“It has long been my ambition to do something with this place, worthy of the memory of my father; but my mother is a little extravagant, I am afraid, and I have not as yet been able to carry out my wish. She lately drew upon me for twenty-two hundred dollars and it came at a time when my only recourse was either to sell the place or dishonor her paper.” “Elliott, it is very pleasing to me that you should speak thus frankly with me. Let me help you. I will gladly lend you the money so that you may not be forced to sell. I am well-to-do and can afford to help you.” Elliott listened in pleased surprise. He felt touched beyond expression, but emotion irresistibly impelled him to seize his uncle’s hand, to bend low and press his lips upon it. This unexpected offer again buoyed up the hope of his intense desire to keep the homestead. For a time he stared steadily at this friend, his whole soul reflected upon his face. Mr. Field eyed his nephew closely during this silence and noted the evidence of strength in the serious young face, and the unmistakable air of a thinker it bore, and rightly judged that here was one who had given over play for work. “The memory of your kind offer will live with me forever,” said Elliott, his voice full of deep feeling, breaking the silence. “But I cannot accept your generosity. I have no assurance that my labors will be attended with success, and I have a horror of starting out in debt.” “Very well, my boy,” kindly spoke the other, “that spirit will win. I will buy the place, and it will still be in the family.” “Thank you, uncle! You don’t know how grateful I am for that.” “And I am doubly pleased to be the owner since meeting you,” interrupted the elder. “This old heart of mine beats warmly for your father. He was a good man and I want to see the boy who bears his name winning a way up to the level of life which was once Richard’s. Yes, I want to see you foremost amongst just and honored men.” “Uncle Philip,” heartily spoke Elliott, “for the sake of my father’s memory, I hope to fulfill that hope.” “Ah, yes, yes, you will, my boy!” The old man arose to go and as he and Elliott clasped hands in a hearty good-bye, he added: “I shall be glad to see you at my home, which is two miles south of here, or at the Agricultural Bank of which I am president. I am a widower, have no children, and your presence in my home would fill a void,” and as though not wishing to trust himself further along the mournful trend of thought, he hastily withdrew. As Elliott watched his uncle walking down the gravelled path, his offer of friendship took a tempting form. A week before, he would have scornfully repelled any such advances. “Only to think of it!” Elliott soliloquized, “an offer of sympathy and help from this man for whom my mother, his sister, has not one gleam of sympathy, or even comprehension! It is strange that he should be the first to come in when all the world seems gone out.”