Dr. Stapleton said very little after reading the verses; he simply congratulated his nephew, and advised him to continue doing that sort of work; but when, after supper, the household had retired, and the two brothers were consulting together in the library, the Doctor spoke of the boy to his father. “It is a fine thing to have such a son,” he said; “he will be a help and comfort to you, Felix.” “Perhaps,” was the reply; “but I am afraid of the boy’s judgment. When he comes to know the truth about my circumstances I am afraid he will turn against me. He has strict notions of honour and truth, and I am glad that he should have. But what will he think of me?” “When are you going to tell him?” “I cannot tell him at all—and yet he must know soon.” “If I were you, Felix, I would take him into confidence at once. He is a good boy and sensible, and his counsel may be as worth having and following as that of any man of the world.” “But he believes himself the heir to a fortune. It will be a terrible disappointment and come down for him.” “Oh, no! I think not. The young do not care for money as the old do. And it is too bad to deceive him longer. Let us tell him the truth in the morning. Who knows but that he may be able to throw a little light upon the darkness?” “Will you help me to break the news to him before you leave?” “Yes, I will, and I cannot help hoping that good rather than harm will come of it.” Ernest slept soundly, as a healthy boy should, whose conscience is at peace, and he awoke the next morning in a most merry mood. He opened the letter-bag, and made his sister chase him for a letter addressed to herself, and then he tossed his youngest sister into the air and caught her like a ball, after which he took her for a ride on his bicycle, until she screamed with delight. He remembered all this years afterward; for it always seemed to him that this was the morning when he suddenly grew out of boyhood into youth. When breakfast was finished his father sent for him into the library; and as the boy entered the room, he knew that he was going to learn something about the shadow which had so long hung above his home. “Ernest, my lad,” said Dr. Stapleton, gently, “your father has some bad news for you, which it is harder for him to tell than for you to hear, though it will trouble you greatly. You are young, but you are the oldest son he has, and he has a right to look to you for sympathy and help. You will not fail him, I know.” The boy looked pale—it was such a solemn address for his uncle to make—but he left his seat, and went to his father’s side and stood with his hand on his shoulder. “What is it, father?” he said. “Please tell me quickly. I have known for some time that there was a trouble, though I cannot imagine what it is.” “Do you find your pocket-money enough for your needs, Ernest?” Mr. Stapleton’s voice trembled a little, but he tried to speak as cheerfully as he could. The boy looked surprised at the question.