How could it be possible that the boy they sent away a few days ago could be the same one who looked at them now with happy eyes and a faint smile. "They're coming," he answered. "Mr. Blake brought me up--in his wagon, and the others had to wait--for the car, and they were going to take a drive." Matt Blake here appeared in the open doorway from the piazza, bearing on his back a shining new trunk. "Where's this going?" he asked. "I'll show you," said the boy, and they made a procession up the stairs, Bert leading and the women bringing up the rear, full to the lips of questions ready to pour out upon Matt, who was smiling, eyes twinkling under his burden, at the amazed countenances of Miss Burridge and Veronica. "Where's your Uncle Nick?" asked Veronica when they reached the bedroom. "No," said Bert quickly; "no, he isn't coming." "Isn't?" cried Miss Burridge as Blake set the trunk down. "Matt, has Mr. Gayne come into money?" "This Mr. Gayne has," returned Blake, grinning and indicating the boy. "No, my name isn't Gayne any more," said Bert gravely. "I am Herbert Loring, Second." "That so?" said Matt. "There you have it, ladies. You've read about the Prince and the Pauper, haven't you? You sent away the pauper and got back the prince." "Yes," said the boy; "my grandfather gave me all these things because he didn't need money any more." While the boy spoke, Blake noticed that he was looking at Nicholas Gayne's trunk. "Kind o' in the way, ain't it? That's a good place for yours to stand. We'll pull Mr. Gayne's trunk out here where I can pack it. He wants me to send him all his things." Bert's face looked as if sunlight suddenly struck it. It was as if now only he entirely credited the fact that there was nothing to apprehend in the way of a reckoning. "You are going to send all Uncle Nick's things to him?" "Yes, everything but you," replied Matt jocosely. "But I--I don't belong to him any more," explained Bert eagerly. "He gave me to--to the lawyer." "Good work," said Blake, and, lifting the lid of the old trunk, he fell to opening the dresser drawers. "Matt Blake," said Miss Burridge, "_will_ you tell me what has happened?" "Ever hear of Herbert Loring, one o' Boston's rich men? Well, he died suddenly and this boy's his grandson, and the lawyer has persuaded Mr. Gayne to take his hands off." As an addendum to his explanation, Matt bestowed upon Miss Burridge a wink which seemed to say: "More anon." "And Mr. Gayne isn't coming back?" asked Miss Burridge, sundry financial considerations occurring to her. "I guess he'll pay up all right," said Blake, reading her thought. "You make out what he owes. I'll see to it. Come on, Herbert Loring, help me to get your uncle's duds together so I won't be packing any o' yours." "That wouldn't make--make any difference," said the boy, "because Mrs. Lowell said for me not to wear them any more." And he turned to with a will, emptying dresser and closet while Matt packed.