"No doubt he is a good boy, since his mother says so," reflected the doctor, "but I don't appreciate him. I will take care, however, that neither he nor his mother sees this."

When Peter heard his mother's encomium upon him, he laughed in his sleeve.

"I'll remind ma of that when she scolds me," he said to himself. "I'm glad Carl isn't coming back. He was always interferin' with me.

Now, if ma and I play our cards right we'll get all his father's money. Ma thinks he won't live long, I heard her say so the other day.

Won't it be jolly for ma and me to come into a fortune, and live just as we please! I hope ma will go to New York. It's stupid here, but I s'pose we'll have to stay for the present."

"Is Carl's letter private?" asked Mrs.

Crawford, after a pause.

"I--I think he would rather I didn't show it," returned her husband, remembering the allusion made by Carl to his stepmother.

"Oh, well, I am not curious," said Mrs.

Crawford, tossing her head.

None the less, however, she resolved to see and read the letter, if she could get hold of it without her husband's knowledge. He was so careless that she did not doubt soon to find it laid down somewhere. In this she proved correct. Before the day was over, she found Carl's letter in her husband's desk. She opened and read it eagerly with a running fire of comment.

"`Reasons which we both understand,'" she repeated, scornfully. "That is a covert attack upon me. Of course, I ought to expect that.

So he had a hard time. Well, it served him right for conducting himself as he did. Ah, here is another hit at me--`Yet I would rather do either than live in a home made unpleasant by the persistent hostility of one member.'

He is trying to set his father against me. Well, he won't succeed. I can twist Dr. Paul Crawford round my finger, luckily, and neither his son nor anyone else can diminish my influence over him."

She read on for some time till she reached this passage: "While my stepmother and Peter form a part of your family I can never live at home. They both dislike me, and I am afraid I return the feeling." "Thanks for the information," she muttered. "I knew it before. This letter doesn't make me feel any more friendly to you, Carl Crawford. I see that you are trying to ingratiate yourself with your father, and prejudice him against me and my poor Peter, but I think I can defeat your kind intentions."

She folded up the letter, and replaced it in her husband's desk.

"I wonder if my husband will answer Carl's artful epistle," she said to herself. "He can if he pleases. He is weak as water, and I will see that he goes no farther than words."

Dr. Crawford did answer Carl's letter. This is his reply:

"Dear Carl:--i am glad to hear that you are comfortably situated. I regret that you were so headstrong and unreasonable. It seems to me that you might, with a little effort, have got on with your stepmother. You could hardly expect her to treat you in the same way as her own son. He seems to be a good boy, but I own that I have never been able to become attached to him."

Carl read this part of the letter with satisfaction.

He knew how mean and contemptible Peter was, and it would have gone to his heart to think that his father had transferred his affection to the boy he had so much reason to dislike.

"I am glad you are pleased with your prospects. I think I could have done better for you had your relations with your stepmother been such as to make it pleasant for you to remain at home. You are right in thinking that I am interested in your welfare. I hope, my dear Carl, you will become a happy and prosperous man. I do not forget that you are my son, and I am still your affectionate father, "Paul Crawford."

Carl was glad to receive this letter. It showed him that his stepmother had not yet succeeded in alienating from him his father's affection.

But we must return to the point where we left Carl on his journey to Buffalo. He enjoyed his trip over the Central road during the hours of daylight. He determined on his return to make an all-day trip so that he might enjoy the scenery through which he now rode in the darkness.

At Buffalo he had no other business except that of Mr. Jennings, and immediately after breakfast he began to make a tour of the furniture establishments. He met with excellent success, and had the satisfaction of sending home some large orders. In the evening he took train for Niagara, wishing to see the falls in the early morning, and resume his journey in the afternoon.

He registered at the International Hotel on the American side. It was too late to do more than take an evening walk, and see the falls gleaming like silver through the darkness.

"I will go to bed early," thought Carl, "and get up at six o'clock."

He did go to bed early, but he was more fatigued than he supposed, and slept longer than he anticipated. It was eight o'clock before he came downstairs. Before going in to breakfast, he took a turn on the piazzas. Here he fell in with a sociable gentleman, much addicted to gossip.

"Good-morning!" he said. "Have you seen the falls yet?"

"I caught a glimpse of them last evening I am going to visit them after breakfast."

"There are a good many people staying here just now--some quite noted persons, too."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, what do you say to an English lord?" and Carl's new friend nodded with am important air, as if it reflected great credit on the hotel to have so important a guest.

"Does he look different from anyone else?" asked Carl, smiling.

"Well, to tell the truth, he isn't much to look at," said the other. "The gentleman who is with him looks more stylish. I thought he was the lord at first, but I afterwards learned that he was an American named Stuyvesant."

Carl started at the familiar name.

"Is he tall and slender, with side whiskers, and does he wear eyeglasses?" he asked, eagerly.

"Yes; you know him then?" said the other, in surprise.

"Yes," answered Carl, with a smile, "I am slightly acquainted with him. I am very anxious to meet him again."