I've wanted to ask you something ever
since you told me you had left Abner Adams. It's rather a
personal question."
The lad nodded.
"Did your uncle send you away without any money?"
"Of course. Why should he have given me anything so long as I
was going to leave him?"
"Did you ever hear him say that your mother had left a little
money with him before she died--money that was to be used for
your education as long as it lasted?"
Phil straightened up slowly, his axe falling to the ground, an
expression of surprise appeared in his eyes.
"My mother left money--for me, you say?" he wondered.
"No, Phil, I haven't said so. I asked you if Abner had ever said
anything of the sort?"
"No. Do you think she did?"
"I'm not saying what I think. I wish I was a man; I'd read old
Abner Adams a lecture that he wouldn't forget as long as he
lives."
Phil smiled indulgently.
"He's an old man, Mrs. Cahill. He's all crippled up with
rheumatism, and maybe he's got a right to be cranky--"
"And to turn his own sister's child outdoors, eh? Not by a long
shot. Rheumatics don't give anybody any call to do any such a
thing as that.
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