“The day before Uncle Peter died. He said the poor old gentleman couldn’t talk, then, but he managed to write that line. _Is_ it Uncle Peter’s handwriting?” “It certainly is. Shaky, but plainly Mr. Stower’s own hand.” “Oh, sir! let us keep Uncle Rufus, then,” begged Ruth, quickly. “But you understand, Miss Kenway, that this request, unsigned as it is, hasn’t an iota of legal weight?” “I don’t care!” said Ruth. “Why didn’t the old man show it to me?” “He was keeping it to show to the relatives of Uncle Peter who, he expected, would have the old Corner House.” “Ha! and he was afraid of the lawyer, I suppose?” “You—you were not very sympathetic, were you?” said Ruth, slowly. “Right! I wasn’t. I could not be. I did not see my way clear to making any provision for Uncle Rufus, for I knew very well that Mr. Stower had not mentioned the old serving man in his will.” “Well—you’ll let us keep him?” “If you like. I’ll see that he has a little money every month, too. And now I must not give you much more time to-day, my dear. But I wish to put this envelope into your hand. In it you will find the amount of money which I consider wise for each of you girls to spend monthly—your allowance, I mean. “Such dresses as you need, will be paid for separately. You will find that a charge account has been opened for you at this store,” and he passed the surprised Ruth the business card of the largest department store in town. “But buy wisely. If you spend too much, be sure you will hear from me. The monthly allowance is pin-money. Squander it as you please without accounting to me—only to your own consciences,” and he laughed and rose to show her out of his private office. Ruth thanked him and slipped the bulky envelope into her bag. She could not open it there, or on the street, and she hurried homeward, eager to see just what Mr. Howbridge considered a proper allowance for the Corner House Girls to “squander.” The east wind was tearing across the parade ground and the trees overhead, as Ruth started over the big common, writhed in the clutch of it. The rain came in fitful dashes. The girl sheltered herself as best she could with the umbrella. Such gusts are hard to judge, however. Although she clung to the umbrella with both hands, one savage squall swept down upon Ruth Kenway and fairly snatched the umbrella from her grasp. It whirled away over the wet lawn, and turned inside out! “No use chasing _that_ thing,” said Ruth, in disgust. “It’s past repairing. I’ll just have to face it.” She hurried on, her head bowed before the slanting rain. She came to the Willow Street crossing and glanced up at the old Corner House. Not only could she see the great, frowning front of the mansion, with its four huge pillars, but she could view, too, the side next to Willow Street.