“I cannot say the exact time,” cut in Ward; “and he won’t. But it was long enough ago to keep him in hot water month after month. You have been very liberal to him, I know, sir; but it has all gone that way. ‘Soldiers’ widows, soldiers’ children—they must be fed,’ he argues. ‘What if these things do plunge me in debt; if my uncle knew, he would not condemn me.’ “‘Then tell him,’ said I; ‘tell him at once, and relieve yourself from all embarrassment.’ “‘No,’ he said, ‘that would be making him responsible; that would be forcing my charities on him. Only help me, as a friend should, and I will find my way out of this trouble. He is generous—munificent—this good uncle of mine, let men say what they please. Some day he will give me all the money I want; and while he thinks that I spend it in extravagance, perhaps, I shall have the satisfaction of knowing where it goes, and who it helps.’ “The very day that your nephew told me this I lent him a thousand dollars; five hundred of that sum went for subscriptions in less than an hour. The rest would have been given to a family that composed the most touching picture of distress that I ever saw—but I prevented it. I would not let him go home penniless.” “Was it a tableau within the fair? Did an old woman—a lady, every inch of her—sit in the picture? Was there a young girl, and two boys—bright, handsome little fellows—crouching at her feet?” The old man asked these questions eagerly. His hand worked around the top of his staff; his eyes kindled under those bent brows. “Yes, sir. Yes, that is the very family.” “And you gave the father of this family a thousand dollars when he went to the wars, Gould?” Gould shook his head. “I did not say so, uncle. I never would have told you so.” Ward broke in upon him with breathless haste. “But he did it, sir—he did it.” “I saw this family. I was at the fair that night,” said the old man, with a touch of pathos in his voice. “Can you tell me where they live?” “No, I cannot. Doubtless they have been moving from place to place since then, as poverty sent them.” “But with that money they should not have been so poor,” said the old man with a return of keen intelligence. “But it did not go to them, sir,” said Ward, hastily. “This man Burns was deep in debt, and the money went to clear him.” “Ward! Ward!” exclaimed Gould, starting up; “this is too much. I will not permit it.” “Be silent, Gould!—be silent! I ought to know this. You should have told me yourself; perhaps I should have been glad to help you,” interposed the uncle, with strange gentleness in his voice. “I may condemn such extravagance as this. I do condemn and repudiate it utterly. Extravagance is always wicked, coarse, unbearable. I was angry——”