In this state of mind he went home to his mother some time in October, and the season for city boarders at the Prospect House was over. The best china and linen were packed away. The silver forks and spoons were wrapped in the old shawl and hidden on the top shelf in Mrs. Taylor’s closet. The rooms in the west wing were scrubbed and aired and fumigated, and then shut up for the winter, and life at the Prospect House went on as usual, except in the office, where Jeff still was clerk, and where Uncle Zach missed Mark more and more every day. “I wonder that he don’t write. I’m owin’ him some wages and I want to hear from the boy,” he said. At last there came a letter, and, when Uncle Zacheus read it, he wished it had never come. A portion of it was as follows: “I was sorry to take French leave, as I did, but there was no alternative. Mrs. Tracy would never have given her consent, and we had to marry without it. Nor have we repented yet, and are as happy as two young people madly in love can be. I have some things in my room which I’d like you to send to the Sherman House, Chicago, where we are boarding at present, but we expect soon to go to housekeeping on Michigan Avenue. “And now I come to the real object of my letter. I want Jeff. I suppose I can claim him lawfully, but I’ll leave the decision to the boy himself. If you wish to keep him let him take his choice between you and me,—Ridgefield and Chicago. If he decides for me, send him on and pay the expense out of what you owe me. The rest you are to keep. I have no use for it. “With kindest regards to yourself and Mrs. Taylor, in which my wife joins, “Yours most sincerely, “MARK HILTON.” “Dot,” Uncle Zach called in a shaky voice, when he finished reading the letter; “Mark wants Jeff; read what he says.” She read it twice, and then sat very still, with her hands clasped hard on the arms of her chair. With all his faults she liked the boy, who of late had seemed so much improved and been so useful to them. Her liking was slight compared to that of her husband, whose face looked pinched and grey as they discussed the matter. “I s’pose we must let him choose,” Uncle Zach said, at last, and, calling Jeff to him, he told him what Mark had written. Jeff’s eyes were like saucers as he listened. He was greatly attached to Mark, and any dislike he had for Helen for the trick she had served Craig was overbalanced by Chicago. To live in a big city would be delightful. “I s’pose I’ll have to go, shan’t I?” he asked. “Oh, Jeff, and leave us alone!” Uncle Zach said, with so much genuine sorrow in his voice that Jeff began to waver. “I’d like to stay here first rate,” he said, “and I’d like Chicago, too. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, you and I. We’ll toss up a cent five times. I first, you second, and so on. If heads win, I go to Chicago; if tails win, I stay here. Do you agree?”