"He only left the small house we live in, and that is mortgaged for half its value." "Then how do you live?" "Mother covers base-balls for a firm in the next town, and I am working in the big shoe shop." "Doesn't Squire Marlowe do anything for your mother?" "He gave me a place in the shop--that is all." "Yet he is rich," said the old man, thoughtfully. "Yes, he lives in a fine house. You can see it down the street on the other side that large one with a broad piazza. He keeps two horses and two handsome carriages, and I am sure he must have plenty of money." "I am glad to hear it. I have been a long time among strangers. It will be pleasant to come to anchor at the house of a rich relation. Where does your mother live?" "In a small cottage at the other end of the street. Won't you come home with me, Uncle Jacob? Mother will be glad to see you." "I must call at Albert Marlowe's first. What family has he?" "He has one boy about my own age." "I suppose you are very intimate--being cousins." Bert laughed. "He wouldn't thank you for calling us cousins," he answered. "Percy Marlowe is a boy who thinks a good deal of himself. He puts on no end of airs." "Like his father before him. Is he a smart boy?" "Do you mean in his studies?" "Yes." "I don't know what he could do if he tried, but he doesn't exert himself much. He says it isn't necessary for him, as his father is a rich man." "How is it with you?" "I only wish I had his chance," said Bert, warmly. "I am fond of study, but I am poor, and must work for a living." "You have the right idea, and he has not," said the old man, sententiously. At this moment a light buggy was driven swiftly by. Seated in it was a boy about the age of Bert, apparently, but of slighter figure. The horse, suddenly spying the old man, shied, and in a trice the buggy was upset, and the young dude went sprawling on the ground. Bert grasped the situation, and sprang to the rescue. He seized the terrified horse, while the old man helped reverse the carriage, which fortunately had not met with any material damage. The same may be said of the young driver who, with mortified face, struggled to his feet, and surveyed ruefully the muddy stains on his handsome suit. "I hope you're not hurt, Percy," said Bert, with solicitude. "I've spoiled my suit, that's all," returned Percy, shortly. "What made you scare my horse?" "I didn't," answered Bert, with spirit. "What right have you to charge me with such a thing?" "Then if it wasn't you, it was that old tramp you were talking with," persisted Percy, sullenly. "Hush, Percy!" said Bert, apprehensive lest the old man's feelings might be hurt. "You don't know who this gentleman is." "I never met the gentleman before," rejoined Percy, with ironical deference. "Then let me introduce him as your uncle, Jacob Marlowe, from California!" Percy's face betrayed much more surprise than pleasure as he stammered, "Is that true?"