During the reading of the "night letter" Mr. Abbott had quickly made up his mind just what his attitude would be. "That's splendid, Jane, isn't it?" he said, and not even his watchful mother noted a trace of disappointment in his voice. "If I were you I would pack at once. You would better go over to the city in the morning and that will give you time to buy a new summer dress, for I am sure that you must need one." Jane started to reply, but something in her throat seemed to make it hard for her to speak, and so she left the room hurriedly without having more than touched her plate. Julie followed, as she adored packing. When they were gone, the man sighed deeply. "Mother," he said, "I have decided to send Julie with Dan. She can cook the simple things he will need and some one must go with the boy. I would go myself, but I would be of little use. In a few days, as soon as I can pull myself together, I am going back to the city to start in some occupation far from Wall Street." The old lady reached out a comforting hand and placed it on that of her son nearest her. "Dan," she said in a low voice, "Jane doesn't know a thing about your long illness, does she? Nobody's told her, has there?" The man shook his head. "Jane has been so interested in her own problems, and in finding a way to do as she wished, that she has not even wondered why I am working about in the garden instead of going to the city daily, as I always have done. But don't tell her, mother. She does not seem to care, and, moreover, I am now much stronger. My only real worry is Dan, and I do feel confident that if he can be well cared for, the mountain air will restore his health." Rising, he stooped to kiss his mother's forehead, then left the room, going through the kitchen to the garden. As he worked he glanced often at the open windows of the room above the tree tops. He saw the two girls hurrying about, for Jane had gladly accepted Julie's offer of service, and the trunk packing was evidently progressing merrily. This assurance was brought to him when he heard Jane singing a snatch of a school song. It sounded like a requiem to the man in the garden below. He leaned on his hoe as he thought, self-rebukingly, "It is all my fault. I have spoiled Jane. My love has been misdirected. It is I who have made her selfish. I wanted to give her everything, for she had lost so much when she lost her mother. I have done as much for the other three children, but somehow they didn't spoil." The comfort of that realization was so great that the father soon returned to his self-imposed task, and, an hour later, when Dan appeared, he told the boy Jane's decision, saying: "Son of mine, it would be no comfort to you to have her companionship if her heart were elsewhere." The shadow of keen disappointment in the lad's eyes was quickly dispelled. Placing a hand on his father's shoulder he said cheerfully, "It's all right, Dad. Julie is a great little pal."