“You have been a kind friend to me, Mr. Cunningham. I have lacked for nothing since I have been with you. I think you do yourself injustice¹.”

“That is true, but suppose anything should happen to me, how would you fare?”

“We won’t think of that, Walter. You are a young man. You are likely to live for many years.”

“So I hope,” said the young Englishman, smiling. “Life is sweet to me, and I have something to live for, especially now that I have you. But I feel that I ought to make a provision for you, to place your future beyond a contingency².”

Bernard did not reply. He waited for Mr. Cunningham to finish what he had to say.

“I shall therefore go to my banker’s this morning, and turn over to you the sum of fifteen thousand dollars. It is not all I intend to do for you, but it will prevent your experiencing inconvenience in the event of any sudden accident to me.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars!” repeated Bernard, in astonishment³. “Why, that will make me rich. How can I thank you for your great kindness?”

“I look upon you as a brother, Bernard. With the affection I feel for you I could not allow you to run the risk of poverty and destitution⁴. To be sure, you are young and a boy of capacity, but for a time you might be in trouble.”

That very morning Mr. Cunningham took Bernard to the office of his banker in Wall Street, and transferred the sum he had mentioned to Bernard’s account.

“I advise you to keep your money for the present in the hands of my good friends here, unless you should prefer to deposit it with your old guardian⁵, Mr. McCracken.”

“I would not trust Mr. McCracken,” said Bernard, “but I should like before I leave the city to pay him a visit.”

Walking down Broadway in the afternoon Bernard was treated to a surprise. Marching in front of him with a slow and weary step was a thick-set man of over fifty, sandwiched between two

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