When Bernard left the cars and stepped on the platform of the Doncaster station, he saw Freedom Wentworth preparing to drive away on a store wagon. “Give me a ride, Freed?” said Bernard.

Freedom Wentworth turned quickly, and seemed at first in doubt. Then he said, as his face lighted up, “Why, it’s Bernard Brooks.”

“The same, Freed. Shall I have the ride?”

“Yes, jump up. Why, you’re looking fine. Where do you want to go?”

“To see my old friend, Professor Snowdon. How is he?”

“He isn’t flourishing. He has lost half his scholars, and looks awfully shabby. Are you going to enter his school again?”

“Not much!”

“What are you doing? Are you working?”

“I am living on my money.”

“So am I,” said Freedom, who thought it a good joke.

“But I am really. I have fifteen thousand dollars.”

“You don’t say! I won’t tell you how much I have, but it isn’t quite so much. Where did you get it?”

“I will tell you later. But who is that ahead of us? Isn’t it Nat Barclay?”

“Yes.”

“Nat!” called out Bernard.

Nat turned and eyed Bernard at first doubtfully. Then he looked overjoyed as he recognized his friend. He jumped into the wagon, and squeezing in between him and Freedom began to ply him with questions.

When they reached the Snowdon Institute Bernard jumped down.

“I’ll see you later, Nat,” he said.

“Come round to dinner, Bernard.”

“I will.”

Bernard plied the knocker at Professor Snowdon’s front door. Clad in a ragged dressing-gown the professor came to answer it. Being shortsighted he didn’t at once recognize Bernard.

“Have you business with me, young gentleman?” he said respectfully, noticing Bernard’s handsome attire.

“You don’t seem to recognize me, professor.”

“Have I seen you before?”,

“I am Bernard Brooks.”

“Is it possible! You—you seem to be prosperous.”

“Yes, Professor Snowdon, the world has used me fairly well of late.”

“I am so glad to hear it,” said the tutor gushingly. “I always thought that you’d get along in business. You are in business, aren’t you?”

“To a certain extent, yes,” replied Bernard. “I have fallen heir to some fifteen thousand dollars.”

“You don’t tell me! Dear me, how fortunate! Do you wish to return to the institute?”

“No, I think not. I shall live in New York for the present.”

“I will take you cheap—very cheap! I always liked you, Bernard Brooks,” and the professor squeezed Bernard’s hand between his bony fingers.

“I am glad to hear it, but I thought you didn’t. You used to call me a bad lot.”

“A little harmless joke. I didn’t mean it. Here, Septimus!”

Septimus came from the street, eying Bernard with curiosity.

“Septimus,” said his father, “this is our old and favorite pupil, Bernard Brooks.”

“How do you do, Bernard?” said Septimus, looking surprised.

“Very well, thank you!”

“Why, you’re rigged out in tip-top style!” went on Septimus, enviously.

“Septimus,” said his father, “you will be glad to hear that our dear young friend has come into a fortune.”

“Is that straight?” asked Septimus.

“A small fortune,” said Bernard, “but I think I shall get my father’s money besides soon. I am having negotiations with Mr. McCracken.”

“Won’t you come back here to live?” asked Septimus. “We’ll have awful good times together.”

“Yes,” said the professor, “Septimus always loved you like a brother.”

“Yes, I did,” affirmed Septimus.

“It is pleasant to find you so glad to see me,” said Bernard, smiling. “I am afraid I can’t stay, though. My friend, Mr. Cunningham of London, can’t spare me. We shall stay in New York for the present.”

“May I come to visit you?” asked Septimus.

“I am not sure that it would be convenient, but if you wish to make a trip to New York on your own account, this will help you to do it,” and Bernard produced a five-dollar bill, which Septimus seized with avidity.

Later in the day Bernard called on Nat Barclay, and insisted on taking him to New York for a few days.

“You were my friend when I needed one, Nat. Now I have more than I want. Septimus and his father seem devoted to me.”

“It is the way of the world,” said Mr. Barclay. “Great is the power of money!”

It is not necessary to follow Bernard further. He is at present connected with Princeton College, and I hear is the captain of the football team. When he has completed his education he will make a tour round the world with Mr. Cunningham. Even Professor Snowdon does not now call him a bad lot, but speaks of him with pride as “my distinguished and favorite pupil.”

“I wonder if the professor remembers when he chased me through the barn with a horsewhip,” Bernard says to himself, with a smile. “I wasn’t his favorite pupil then.”

THE END.