diffused about the store, and the tramp sniffed it in eagerly. It stimulated his desire to indulge his craving for drink. As Ernest, with the bottle in his hand, prepared to leave, the tramp addressed him.
"Say, young feller, ain't you goin' to shout?"
"What do you mean?"
"Ain't you goin' to treat me and this gentleman?" indicating Luke Robbins.
"No," answered Ernest, shortly. "I don't buy it as drink, but as medicine."
"I need medicine," urged the tramp, with a smile.
"I don't," said the hunter. "Don't you bother about us, my boy. If we want whisky we can buy it ourselves."
"I can't," whined the tramp. "If I had as much money as you,"–for he had noticed that Ernest had changed a gold piece–"I'd be happy, but I'm out of luck."
Ernest paid no attention to his words, but left the store, and struck the path homeward.
"Who's that boy?" asked the tramp.
"It's Ernest Ray."
"Where'd he get that gold?"
"He lives with his uncle, a mile from the village."
"Is his uncle rich?"
"Folks think so. They call him a miser."
"Is he goin' to die?"
"That's what the boy says."
"And the boy'll get all his money?"
"It's likely."
"I'd like to be his guardian."
Joe and Luke Robbins laughed. "You'd make a pretty guardian," said Luke.
"I won't get it," said the tramp, mournfully. "I never had no luck."
CHAPTER II.
A DEATHBED REVELATION
Ernest made the best of his way home, for he knew his uncle would be waiting for him.
The old man's eyes were closed, but he opened them when Ernest entered the room.
"Was I gone long?" asked the boy.
"I don't know. I think I fell asleep."
"Shall I give you some of the drink?"
"Yes."
He drank a small amount, and it seemed to brighten him up so much that Ernest said, "You look better, Uncle Peter. You may live some time."
Peter shook his head.
"No, boy," he replied; "my time has come to die. I know it. I would like to live for your sake. You will miss me when I am gone, Ernest?"
"Yes, uncle, I shall miss you very much."
The old man seemed gratified. Ernest was the only one he cared for in all the world.
"I don't care so much about dying, but I am anxious for you. I wish I had money to leave you, Ernest, but I haven't much."
"I am young and strong. I can get along."
"I hope so. You will go away from here."
"Yes, uncle. I don't think I shall care to stay here after you are gone."
"You will need money to take you away."
"There is a little more in the trunk."
"But only a little. It is not quite all I have. I have a hundred dollars in gold laid away for you."
Ernest looked surprised.
"I must tell you where it is while I still have life. Do you remember the oak tree on the little knoll half a mile away?"
"Yes, I know it."
"Dig under that tree five feet in a westerly direction. There is a wooden box about half a foot below the surface of the earth. There's nothing to mark the spot, for it was buried a year since, and the grass has grown over it, hiding all traces of the earth's being disturbed. After I am gone go there and get the money."
"Yes, uncle."
"Don't let any one see you when you visit the spot. It will be best to go at night. There are evil-disposed men who would rob you of it if they had the chance. I am sorry it is so little, Ernest."
"But it seems to me a good deal."
"To a boy it may seem so. Once I thought I might have a good deal more to leave you. Go to the trunk and search till you find a paper folded in an envelope, and inscribed with your name."
"Shall I search now?"
"Yes."
Ernest went to the trunk, and followed the old man's directions. He found the envelope readily, and held it up.
"Is that it, uncle?"
"Yes. Put it in your pocket, and read it after I am gone. Then be guided by circumstances. It may amount to something hereafter."
"Very well, uncle."
"I have told you, Ernest, that I do not expect to live long. I have a feeling that twenty-four hours from now I shall be gone."
"Oh, no, uncle, not so soon!" exclaimed Ernest, in a shocked tone.
"Yes, I think so. If you have any questions to ask me while I yet have life, ask, for it is your right."
"Yes, Uncle Peter, I have long wished to know something about myself. Have I any relatives except you?"
"I am not your relative," answered the old man slowly.
Ernest was amazed.
"Are you not my uncle?" he asked.
"No; there is no tie of blood between us."
"Then how does it happen that we have lived together so many years?"
"I was a servant in your father's family. When your father died, the care of you devolved upon me."
"Where was I born?"
"In a large town in the western part of New York State. Your grandfather was a man of wealth, but your father incurred his displeasure by his marriage to a poor but highly-educated and refined girl. A cousin of your father took advantage of this and succeeded in alienating father and son. The estate that should have descended to your father was left to the cousin."
"Is he still living?"
"Yes."
"But my father died?"
"Yes; he had a fever, which quickly carried him off when you were five years of age."
"Was he very poor?"
"No; he inherited a few thousand dollars from an aunt, and upon this he
