"Selma," he said, "I've known ever since my wife and daughter died that I ought to make a will, but I kept putting it off until it has almost happened that everything I've got went to my next of kin--folk I'm fond of, too, and mean to remember--but not fond enough for that. If I give them fifty thousand dollars apiece--the three of them--I shall rest easy in my grave, even if they think they ought to have had a bigger slice. It's hard on a man who has worked all his days, and laid up close to a million of dollars, not to have a son or a daughter, flesh of my flesh, to leave it to; a boy or a girl given at the start the education I didn't get, and who, by the help of my money, might make me proud, if I could look on, of my name or my blood. It wasn't to be, and I must grin and bear it, and do the next best thing. I caught a glimpse of what that thing was soon after I lost my wife and daughter, and it was the thought of that more than anything which kept me from going crazy with despair. I'm a plain man, an uneducated man, but the fortune I've made has been made honestly, and I'm going to spend it for the good of the American people--to contribute my mite toward helping the cause of truth and good citizenship and free and independent ideas which this nation calls for. I'm going to give my money for benevolent uses." "Oh, Mr. Parsons," exclaimed Selma, clasping her hands, "how splendid! how glorious! How I envy you. It was what I hoped." "I knew you would be pleased. I've had half a mind once or twice to let the cat out of the bag, because I guessed it would be the sort of thing that would take your fancy; but somehow I've kept mum, for fear I might be taken before I'd been able to make a will. And then, too, I've been of several minds as to the form of my gift. I thought it would suit me best of all to found a college, and I was disappointed when I learned that neighbor Flagg had got the start of me with his seminary for women across the river. I wasn't happy over it until one night, just after the doctor had gone, the thought came to me, 'Why, not give a hospital?' And that's what it's to be. Five hundred thousand dollars for a free hospital in the City of Benham, in memory of my wife and daughter. That'll be useful, won't it? That'll help the people as much as a college? And, Selma," he added, cutting off the assuring answer which trembled on her tongue and blazed from her eyes, "I shan't forget you. After I'm gone you are to have twenty thousand dollars. That'll enable you, in case you don't marry, to keep a roof over your head without working too hard."