Sanford, The Vicarage, Truckleford, Hants, England. Philip took out the letter and read:

"MY DEAR COUSIN:

"Since my long letter of a few days ago my son, the bearer, whom I have so often described that you must feel as if you knew him, has returned from the West, where his success has been such that he can afford the trip to Europe which I might not give him myself as I wished after his graduation from college. My first thought on learning the news was that you should see him and that he should pay his respects to you.

"I only hope that you may see your way clear to return with him for a visit, which would bring you here in time for our sweet corn season and the autumn colouring.

"My wife's recipe for strawberry shortcake is enclosed, and if strawberries are still in season with you it is possible for you to enjoy this American institution at home. I shall send you another Virginia ham in the autumn, unless you will come to fetch it yourself.

"With my regards to your Mrs. Sanford, in which my Mrs. Sanford joins, I am,

"Sincerely yours,
    "FRANKLIN SANFORD.

"P. S. I think you will find that our Philip has a sense both of humour and of proportion. If there be any fault to his manners, they come from his father and not his mother, who has done her best to bring us both up properly."

The Reverend Arthur, of England, was about the sixteenth cousin of the Reverend Franklin. Of course the progenitor of the family came over with William the Conqueror, whose transports seem to have been as overcrowded as the Mayflower. But this did not concern Philip, particularly not while he was in Mexico.

"You may meet two other cousins, the Ribots," said Dr. Sanford, "younger and more interesting to you, perhaps, than the vicar of Truckleford."

"Yes, I remember something about them." Philip was more hazy than ever about genealogy since he had been in the Southwest. "Girls, and about my age, aren't they?"

"Yes. Henriette is about two years and Helen one year younger than you. They have French, English, and American blood. One of their grandfathers was French and the other English, which is where the Sanford comes in, and one of the grandmothers was an American, on their mother's side, and married a Frenchman. They live in France and are very French. You will find the vicar of Truckleford very English."

"That, I believe, is a characteristic of the English!" said Phil.

"You will have a chance to see a real English home. It was June when I was there, too."

Dr. Sanford fell into reminiscence about his own trip of thirty years ago, until he was interrupted by the arrival of Phil's trunk.

"In the guest room," said the mother, coming in from the kitchen.

"My own old room!" urged Phil, and she capitulated joyously.

Her call came up the stairs when dinner was ready as it had a thousand times. The cloth was laid on the side veranda, with the setting sun their candelabra and their champagne the rare New England air, which makes one live an hour in a minute. It is not for history to say how much shortcake Phil ate. Jane wondered if he had had anything to eat all the time he had been away. He and his mother did the talking, while Dr. Sanford listened. The twilight still held when a motor came up the drive.

"Peter! I was sure he'd call as soon as he heard you were here," said the mother.

The nervous little man who came around the corner of the house gave every sign of surprise at seeing Philip, though his dry, "Back, eh?" as he shook hands with Phil was hardly effusive. But Peter was not given to effusion about anything except his own projects, and they were so interesting that he could never change the subject. He was off about the clubhouse as soon as he sat down, directing his talking to Dr. and Mrs. Sanford and quite overlooking Phil's presence.

"System is the great thing, system without sentiment!" he began, in his pet phrase; "systematic economy of space, time, energy, and money, which means more money. Got the question of baths settled for my clubhouse. Showers—no waste, no favouritism. You put two cents in the slot and you get three quarts hot for soaping and another cent and you get three gallons cold for shower. Those that don't want to soap pay only one cent. Get it? Those that take only the cold don't have to pay for heating for the others. Everybody pays for what he gets—-justice, equality, democracy, and the square deal for all. Those that don't bathe often can put in another two cents and get six quarts for soaping, without sponging on the fellows that bathe every day. Anybody that wants to remain dirty—individual rights respected. Took the idea to one of those scientific socialist professors and he thought it was all right, only, so far as I could make out from his rigmarole, he thought the State ought to put the cents in the slot and the employers earn the cents for the State. I told him Peter Smithers wasn't any socialist; he didn't believe in a pap-fed proletariat. Now, take another thing—I tell you I'm giving a lot of thought to this——"

"Have you laid the cornerstone of the clubhouse yet?" Phil asked.

"Young man, if you knew me well you'd know I never go off half-cocked. If they don't raise the tariff there won't be any cents to put in the slots. I'll have to close the works. Hear you're going to Europe? Hear they've promoted you and brought you to the New York office?" he inquired more affably, as if something were due to Phil, whom he had regarded sharply, without pretending to, in intervals between sentences.

"And he showed how willing he was to begin at the bottom by what do you think?—by cleaning out cattle cars!" put in Mrs. Sanford, striving for reconciliation.

"I thought he would have to come off his high horse before he could earn a living," Peter replied, feeling himself vindicated.

"No, it's a part of the initiation," said Phil softly, "for youngsters who are taken on by that railroad after they leave college. I expected it and I've had my revenge by setting other graduate engineers at it myself. And, Uncle Peter," Phil was smiling and showing a row of well-set teeth through his tan, "let's you and I understand each other and be friends. Perhaps you think that I sometimes think that you'll leave your fortune to me. I know that you will not. Of course, I should like it, but there's no reason why you should give it to me more than to any one else. All I ask is an invitation to the clubhouse when it's dedicated. Why, if I had gone to work for you I might have been thinking that I might inherit something and you might have known I was thinking that, which would have been most uncomfortable for both of us. Then if the tariff had ruined the business and you had lost everything, consider how disappointed I would be and what heartbreak the knowledge of my disappointment would be to you in your poverty!"

Peter grew red during a silence which was broken by the sound of a chuckle. Evidently Dr. Sanford had seen something in the garden that amused him, for he was looking in that direction. Mrs. Sanford was aghast.

"Of all the nerve!" exclaimed Peter. "I tell you I'm not used to having anybody talk to me that way! It's a d——"

"Go ahead, Peter!" remarked Dr. Sanford suavely. "It's just as bad to think it. If you say one hard you may not have a dozen pent-up ones against you on Judgment Day."

"There seems no pleasing you!" Peter blurted incontinently to Phil.

"Then do you want me to hover about and play the good young man and agree with everything you say, hoping you will mention me in your will?"

"I—I want you to shut up!" snapped Peter. "Or, you can keep on talking if you want to, as it's time for me to go!" and he took his injured dignity down the walk to his waiting car.

After he had gone Dr. Sanford gave his chuckle such full vent that it broke into an explosion little short of a snort.

"I suppose there is something of the