Philip called at the hotel, and inquired, with considerable confidence, if "Mr. Congreve" was in.

"He has not returned," answered the landlord.

"Then he won't be back to-night," said Philip, feeling considerably disappointed.

"No; the last train is in."

"I wonder if he had any trouble in selling the bonds," thought Philip; but this thought was one to which he didn't think it prudent to give expression.

He walked home slowly, while Colonel Ross kept on his way to the modest home of the Gilberts. We will precede him.

The little family was gathered in the plain sitting-room. There were but three--Mrs. Gilbert, Harry and Uncle Obed.

The old man--to begin with the oldest first--was sitting in a rocking chair, with his hands folded in his lap, and an expression of placid contentment on his face. He had reached the age when rest is agreeable, and was satisfied to sit through the evening, now watching Harry or his mother, and now occupied with thoughts of earlier days and distant scenes. He was thoroughly satisfied with the new home he had found, plain and humble though it was. Indeed, perhaps, for that very reason, it suited him better.

Mrs. Gilbert was sewing. She had time enough to sew for some of her neighbors, and in that way earned a moderate sum for herself, though, as the family was now situated, she could have dispensed with it.

Harry was reading a "Life of Benjamin Franklin," which he had taken from the Sunday school library, and was evidently deeply interested in it.

"What are you reading, Harry?" asked the old man, after a while.

"Franklin's life, Uncle Obed."

"You couldn't read anything better. Old Ben is a good model for American boys. He was a great man."

"So he was, Uncle Obed; and he began poor, too."

"Sarten, sarten! Poor boys make the smartest men--that's my observation."

"Then I've got one thing in my favor," said Harry, smiling.

"And you will succeed, too; I make no doubt of it. You've made a pretty good beginning already."

"Thank you, Uncle Obed, for your favorable opinion. I hope I shall deserve it."

"You're worth half a dozen boys like Philip Ross. I reckon he'll never amount to much."

"He doesn't think so," said Harry, smiling. "He thinks himself a very important character."

"Like enough! He looks like it. He doesn't care to own me as a relation."

"It would be different if you were rich, Uncle Obed."

"Mebbe so. I think so myself. Thank the Lord, I ain't beholden to him or his family for any favors. They wanted to send me home to Illinoy. I was too unfashionable for them, I expect, but I've found a home--yes, I've found a good home."

"I am glad we succeeded in making it comfortable for you, Mr. Wilkins," said Mrs. Gilbert, looking up from her sewing.

"You do, ma'am," said the old man. "I ain't been so well taken care of for years as I am now. I wish I could do something to show my gratitude."

"The money you pay us is of great service. It makes the largest part of our income. I am only afraid you pay too much."

"No, I don't," said Uncle Obed. "Money isn't of much vally, compared with a good home. If I ain't as rich as my niece, I can afford to pay fair board. When a man's turned seventy, as I have, the best money can do for him is to give him a happy home."

Mrs. Gilbert and Harry were pleased to find their boarder so contented. The money he paid weekly, with unvarying punctuality, made things easy for the widow, and relieved her of the anxiety which she had constantly felt before his arrival.

The conversation above recorded was scarcely over, when a knock was heard at the front door--a sharp, peremptory knock--as of one who demanded admittance, rather than requested it.

All looked up, with some surprise, for it was now eight o'clock, and they did not often have evening callers.

"I will go to the door, mother," said Harry. "You need not interrupt your sewing."

So Harry opened the outer door, and, considerably to his surprise, saw standing on the step the dignified figure of Colonel R............