I didn't get much for it—only three dollars, but it would be as easy for me to take the church and move it across the street as to redeem it."
"You appear to have been unfortunate."
"Yes. Fortune and I are at odds. Yet I ought to have some money."
"How's that?"
"When my mother died uncle Silas acted as executor of her estate. It was always supposed that she had some money—probably from two to three thousand dollars—but when uncle Silas rendered in his account it had dwindled to one hundred and twenty-five dollars. Of course that didn't last me long."
"Do you think that he acted wrongfully?" asked Chester, startled.
"Do I think so? I have no doubt of it. You know money is his god."
"Yet to cheat his own nephew would be so base."
"Is there anything too base for such a man to do to get money?"
The young man spoke bitterly.
By this time they had reached Chester's home. His mother was still up. She looked up in surprise at her son's companion.
"Mother," said Chester, "this is Mr. Bruce. Do you think we can give him a bed?"
"Why, certainly," replied Mrs. Rand, cordially. "Have you had supper, sir?"
"I wouldn't like to trouble you, ma'am."
"It will be no trouble. I can make some tea in five minutes. Chester, take out the bread and butter and cold meat from the closet."
So before he went to bed the homeless wayfarer was provided with a warm meal, and the world seemed brighter and more cheerful to him.
CHAPTER IV.
A DYING GIFT
In the morning Walter Bruce came down to breakfast looking pale and sick. He had taken a severe cold from scanty clothing and exposure to the winter weather.
"You have a hard cough, Mr. Bruce," said Mrs. Rand, in a tone of sympathy.
"Yes, madam; my lungs were always sensitive."
When breakfast was over he took his hat and prepared to go.
"I thank you very much for your kind hospitality," he began. Then he was attacked by a fit of coughing.
"Where are you going. Mr. Bruce?" asked Chester.
"I don't know," he answered, despondently. "I came to Wyncombe to see my uncle Silas, but he will have nothing to say to me."
Chester and his mother exchanged looks. The same thought was in the mind of each.
"Stay with us a day or two," said Mrs. Rand. "You are not fit to travel. You need rest and care."
"But I shall be giving you a great deal of trouble."
"We shall not consider it such," said Mrs. Rand.
"Then I will accept your kind offer, for indeed I am very unwell."
Before the end of the day the young man was obliged to go to bed, and a doctor was summoned. Bruce was pronounced to have a low fever, and to be quite unfit to travel.
Mrs. Rand and Chester began to feel anxious. Their hearts were filled with pity for the young man, but how could they bear the expense which this sickness would entail upon them?
"Silas Tripp is his uncle," said Mrs. Rand. "He ought to contribute the expense of his sickness."
"I will go and see him," said Chester. So he selected a time when business would be slack in the store, and called in. He found Mr. Trip in a peevish mood.
"How are you, Chester?" he said. "I wish you was back."
"Why, Mr. Tripp? You've got Abel Wood in my place."
"He ain't of much account," grumbled Silas. "What do you think he done this mornin'?"
"I don't know, sir."
"He smashed two dozen eggs, and eggs twenty-two cents a dozen. But I'll take it out of his salary. He's dreadful awkward, that boy!"
"Poor Abel!" thought Chester. "I am afraid he won't have much salary coming to him at the end of the week."
"You never broke no eggs while you was here, Chester."
"No; I don't think I did."
"You'd ought to have stayed."
"I couldn't stay on the salary you offered. But, Mr. Tripp, I've come here on business."
"Hey? What about?"
"Your nephew, Walter Bruce, is staying at our house."
"Is he?" returned Silas Tripp, indifferently.
"And he is sick."
"I don't feel no interest in him," said Silas, doggedly.
"Are you willing to pay his expenses? He has no money."
"No, I ain't," snarled Silas. "Ef you take him you take him at your own risk."
"You wouldn't have us turn him into the street?" said Chester, indignantly.
"You can do as you like. It ain't no affair of mine. I s'pose he sent you here."
"No, he didn't; and I wouldn't have come if we had been better fixed. But we haven't enough money to live on ourselves."
"Then tell him to go away. I never wanted him to come to Wyncombe."
"It seems to me you ought to do something for your own nephew."
"I can't support all my relations, and I won't," said Silas, testily. "It ain't no use talkin'. Walter Bruce is shif'less and lazy, or he'd take care of himself. I ain't no call to keep him."
"Then you won't do anything for him? Even two dollars a week would help him very much."
"Two dollars a week!" ejaculated Silas. "You must think I am made of money. Why, two dollars a week would make a hundred and four dollars a year."
"That wouldn't be much for a man of your means, Mr. Tripp."
"You talk foolish, Chester. I have to work hard for a livin'. If I helped all my shif'less relations I'd end my days in the poorhouse."
"I don't think you'll go there from that cause," Chester could not help saying.
"I guess not. I ain't a fool. Let every tub stand on its own bottom, I say. But I won't be too hard. Here's twenty-five cents," and Silas took a battered quarter from the money drawer.
"Take it and use it careful."
"I think we will try to get along without it," said Chester, with a curl of the lip. "I'm afraid you can't afford it."
"Do just as you like," said Silas, putting back the money with a sigh of relief, "but don't say I didn't offer to do something for Walter."
"No;
