“I have come to make a bid for this place. I would like to buy it, if it is to be had at a reasonable figure. It is not for the land value alone that I want it,” he went on, “it is the old home of my only sister. Besides, for another and more sacred reason, I never want it to pass out of the family.” “Your sister’s old home,” said Elliott, without appearing to have heard the offer, “then you are Mr. Field--Philip Field?” “That is my name--and yours?” “Elliott Field Harding.” “My nephew?” questioned the elder. “Your nephew, I suppose,” assented Elliott. “And you did not know you had an uncle here?” the old man asked quickly. “Well, I knew you were living somewhere in the South, but was not certain of the exact locality.” At this, the face of the visitor softened, a strange glow leaping to life in his quiet eyes. “Your mother discarded me years ago for marrying a Southern girl not--not exactly up to her ideal, and I thought you might not have known she had a cast-off brother, whom she thought had shamed his blood and name,” was the low spoken comment. Then, half-unconsciously he stammered, “Catharine--your mother, is she well?” “Quite well, I thank you,” said Elliott. “Will she come here to--to see you?” “Not likely, no; I don’t think she will ever come South again,” was the contemplative reply. “Then she has not changed; she still hates us here!” commented the other half sadly. “Well ‘hate’ is perhaps too strong a word; but I think that her inflexible disapproval of the social conditions here will never alter. You know her character. Her ideas are not easily changed and she thinks little outside of Boston and Boston ideals worthy of much consideration.” “Poor, dear sister! I had hoped that maternity and her early widowhood would awake in her a sense of the vast duties and responsibilities attached to her position as a southern woman. How I have longed to hear that she had learned the blessed lesson.” To these words Elliott listened intently, his breath coming quick with rebellious mortification. “If she had learned that lesson I might not now have to sacrifice the old home,” said Elliott, somewhat impetuously. “Sacrifice!” repeated the other, “and did you care to hold it?” “It was the dearest wish of my life to do so,” was the reply. Mr. Field gazed at the young man with a look of admiration. “Elliott, my nephew,” he fervently said, holding out his hand as he spoke, “if it will please you to call me friend as well as uncle, I shall refuse neither the name nor the duties.” “Uncle Philip, I thank you and accept your kindly offer,” and Elliott’s face brightened. The furrow which care had been ploughing between his brows the past few days, smoothed itself out. Then in a burst of confidence, he continued: