But ever since Westy and Roy Blakeley had tried to peek in through the keyhole of this closet to discover the skeleton there, the son of the house had looked upon it as a place of mystery. And though it had lost some of the glamor of romance as he had grown older, he knew that whatever was in it never came out. It was a tomb. CHAPTER XVIII A RAY OF SUNSHINE Mrs. Martin gave Westy about ten minutes to regain his poise and then followed him to his room where his open trunk stood in the middle of the floor. Westy was sitting on the bed and the oilcloth cover of his departed rifle lay like a snake upon the pretty bedspread. It was evident that when he had gone to his room to get the gun in obedience to his father’s demand, he had removed the cover to gaze at his treasure before handing it over. Mrs. Martin lifted the limp thing and hung it over the foot-board. “I’m going to ask him to put the gun in it,” Westy said wistfully. “I don’t think I would, dearie,” said his mother, sitting down on the bed beside him. “I think I just wouldn’t say any more about it; let the matter drop. If you speak to him again he will only flare up. Doris says she thinks some ancestor of his may have been killed by a rifle back in the dark ages; some cave man, that’s what she says. And she thinks the fear of guns is in your father’s blood. He’s very nervous about such things, dearie.” “They didn’t have rifles in the dark ages,” said Westy. “I know, but it’s just the way Doris talks; she’s very modern and independent. She shouldn’t say that a hundred dollars isn’t a great deal of money, for it is. Maybe it isn’t a great deal for Charlie Westcott and those friends of hers, but it’s a good deal for you, dear.” Westy sat on the edge of the bed half listening, his eyes brimming. And it is odd, when you come to think of it, that no one save a rough farm hand with an exceedingly varied and checkered career, had ever taken particular notice of a certain quality in those gray eyes. “Oh, my dear,” said Mrs. Martin with deep sympathy and affection, “I’m so sorry, so sorry for the whole thing. Your father should never have suggested your going to work on the farm. Now he says he never wants to hear the Yellowstone mentioned. Doris says she thinks we may have to take the yellow vase from the parlor because it will remind him of the Yellowstone——” “I don’t mind,” said Westy, getting command enough of himself to speak. “I had fun working and I don’t mind about the hundred dollars.” “And it was so noble and straightforward of you to tell your father what you had done. I told him if he had only given you a chance you might have explained. I told him that perhaps the deer was chasing you and intended to kill you.” Westy smiled ruefully. “Was it?” his mother ventured to ask. “No, deers don’t run after people,” Westy said. “Well, I don’t know anything about them,” said his mother resignedly.