One day, in looking over his trunk, Scott\'s eye fell on the sealed packet, referred to at the opening of this story, which was inscribed:

For my Son.
To be opened a year from my death.

Singularly, the next day would be the anniversary of his father\'s passing away.

Scott had been so busy that he had given little thought to this packet. Now his interest was excited, and the next day he broke the seal, and read the letter which it contained.

It ran thus:

    "My Dear Scott: When you open this packet twelve months will have passed, and I hope you will be in a position to live comfortably on your earnings. I assume that you will be in the employ of Ezra Little, who I understand is well to do, and who will not, I think, turn his back upon a needy relative.

    [Pg 297]

    "You will find nothing in this letter that will provide for your future prospects. Indeed, I wish to pass on to you a debt which I am unable to pay.

    "During early manhood, I received many favors from a young man named Robert Kent, who afterward emigrated to America. I heard a report two years since that he had been unfortunate, and that his family was suffering. I should like to be able to help him in memory of the past, but my life is nearing the end. Should you ever fall in with Mr. Kent or his family, if you can do anything for them on your father\'s account, I shall be very glad. It may seem strange that I give you this legacy of duty, considering that I leave you well-nigh penniless, but I have confidence that sooner or later you will succeed, and I hope you may be in a position to help my early friend or his family.

    "The only clew I can give you as to my old friend\'s whereabouts is, that he was an artist by profession, and that he went to New York. Probably, if living, he is in that city, or near it. You may not be in a position to help him, but I should like to have you make his acquaintance, and tell him that I have not forgotten him or his past kindness."

[Pg 298]

There was something more, but this was the substance of the letter. It was sufficient to interest Scott greatly.

"I wish I could find my father\'s friend," he reflected. "Though but a year has passed, I am amply able to pay the debt which my poor father owed. It would be pleasant, besides, to see one of his friends."

Naturally, Scott\'s first reference was to the New York directory. He found numerous Kents, but none that seemed likely to be Robert Kent. There was no artist of that name included in the list.

He thought of advertising, but this would involve a greater degree of publicity than he desired, and might lead to attempted imposture.

A month passed, and Scott was as perplexed as ever. To seek for any particular man in a crowded city like New York was like seeking a needle in a haystack. Besides, he might have left New York and gone to some other city, perhaps to the West.

Yet the man of whom he was in search was, at that very moment, occupying a shabby lodging on Bleecker Street, with his wife and two children. Moreover, his son, a boy a few months younger than Scott, was employed by Ezra Little, in his[Pg 299] Eighth Avenue store, at a salary of three dollars a week.

Let us look in upon the Kents in their humble home.

The apartments consisted of three rooms, after the usual fashion of New York tenements. In the one large room, sitting in a big rocking-chair, was a man of middle age, with an expression of pain upon his delicate and refined features. He had been for some time the victim of a rheumatic affection which at times prevented him from working.

At half-past six the door opened, and a slender, dark-haired boy entered the room.

"How do you feel, father?" asked the boy, with a glance of sympathy toward his suffering parent.

"No better, Harold. It is very trying to be tied hand and foot by pain when I ought to be at work."

"If your father would worry less," said Mrs. Kent, a pleasant-looking woman, somewhat younger than her husband, "he would be more likely to get well."

"How can I help worrying, Clara? We are barely able to live when I can work. Now, with only Harold\'s wages coming in, it is difficult to tell how we shall come out. Did you ask Mr. Little if he would raise you, Harold?"

[Pg 300]

"Yes, father; but he only shook his head, and told me he could get plenty of boys at the wages he paid me, and perhaps for less."

"Yet he is rich," said Mr. Kent, bitterly. "He and his can live on the fat of the land."

"Has he a son?" asked Mrs. Kent.

"Yes, mother. He has one son—Loammi."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, a little."

"What sort of a boy is he?"

"He is the most disagreeable boy I ever met When he comes to the store he struts throu............