“Who is Fanny?” inquired Elwell. “Fanny! Why, she’s my girl--the only thing the old woman left me to remember her by--not that I’ll ever forget her, though,” and the old man’s face softened. “Fanny is not much like her mother,” continued Morain, with a dissatisfied look on his face. “The old woman was just as plain and simple as I am. Worked hard while we had to work, and tried to enjoy herself afterward. But Fanny! Well, the girl went to a high-toned school, and that spoiled her. She’s been trying to be fashionable ever since.” This was all news to Elwell, and perhaps influenced him in his decision. An only child, and that child a girl, with aspirations for a fashionable life, he thought, might be worth going to see. He made his living by speculation, and this might turn out to be a more successful speculation than any he had yet made. Thinking thus, he decided to accept the kindly offer; but he would not cheapen himself any. So, when at last he promised to go, he did so with an air of accommodating his friend--not a pleasant way of accepting an invitation, as a rule. But as old Pat looked upon it as an accommodation, there was no harm done in this case. CHAPTER XVI. AUNT MARY’S ANSWER. Another year had gone by at Bright Farm, and beyond an increase of quiet happiness there had been no change. Little Clinton was growing into a stalwart, healthy lad, whose bright ways lighted up the little cottage like a ray of sunshine, and brought to Norine a degree of happiness she had never expected to enjoy. It was a bright spring day, just such a day as when we first made his acquaintance, that Doctor Conway rode up to the little cottage on the little rough pony and dismounted at the gate. And although some years have passed since we found the doctor going upon his fateful errand, the errand had never yet been done. And Doctor Conway, tying his little rough pony at the gatepost, had the same resolution in his breast that he had had on that spring morning three years ago. Norine, infolded in one of her big aprons, was busy with her household duties when the doctor entered, and little Clinton, forsaking the cat, ran to meet him as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him. He was reasonably sure of something good with every visit, and delighted in climbing upon the doctor’s knees and exploring that gentleman’s pockets, hailing each discovery of a plaything or a bit of candy with a yell of delight. The doctor’s pockets were unusually prolific to-day, and little Clinton retired to his corner to gloat over his riches, chuckling in triumph. “Dear me,” protested Norine, evidently highly pleased, “you will spoil him, doctor. He is as rough as a little bear, and you should not allow him to romp over you in that fashion.” “Spoil him; not a bit of it,” replied Conway, smiling. “Of course he’s rough, all healthy boys are; but the little rascal knows I like to romp as well as he does,” and he smiled pleasantly upon both mother and child.