young Jerry, following silently behind their masters. The meeting at home was in the dusk. The little group waiting on the hill-top at Dr. Cary’s for the small cavalcade as they rode up through the waning light had been waiting and watching for days; but there were no words spoken at the meeting. Only, Mrs. Cary walked out from the others and met her husband a part of the way down the hill, and Blair followed her a moment after. When the doctor reached his door, walking between his wife and daughter, an arm around each, he turned to his old servant, who was holding the horses: “Tarquin, you are free. I present you the horse you rode home. Take the saddles off, and turn them out.” And he walked into the house, shaking by the hand the servants clustered about the door. It was only when he was inside, facing the portrait of a young boy with handsome, dark eyes, that he gave way. The very next day Dr. Cary, to use a commercial phrase, began to “take stock.” “Taking stock” is always a serious thing to do, and it must come often into every thoughtful man’s life. He is his own ledger. In all cases he must look back and measure himself by himself. Perhaps some hour brings him some question on which all must hinge. It may come unexpectedly, or he may have seen it advancing with inevitable steps. He may have brought it on himself, or he may have fought strenuously against it. It is all the same. It comes straight down upon him, a cyclone threatening to overwhelm him, and he must meet it either as a brave man or a craven. It comes, sweeps past or over him and leaves him in its track, unscathed or wounded or slain. But it comes. And this is Life. The ancients called it Fate; we call it Providence or Chance, or the result of natural laws. But by whatever name known, it is inscrutable.