Aunt Azraella took the magic slip of paper her sister-in-law handed her. She nearly dropped it, and fell into a chair herself as she scanned it, catching her breath in the magnitude of her surprise. "Fifty thousand dollars! A check for fifty thousand! Mary, tell me this instant what this means," she gasped. "It means that our brave, wise Roberta was right; that the first offer was a dishonest one, and that through the old college mate of Sylvester's, the lawyer, to whom he was to have written himself for advice, Rob was brought to honest men, who have given us the real value of the patent," said Mrs. Grey. "It means that we are rich, Azraella, and that in the midst of our sorrow we have been freed from the corroding anxiety of poverty. And we owe it to Sylvester's years of visionary, impractical dreaming, which you so denounced, and to brave Rob's good judgment and firm purpose." For once Mrs. Winslow was silenced. At last she rallied. "It's more than wonderful, Mary," she said, "but who in the world could have foreseen it? Of course, I'm perfectly delighted. Roberta, I am truly surprised at you; I didn't think you had it in you. But I congratulate you, child, and I'm proud of you. There's nothing in all this world much better to have than a keen business sense, and judgment to know when you're right and to stick to it. I am proud of you. What are you going to do with the money, Mary? It's most important to invest it properly." "It will go to Mr. Baldwin, and he will invest it for us--he wrote me, offering to do this, yesterday," Mrs. Grey began, but Rob interrupted her with a glad cry. "Oh, Aunt Azraella, what do you think we are going to do? Right away--a check for it has already gone to the bank, for we received two thousand more than this big check." "Put up a fine stone to your father's memory," replied Mrs. Winslow, with a characteristic guess. "No, no--oh, no," cried Wythie, hastily, while Rob said: "Don't you see what it is? It is already practically done. We have paid the mortgage on the little grey house, and the dearest little old home in the world is all our own, free and all our own, once more. We shall get the papers in the morning." CHAPTER SEVENTEEN ITS SUNSHINE The long winter was past, and Fayre lay basking in the warmth of May. The little river reflected the bright green of its newly clad willows, through which gleams of sunshine, too warm for mortals, rejoiced the minnows darting through the shallows. The air was sweet with blossoms and tender verdure, and the song-birds filled it with rejoicing. It was impossible to be sad on such a day, and Wythie, Rob, and Prue, standing in the doorway of the little grey house, absorbing the beauty through every sense, felt their pulses thrill with young joy in living, like the May's.