had only been home from college three days, told her at the breakfast table that he was going to Millbank after pure air, and rich sweet cream, which was a weakness of his, she felt a longing to go, too,—a desire for the cool house and pleasant grounds, to say nothing of the luxuries which were to be had there in so great abundance. But since the morning of her departure from Millbank she had received no invitation to cross its threshold, and had not seen Roger over half a dozen times. He felt that she disliked him, and kept out of her way, stopping always at a hotel when in New York, instead of going to her house on Lexington Avenue. He had called there, however, and taken tea the day before he sailed for Europe, and Mrs. Walter Scott remembered with pleasure that she had been very affable on that occasion, and pressed him to spend the night. Surely, after that, she might venture to Millbank, and she hinted as much to Frank, who would rather she should stay where she was. But he was not quite unfilial enough to say so. He only suggested that an invitation from the proper authorities might be desirable before she took so bold a step. “You used to snub Roger awfully,” he said; “and if he was like anybody else, he wouldn’t forget it in a hurry; but, then, he isn’t like anybody else. He’s the best-hearted and most generous chap I ever knew.” “Generous!” Mrs. Walter Scott repeated, with a tinge of sarcasm in her voice. “Yes, generous,” said Frank. “He has always allowed me more than the will said he must, and he’s helped me out of more than forty scrapes. I say, again, he is the most generous chap I ever knew.” “I hope he will prove it in a few weeks, when you are of age, by giving you more than that five thousand named in the will,” was Mrs. Walter Scott’s next remark. “Frank,”—and she lowered her voice lest the walls should hear and report,—“we are _poor_. This house and three thousand dollars are all we have in the world; and unless Roger does something handsome for you, there is no alternative for us but to mortgage the house, or sell it, and acknowledge our poverty to the world. I have sold your father’s watch and his diamond cross.” “Mother!” Frank exclaimed, his tone indicative of his surprise and indignation. “I had to pay Bridget’s wages, and defray the expense of that little party I gave last winter,” was the lady’s apology, to which Frank responded: “Confound your party! People as poor as we are have no business with parties. Sell father’s watch! and I was intending to claim it myself when I came of age. It’s too bad! You’ll be selling me next! I’ll be hanged if it isn’t deuced inconvenient to be so poor! I mean to go to Millbank and stay. I’m seldom troubled with the blues when there.”