He opened the front door and let himself into the house. It was a handsome and spacious hall. Two paintings hung on the walls, and both were portraits. One represented a lady, with a pretty, but rather weak face. She looked as if she had very little resolution, and might easily be influenced by one with stronger will. The other picture was that of a man of near forty. It was an attractive face. The strong resemblance which it bore to the boy made it probable that it was his father, and such was the case. Robert looked up to it regretfully, for he had not yet got over the loss of his father, hardly twelve months dead. "I wish dad were alive," he thought sadly, "we were such good friends, he and I." Mr. Frost had not died of disease. He was cut off in the full vigor of life, the victim of a railroad accident. Robert remembered well when he was taken home, mangled and hardly to be recognized. His death did not entail any privation upon his little family--Robert was the only child--for he left a considerable fortune and was heavily insured besides, so that they were still able to live in handsome style. "When will supper be ready, Jane?" Robert asked of the servant, as he passed into the dining-room. "At half-past five o'clock, Master Robert." "All right, Jane. I will be on hand, and with a good appetite." He put on his hat, after laying down his books, and was about to go out, when Jane arrested his steps. "Wait a minute, Master Robert. There's a telegram for you." He took the yellow envelope in some surprise. "When was it left?" he asked. "Half an hour since." "It must be from mother," he said thoughtfully. "Very likely--I hope it isn't bad news." Robert echoed the wish, but did not say a word. He took out his penknife and opened the envelope. There it was--just a few words, but they puzzled him. "What is it?" asked Jane, whose curiosity was excited. Robert read the telegram. It ran thus: "Gloucester, June 5. "Shall be at home to-morrow. Prepare for a great surprise. "Mother." Robert looked surprised and bewildered. "What can it mean, Jane, do you think?" he asked. "I don't know, I'm sure, Master Robert. Perhaps your mother is going to bring you a present." "But she wouldn't call that a great surprise." "I don't know then. You'll know to-morrow." Yes, he would know to-morrow, but he could not help letting his mind dwell on the mystery. It occurred to him that it might be a gold watch, which he had long wanted, and which his mother had promised to get him very soon. But this would scarcely be considered a great surprise. "Well, there's no use guessing," he decided at length. "I'll only have to wait till to-morrow, and then I shall know."