“I believe you are a born housekeeper. Of course, I knew that Mrs. McCall wouldn’t let you go far wrong. But I see no evidence of a lack of economy on your part. And now, we must see about your spending some more money, Miss Kenway.” “Oh! it seems like a lot to me,” said Ruth, faintly. “And—and I must tell you something perhaps you won’t like. We—we have an addition to the family.” “How’s that?” he asked, in surprise. “We—we have Uncle Rufus,” explained Ruth. “What! has that old darkey come bothering you?” “Oh! he isn’t a bother. Not at all. I thought he was too old to do much, but he is _so_ handy—and he finds so many little things to do. And then——Why, Mr. Howbridge! it’s just like home to him.” “Ha! Undoubtedly. And so he told you? Worked on your feelings? You are going to have the whole family on you, next. You will have more wages to pay out than the estate will stand.” “Dear me, sir!” cried Ruth. “Don’t say that. I am not paying Uncle Rufus a penny. I told him I couldn’t—until I had seen you about it, at least. And he is willing to stay anyhow—so he says.” “I don’t know about that old darkey,” said Mr. Howbridge, slowly. “I believe he knew more about Mr. Peter Stower’s private affairs than he seemed willing to tell the time I talked to him after your Uncle Peter’s death. I don’t know about your keeping him there.” “Do you think he may know where Uncle Peter hid his private papers, sir?” asked Ruth, eagerly. “Yes, I do. He’s an ignorant old negro. He might get the papers into his hands, and the will might be lost forever.” “Oh, sir!” cried Ruth, earnestly, “I don’t think Uncle Rufus is at all dishonest. I asked him about Uncle Peter’s hiding away things. He knows what folks say about uncle’s being a miser.” “Well?” said Mr. Howbridge, questioningly. “Uncle Rufus says he knows his old master was that way. Aunt Sarah says Uncle Peter was just like a magpie—that he hid away things without any real reason for it.” “Ha! Miss Maltby was not fond of Mr. Peter Stower. They did not get along well together.” “No, sir. I fancy not. And of course, Aunt Sarah doesn’t say much, anyway. She is real hurt to think that he did not leave her the house and money instead of leaving it to us,” and Ruth sighed. “Oh, he left her enough in his will to keep her in comfort for the remainder of her life. She need not be envious,” said the lawyer, carelessly. “Well,” sighed Ruth, “that isn’t what Aunt Sarah wanted. She feels she ought to own the house. But we can’t help that, can we!” “No. Do not worry about your Aunt Sarah’s fidgets,” said the lawyer, smiling once more. “But about Uncle Rufus?” Ruth had opened her bag, and now drew forth the scrap of paper Uncle Rufus had given her. “Who do you think wrote that, sir?” she asked Mr. Howbridge, simply. The moment the lawyer saw it he scowled. Staring at the paper fixedly for some moments in silence, he finally asked: “When did the old darkey say he was given this?”