Benson he saw once or twice each year, and his affection steadily strengthened toward him. His Uncle Jacob was able and generally quite willing to confer most tangible benefits, he could not have been more generous, nor have shown a greater readiness to do for him in all reasonable ways; and Stephen early learned that an appeal to him was certain of results. These benefits might be accompanied by admonitory hints as to the folly of extravagance, but he could always skip these hints, and the lawyer's check was an asset that gave him great prestige among his fellows. He was fortunate in his teachers perhaps, and it was all in his favour that he was constitutionally predisposed to good influences, and that they made a lasting impression on him; since his development was largely a matter of chance, he might easily have gone very far wrong and no one been the wiser. After the first two or three years at school, he gave up all idea, as he lost all desire, to return to Benson. His summers were passed agreeably enough just where he was. He could safely count on his Uncle Jacob coming East during his vacation, and then there were pleasant trips to the mountains or seashore. Benson rarely spoke of his aunt to him. He early sensed it that they were not friends, and he adapted himself to what he considered the lawyer's prejudices. He gradually ceased to inquire about Reddy or Benjamin Wade or Spike, for here the lawyer's information was meagre and uncertain; and after a few years his Aunt Virginia, the boys, Peter the gardener, and Mrs. Pope the housekeeper, fitted into the background of those hazy memories that now made up the substance of his life in the Ohio town. He came more and more to think of the lawyer as a solitary man without friendships or associations, and save in his own case, as both lonely and unapproachable. It would have surprised him not a little had he been told that in his own circle Benson was a powerful and dominating figure, even sinister at times, with concerns and interests whose magnitude exceeded anything he could have imagined possible. His feeling of mingled tenderness and pity increased as he grew toward manhood. He wished his Uncle Jacob could be made fully aware of his affection, but he was always conscious that there was something in the lawyer's manner that repelled any emotional display; that beneath his kindly dignity, the fibre of his nature was cold and hard. The utter barrenness of his life, as the boy imagined it, explained this. It was the awkwardness of one who had lived much in solitude, with few intimates and fewer friends.