“Try to get around it by telling them that I’m not the heir but mother. I suppose that’s kind of mean, too, for I know she hates to be spoken to about it as much as I do.” The Pells were the observed of all observers at the funeral. Eva had declared at first that she thought they ought not to go. “We’ll just make a show of ourselves,” she said. “It was very unfortunate all this got out before Mr. Tyler was buried.” But Mrs. Pell announced that respect for the dead demanded their presence, so they went. Every one remarked on the pallor of Sydney. His mother had worried over it considerably. “You must be the first to take advantage of our altered circumstances, my dear boy,” she had told him. “I want you to give up work for a while and go away for a good long rest.” “Oh, no, no!” he cried out in such terror that the poor woman was startled. He noticed it and tried to smile as he went on: “Of course all this business about the Tyler will has been an extra strain on me, but that will soon be off now. It is you and the children who must benefit by the money that has come so unexpectedly. You will make me, oh, so much happier, if you will not count me in on it. You will not need my help now, and my income will be abundant for my own wants.” Seeing that he felt so strongly on the matter, Mrs. Pell said no more at the time, but she often thought of that talk later and shivered as she recalled it. CHAPTER X ROY MAKES A NEW ACQUAINTANCE It was just a month after our story opened that July afternoon. Roy was fishing from the tree trunk over the creek again, but he was alone this time and the expression on his face was almost as discontented as Reginald’s had been on that former occasion. His float bobbed under two or three times, but he paid no attention to the fact. He was too deeply absorbed in thought. Now and then he would glance up at the trestle far above him, and something very like a sigh would pass his lips. There was a snapping of twigs on the Marley end of the log and Roy turned his head quickly to find a young man regarding him attentively. He might have been anywhere from twenty-five to thirty. He had a small brown mustache and rather a dark complexion. He held a small oblong box in both his hands. Roy at once recognized it as a camera and realized at the same instant that it was pointed at him. As their eyes met, the stranger flushed slightly, but said in a pleasant voice: “I hope you don’t mind being taken?” Roy did mind. He was in a mood just now to object to everything, but the other’s voice was such an agreeable one, the glance of his eye so kindly that the boy’s real self came to the surface through his temporarily baser one, and he replied: “Oh, I s’pose not, but I haven’t got the pleasant look the photographers tell you to put on. Aren’t you afraid I’ll break your camera?”