Gene and Nan, glowering in the corner of Judge Peterson’s comfortable library, learned with dismay that their part was only a small patrimony which Mary Massey had in her own right. The rest, house, and meadow lands, and money enough to keep her comfortably were all Joyce’s left her by her mother from her own father’s estate. It had been her mother’s wish that Joyce should not know that she had anything but herself to depend upon until she grew up. She felt that so she would the better come up unspoiled and independent. So she had placed the property in her sister’s hands in such a way that unless Mary Massey died Joyce would not know that she had anything until she came of age. Judge Peterson was the other trustee of the property and was to use his own discretion about telling Joyce in case of her aunt’s death before her majority. But during the interval of Joyce’s absence from Meadow Brook Joyce had come to her majority, so there was no longer any hindrance to her entering into her inheritance at once. Mary Massey had not told her son the whole thing for reasons of her own, but she had left a letter explaining the matter to him, and reminding him of what she had always told him, that she had very little to leave him, but commending Joyce to his tender care, and saying she had little fear but that Joyce would always be generous with him. Gene and Nan arose silently when the business of the will was concluded. They had a look of withdrawing. A hurt, stricken look. Joyce sprang up and went over to them, saying eagerly: “Of course, Gene, you’ll stay in the house.” “It’s your house,” said Gene. “Of course we’ll get right out.” “Please don’t,” said Joyce earnestly. “At least not unless you don’t want to stay, of course. The house was your mother’s home. All these technicalities of law don’t change the matter a mite to me. I know Aunt Mary expected us all to live there, and she knew I would say so. Even though it is mine it’s just the same as yours. Besides, I’ve another little house of my own in Silverton and I presume I shall go back there and go on teaching. I should not be happy doing nothing. The house may have been bought by my father’s money, but it was made into a home by your mother’s loving care, and it’s yours as much as it is mine. As long as you live I want you to feel you can live in it if you want to.” “You could sell it,” said Gene, still independently, “or rent it. I will pay you rent,” stiffly. Joyce laughed. “No, indeed. You won’t pay me rent. If you try to I’ll pay you for your mother’s love and care. How would that be? And I don’t want to sell the house. I love it. I like to think it’s there for me to come home to now and then. And Nan, you don’t need to feel hampered there. You can arrange things just as you like, just as if it were your own. Just treat me like a sister, that’s all, and share with me in what there is.”