"I don't want to hear any more on the subject," said Mrs. Lane, decisively. "I have made the change for good and sufficient reasons and nothing that you can say will alter my plan." "That's right, ma," put in Abel. "Of course it is for you to say. I wouldn't stand any impudence." "Nor will I," retorted Gerald, and he looked so fierce and determined that Abel shrank back in momentary fear of an attack. "Enough of this," said Mrs. Lane, coldly. "Gerald, you will find that your trunk and clothing have been carried into the small room. You will get used to it in time." "If this injustice continues," Gerald said to himself, "I may decide to leave my old home and strike out for myself." He resolved, however, not to act hastily, but for the present to accommodate himself to the new arrangements. It was hard to bear Abel's triumphant glance as he walked into the larger room, which had so long been his own. During the week following Gerald did not attend school. If, as seemed likely, a long season of hard work lay before him, he would have a preliminary vacation. A good deal of his time he spent in his dory, as he was very fond of the water and was a skilful oarsman. Two or three times Abel accompanied him and showed an ambition to use the oars; but, not being accustomed to rowing, he one day upset the boat, and might have been drowned but for the timely assistance rendered by Gerald. This seemed to disgust him with the water, and he gave up the idea of asking his mother for a sail-boat. Gerald was not sorry to lose his company, especially as his place was frequently taken by John Holman, who was now back again in the shoe shop, but only working on half-time. One afternoon, after leaving the boat, Gerald was on his way home when he was accosted by a stranger—a stout, muscular man, roughly dressed, who looked like a laboring man. "Are you acquainted hereabout, young man?" he asked. "Yes, sir." "I have a sister living here somewhere, but as I have never been in Portville before I don't know where to find her." "Perhaps I can direct you," said Gerald, politely. "What is her name?" "Her first husband was a Tyler, but I hear she married a rich man in this town—his name was Lane, I'm told." Gerald was amazed. Was it possible that this rough-looking man was the brother of his stepmother and the uncle of Abel? It must be so, for Abel's last name, as he recalled, was Tyler. "You have come to the right person for information," he said. "Your sister married my father." "You don't say! Well, that beats all. Is it true that my sister is again a widder?" "Yes; my father is dead," said Gerald, gravely. "And did he leave Melindy well fixed?" asked the stranger, vaguely. "Yes." Gerald did not feel like going into particulars. He felt too bitterly the injustice of his father's will to speak of its provisions before a stranger.