Luther Wrenn put on his eye-glasses and examined the little sketch. He looked at Mrs. Lowell and nodded. "Save this," he said to the boy. "Go on being careful of it, for you will always be glad you made it, but you need never hide anything again. Do you understand that? We will get a case for this photograph so you can carry it in your pocket, and I can have an enlargement made of it so you can have it framed on your wall." "I haven't--haven't any money," said Bertie, overwhelmed by these novel prospects, and convinced that this kindly visitor must be laboring under some great delusion. "I just have--have one cent, but--but I have to give that to--to Mr. Barrison if Uncle Nick doesn't--doesn't beat me. He bet me a thousand dollars." Luther Wrenn gave a queer broken sort of laugh and wiped his eye-glasses. "Mr. Barrison has won," he said. "Always pay your debts, Herbert." "Do you mean I--I shall give him the cent?" "Your last cent, yes. He was right, you see, and it belongs to him." The boy took out the penny and, rising gravely, crossed to Philip and proffered the coin. Philip accepted it and bowed. "You are an honorable gentleman," he said. Bert returned quickly to his chair and again possessed himself of the picture which he had given Mrs. Lowell to hold during the financial transaction. "Now, Herbert," said Mr. Wrenn slowly, "I see that you were thinking that photograph cases and frames cost money. You will be glad to know that your grandfather--your mother's father, who has now gone to her--has left you some of his money. If you think of anything especial that you would like to have while you are here in Boston, you can buy it." No one present ever forgot the boy's face as he spoke, looking up into the lawyer's eyes. "A pencil?" he said. Luther Wrenn nodded and swallowed again. "Yes, pencils, paper, sketch-blocks, brushes, paints, anything you want. Just tell Mr. Barrison. I think he will take you out presently and get you the clothes you need--" The boy looked down over his old suit, quite dazed, and more than ever certain that all this must be a dream and that he should waken on his cot at the island and find the familiar dark face bending over him and some greeting, like "Get up, stupid," assailing his ears. But he did not waken. Mrs. Lowell put her arm around his shoulders and gave him a little squeeze, and when he looked up he found her smiling at him. Mr. Wrenn addressed her. "The more I see of the boy, the more I recognize a resemblance to his mother." He rose and crossed to Philip, who got to his feet. "Mr. Barrison, we are greatly indebted to you, and we wish to be more so. Can you oblige us by dressing this young client of mine this afternoon?" "Delighted," replied Philip. "What has he brought with him?" "A brush and comb and toothbrush, all veterans, and all wounded."