much do you think his uncle offered me?” “I am surprised that he should have offered anything.” “He handed me twenty-five cents, but I told him I thought we could get along without it.” “And you will. Silas Tripp has a small soul, hardly worth saving. He has made money his god, and serves his chosen deity faithfully.” “I wouldn’t change places with him for all his wealth.” “Some day you may be as rich as he, but I hope, if you are, you will use your wealth better.” At the beginning of the third week Walter Bruce became suddenly worse. His constitution was fragile, and the disease had undermined his strength. The doctor looked grave. “Do you think I shall pull through, doctor?” asked the young man. “While there is life there is hope, Mr. Bruce.” “That means that the odds are against me?” “Yes, I am sorry to say that you are right.” Walter Bruce looked thoughtful. “I don’t think I care much for life,” he said. “I have had many disappointments, and I know that at the best I could never be strong and enjoy life as most of my age do—I am resigned.” “How old are you, Walter?” asked Chester. “Twenty-nine. It is a short life.” “Is there anyone you would wish me to notify if the worst comes?” “No, I have scarcely a relative—except Silas Tripp,” he added, with a bitter smile. “You have no property to dispose of by will?” asked the doctor. “Yes,” was the unexpected answer, “but I shall not make a will. A will may be contested. I will give it away during my life.” Chester and the doctor looked surprised. They thought the other might refer to a ring or some small article. “I want everything to be legal,” resumed Bruce. “Is there a lawyer in the village?” “Yes, Lawyer Gardener.” “Send for him. I shall feel easier when I have attended to this last duty.” Within half an hour the lawyer was at his bedside. “In the inside pocket of my coat,” said Walter Bruce, “you will find a document. It is the deed of five lots in the town of Tacoma, in Washington Territory. I was out there last year, and having a little money, bought the lots for a song. They are worth very little now, but some time they may be of value.” “To whom do you wish to give them?” asked Mr. Gardner. “To this boy,” answered Bruce, looking affectionately toward Chester. “He and his have been my best friends.” “But your uncle—he is a relative!” suggested Chester. “He has no claim upon me. Lawyer, make out a deed of gift of these lots to Chester Rand, and I will sign it.”