Color streamed over the boy's face when he saw it. "It is--it is like one I lost," he said, and he held it between his hands, studying it. "You shall have this one, then," said Mr. Wrenn. "I was fond of your mother, Herbert." "They were angry with her," said the boy, and his lip quivered at some memory. "Yes, her father felt very badly because she went away from him, but he has gone to her now. Did you know that?" The boy lifted his eyes to the thin, kindly face. "No," he said. "Yes," went on Mr. Wrenn quietly. "Her father has gone to her in that pleasant world where she is." "I want to go," burst forth the boy, holding the picture tightly. "All in good time," returned the lawyer. "You have some work to do for her here first." "Do you mean--weed the garden?" "I mean quite a lot of very pleasant things. I'll tell you about them later." "But Uncle Nick won't--won't let me. He--I don't know whether I can hide this picture." A sudden panic seemed to seize the boy, and he looked toward the door. It was not possible that his uncle would not come in upon all these totally forbidden proceedings. "See here, Herbert,"--Mr. Wrenn leaned toward the lad, speaking very kindly. "I think it quite likely that you will never see your uncle again." Some thought made the boy's eyes dilate. "He hasn't--gone where--where my mother is--has he?" "No." "I'm--I'm glad. He'd--he'd spoil heaven," declared Bertie earnestly. Luther Wrenn nodded slowly. "An excellent description," he said. The three observers of the interview smiled. "Do you think you might adopt me in his place?" added the lawyer. "He--he wouldn't let me. He'll come," said the boy with conviction. "Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn, with reassuring calm, "I know more about this than you do. I talked with your uncle yesterday and I think he will give you to me." The boy's lips fell apart and he stared at the speaker gravely. "To me, and to Mrs. Lowell. How would you like that?" It was evident that this information could not be credited entirely, but the boy glanced around at Mrs. Lowell, who still sat close beside him, and she looked as if she believed this marvel. Unconsciously he pressed the picture against his breast. Luther Wrenn regarded the thin wrists and ankles protruding from the worn coat and trousers. "Have you your sketch of your mother?" asked Mrs. Lowell. "Will you show it to Mr. Wrenn?" The boy put his hand in a pocket and drew out the small folded square, and the lawyer felt some obstruction in his throat as he saw the worn tissue paper and the morsel of oiled silk being so tenderly unrolled. "When I lost the one like--like this, I tried to--to make another," the boy explained.