When the stage which conveyed John and Mr. Huxter was fairly out of sight Mrs. Oakley entered the house with a great feeling of relief. She realized for the first time how she had been constrained by the presence of her stepson. Though he had always been respectful, there was an unuttered reproach in his frank, fearless glance, which made her uncomfortable. It was the tribute which a mean and wicked nature pays to one of greater nobility, though Mrs. Oakley did not acknowledge that. She only felt glad that John was out of the way.

She had been so fearful that something might happen to prevent the success of her plan, that she had been careful not to make Ben acquainted with it. She was apprehensive that Ben would, in his exultation, lead John to suspect what was going on, and so cause him to refuse going. Now that he was fairly off she would tell her son the good news.

Ben came down to breakfast late. He generally had his way now, and was seldom present at the regular breakfast hour. It was different when Squire Oakley was alive; but then many other things were different also.

"Benjamin is delicate," she said, one morning in presence of the servant. "He needs more sleep than the rest of us."

"Maybe it's smoking cigars makes him delicate," suggested the servant, who did not particularly admire Ben, or care to join his mother in making allowances for him.

Her mistress silenced her with some asperity; but nevertheless took an opportunity to speak to Ben on the subject. But that young gentleman only laughed at her remonstrances.

"It does me good, mother," he said. "I always feel better after smoking a good cigar."

"It seems to me you are growing pale," said Mrs. Oakley, whose heart was full of tenderness where Ben was concerned.

"That's all nonsense," said Ben. "I'm not as red as a beet, and I don't want to be. But as to being pale, I'm healthy enough. Don't worry yourself."

With this Mrs. Oakley had to be contented, for Ben, though a coward with his equals, had sense enough to take advantage of his mother's weak partiality, and take his own way.

When Ben came down to breakfast on the morning of his uncle's departure, he said in an indifferent tone:—

"Has that man gone?"

"Do you refer to your uncle, Benjamin?" asked Mrs. Oakley, not altogether pleased to hear Mr. Huxter spoken of in that style, though she felt no very warm attachment for him herself.

"I mean Mr. Huxter," said Ben, carelessly, breaking an egg as he spoke.

"He is your uncle."

"I don't mean to call him so. I'm ashamed of the relationship."

"He is my brother."

"That's your misfortune," said Ben. "All I know is, that I hope he won't darken our doors again."

"What have you against him?"

"He's a coarse, low man. He isn't a gentleman. You're a rich woman now, mother. You'd better cut his acquaintance. He won't do us any credit. You haven't invited him to come again, I hope."

"I don't think he will come again very soon."

"He'd better not. How can you expect people to forget that you were the late Mr. Oakley's house-keeper if you show them such a man as that as your brother?"

This argument had weight with Mrs. Oakley. She wanted to be looked upon as a lady, and she acknowledged to herself that Mr. Huxter's relationship would be no credit to her. He was coarse and low, as Ben said,—not because he was poor. Wealth would have made no difference in him, except that it might have enabled him to dress better. It would not have diminished the redness of his nose, for instance, or refined his manners. Mrs. Oakley, however, made no comment on what Ben had said, but remarked:—

"At any rate, Ben, your uncle has done us a good turn."

"What is that, mother?" asked Ben.

"John has gone with him."

"Gone home with him?"

"Yes."

"How long is he going to stay?"

"For good."

"How's that? I don't understand."

"John was in the way here. You and he could not agree,—not that I blame you for that,—and I did not like him. Therefore I made an arrangement with my brother to have John board with him. I don't suppose you'll miss him much."

"It'll be a lucky miss," said Ben, emphatically. "But John's rather stubborn. How did you get him to go?"

"He doesn't know he is to stay. I told him I wanted him to go back with your uncle, in order to attend to a little business for me. When he gets there he'll find out what it is."

"Won't he rave, though?" exclaimed Ben, laughing heartily. "He'll find it a healthy old boarding-house."

"I wish you wouldn't use such language, Ben," said his mother. "It is my great ambition to see you act and talk like a gentleman."

"So I do, mother. That's just the way they talk."

Mrs. Oakley looked rather incredulous.

"I say, mother, is Uncle Huxter going to prepare John for college?"

Mrs. Oakley laughed—heartily for her.

"Your uncle's shoe-shop will be the only college John will enter," she said.

"Do you mean that he is to peg shoes?"

"Yes."

"His pride will have a pretty hard fall."

"I mean that it shall," said Mrs. Oakley, compressing her thin lips.

"Well, I don't envy John. Every dog has his day, and he has had his. It's our turn now. Another cup of coffee, and not so weak as the last."

"I don't think such strong coffee is good for you, Benjamin."

"Oh bother, don't be a granny," said Ben, rudely. "Anybody'd think I was a baby."

This was the way in which Ben addressed his mother, who deserved his gratitude at least, for she was to him a devoted and self-sacrificing mother, however faulty might be her conduct towards John.

At length Ben's late breakfast was over, and he left the house to resort to his accustomed haunt,—the hotel bar-room and billiard saloon.

"I wish Ben cared more about study, and was more ambitious," thought Mrs. Oakley, with a half sigh. "If I could only make him feel as I do!"

It would have been fortunate for Ben if he had inherited his mother's energy and ambition. The ambition was not a noble one; but at least it would have kept him from low haunts and bad associates, which were all he cared about at present. Though all his mother's worldly plans should succeed, this was the point in which they were likely to fail. Mrs. Oakley's punishment would come in all probability through the son for whom she was willing to sacrifice justice and duty.

When Ben had left the house, Mrs. Oakley began to concentrate her thoughts upon that which had first led her to determine upon John's banishment. This was the hidden will. She could not feel assured of her position until that was found. Until now she had not felt at full liberty to search. She had feared that John might come upon her unexpectedly, and divine her object. Now there was no fear of interruption. She could ransack the house from top to bottom, and no one would understand the motive of her search. She had not communicated her intention to Ben. She trusted in his discretion too little to confide to him any secret of importance, for she was a shrewd and prudent woman.

On this particular morning she had a feeling that she had never had before. There was a confidence that she had never before experienced that success awaited her.

"I must and will find it," she thought. "This is not a large house. Then there are some parts of it that need not be searched. Mr. Oakley would never have hidden his will in the servants' rooms, nor in the kitchen. Everywhere else I will search. Let me go to work systematically and thoroughly. This time it shall not be my fault if it escapes me."

There was a small room on the lower floor, where the late Mr. Oakley used to do the most of his writing. This has already been referred to. Here he kept a desk, and this desk more than once had been searched by Mrs. Oakley. She determined to search it once more, but only for form's sake.

"He did not mean that I should find it," she thought. "Therefore he did not conceal it where I should be certain to look first."

So, though she searched the desk, she was not disappointed when this search, like the preceding, resulted in bringing nothing to light.

"It is as I thought," she said. "Where shall I search next?"

She selected her own bedchamber, though here, for obvious reasons, she had little hopes of finding the missing document.

"He wouldn't place it under my very eyes," she said. "Of course I know that. Still I cannot afford to leave a single place unexplored."

The result justified her anticipations. So room after room was searched, and no clue was obtained.

"He wouldn't put it under the carpet," she thought.

Yet the thought seemed worth following up. She got down on her hands and knees, and felt of every square foot of carpeting in the several rooms to see if she could detect beneath the pressure of any paper. In one place there was a rustle, and she eagerly tore up the carpet. But nothing was revealed save a loose piece of newspaper, which by some chance had got underneath. Disappointed, she nailed down the carpet again.

Where else should she look? All at once a luminous idea came to her.

John's room,—his old room, of course! Why had she never thought of that? John, of course, was the one who would be most benefited by the new will. If by any chance it should be discovered by him, no harm would result. His father would trust John, when he would not have trusted her or Ben. Mrs. Oakley could not help acknowledging to herself that in that he was right. What strengthened her in this view was, that among the articles of furniture was an old desk which had belonged to Squire Oakley's father. It was battered and defaced by hard usage, and had been at one time banished to the attic. But John, who was accustomed to study in his room, felt that this old desk would be of use to him, and he had asked to have it transferred to his own chamber. There had been no objection to this, and the transfer took place about a year before Squire Oakley's death. It had stood in John's room ever since.

When the new idea came to Mrs. Oakley, she thought at once of this old desk as the probable repository of the will. Her eyes sparkled with anticipated triumph.

"I was a fool not to think of this before," she said. "If the will is anywhere in the house, it is in John's room, and in that old desk. At last I am on the right track!"

With a hurried step she entered John's room. Her hands trembled with nervous agitation. She felt that she was on the brink of an important discovery.