Mrs. Trafton was considerably excited by the prospect of Robert’s journey, and, notwithstanding what he had said, occupied herself in washing his clothes and making a small bundle for him to carry, but Robert declined taking them, with a smile. “You see, aunt, my clothes wouldn’t be good enough to wear in Boston,” he said. “Just keep them till I get back. Perhaps I may need them then.” “I’ll lay ’em away carefully, Robert. When you get a little larger I guess you’ll be able to wear some of your uncle’s clothes. His best suit might be made over for you. He hadn’t had it but six years, and there’s a good deal of wear in it yet. I might cut it over myself when you’re gone.” “Better wait till I come back, aunt,” said Robert hastily. He knew the suit very well. It was snuff-colored and by no means a good fit, even for his uncle, while under his aunt’s unpracticed hands it would probably look considerably worse when made over for him. It must be confessed that Robert’s ideas were expanding and he was rapidly growing more fastidious. He instinctively felt that he was about to turn a new leaf in his book of life and to enter on new scenes, in which he was to play a less obscure part than had been his hitherto in the little village of Cook’s Harbor. But no such change had come to his aunt. She still regarded Robert as the same boy that he always had been--born to the humble career of a fisherman--and she examined her husband’s best suit with much complacency, mentally resolving that, in spite of Robert’s objection, she would devote her leisure time to making it over for him. “He can wear it for best for a year or two,” she thought, “and then put it on every day. I am sure it will look well on him.” In the evening Robert went to the cave to have a farewell interview with the hermit--or Gilbert Huet, to give him the name which was properly his. “You may write to me about once a week if you have anything to say, Robert,” said the hermit. “How shall I direct you, sir? Shall I use your name?” “How am I known in the village?” “They call you ‘the hermit of the cliff.’” “Then direct your letters to ‘The Hermit of the Cliff.’ They are not likely to go astray.” Mr. Huet gave Robert his instructions and finally produced a roll of banknotes. “You will find two hundred dollars in this roll, Robert,” he said. “You can buy a wallet to keep it in when you reach Boston.” “Two hundred dollars!” exclaimed the boy in amazement. “You won’t find it so large a sum as you suppose when you are required to pay traveling expenses. You need not try to be over-economical. I prefer that you should stop at good hotels and put on a good appearance. But I warn you to keep your mouth shut and tell your business to no one. I depend upon your discretion not to fall into the hands of knaves or adventurers. I know that I am putting unusual confidence in a boy of your limited experience, but I have no one else to trust, and I feel that you may be relied upon.”