It happened that the morning after the storm, Elliott was to drive into town with Dorothy. As they passed along, they noted here and there the havoc wrought. Finally, as they approached the old Harding place, they saw that the fury of the storm had counted it among its playthings. Elliott gazed lingeringly and sadly at the wreck. Then he stopped the horses and helping Dorothy out of the vehicle he tied the team and together they went up the pathway, looking often at each other in mute sorrow. She felt that any words of consolation would be out of place while the first shock lasted, so kept silent, letting her eyes tell of her sympathy. For a time they stood and looked at the scene of devastation, the ruins covered with abundant ivy that gleamed and trembled in the light of the sun. Then Elliott said slowly: “My father’s wish is now beyond the reach of possible denial. Nature has destroyed it, just as he wished it should be done.” Walking about, looking now at this, now at that remnant of the wreck, he kept biting his lips to keep back the tears, but the sight was so like looking upon a loved one dead, that he could not long keep them back--hot tears came in a passionate gush, and he must allow himself relief of them. Business successes eventually rendered it possible for Elliott to gratify his old ambition about the homestead and thinking that the time for action had come the next day, when his uncle dropped into his office to talk over the storm and its destroying of the old homestead, Elliott suggested: “Uncle Philip, I have a mind to buy that lot from you. Would you sell it?” “Why do you ask? Are you going to get married?” “If I can ever get the father’s blessing of the woman I love, I am,” was Elliott’s straightforward reply. Mr. Field looked solemn. “I am afraid no man will ever get his willing consent, if you refer to Mr. Carr,” he remarked. “Well, never mind, that has no connection with this proposition. I have long had a desire to do something to perpetuate my father’s memory. Since fate has removed the house, I have an idea of erecting a building and presenting it as an institution for the manual education of colored children.” The astonished look on Mr. Field’s face gave place to one of admiration as Elliott proceeded and he quickly interrupted: “My dear boy, I am glad to say I have anticipated you. The bank has in its safe keeping a deed already made out in your name. The property has always been and now is yours to do with as you please.” “Uncle Philip, you overwhelm me with surprise and gratitude,” exclaimed Elliott grasping the old man’s hand firmly in his. “You are too good to me.” Mr. Field rested his face in his hand and regarded his nephew with all the fondness of a parent. After a pause, Elliott continued: