He had not seemed anxious to read the mail, nor at all curious, even when they told him it was postmarked Chicago. Miss Marilla carried it to him gayly as if she were bringing him a bouquet, but Mary eyed him with a curious misgiving. Perhaps, after all, there would not be good news. He seemed so very apathetic. She watched him furtively as she tidied the room, putting away the soap and towels, and pulling a dry leaf or two from the geraniums. He was so still, and it took him so long to make up his mind to tear open the envelopes after he had them in his thin white hand. It almost seemed as if he dreaded them like a blow, and was trying to summon courage to meet them. Once, as she looked at him, his eye met hers with a deprecatory smile, and to cover her confusion she spoke impulsively. “You don’t seem deeply concerned about the news,” she said gayly. He smiled again almost sadly. “Well, no!” he said thoughtfully. “I can’t say I am. There really isn’t anything much left in which to be interested. You see about the worst things that could happen have happened, and there’s no chance for anything else.” “You can’t always tell,” said Mary Amber cheerfully, as she finished dusting the bureau and took herself down-stairs for his morning glass of milk and egg. Slowly Lyman Gage tore the envelope of the topmost letter, and took out the written sheet. In truth he had little curiosity. It was likely an account of how his lawyer friend had paid back the money to Mr. Harrower, or else the details of the loan on the old Chicago house. Houses and loans and such things seemed far from his world just now. He was impatient for Mary Amber to come back with that milk and egg. Not so much for the milk and egg as for the comfort it gave, and the cheeriness of her presence. Presently Miss Marilla would come up and tell over some little incident of Mary’s childhood exactly as if he were Dick, the real nephew; and he liked it. Not that he liked Dick, the villain! He found himself hopelessly jealous of him sometimes. Yet he knew in a feeble far-away sense that this was only a foolish foible of an invalid, and he would get over it and laugh at himself when he got well. He smiled at the pleasantness of it all, this getting-well business, and then turned his indifferent attention to the letter. “Dear Gage,” it read, “what in the world did you hide yourself away in that remote corner of the world for? I’ve scoured the country to get trace of you without a single result till your telegram came. There’s good news to tell you. The unexpected has happened, and you are a rich man, old fellow. Don’t let it turn your head, for there’s plenty of business to occupy you as soon as you are able to return.