"You can move, mother, if you like," said Mark, after placing the hundred dollars in her hands. "You'll have money enough."

 

"That's true, Mark, but you wouldn't know how to address me, and I might lose some of your letters. I shall be satisfied to stay here till you return. But do you think you had better go? You are very young to cross the continent alone."

 

"I am nearly sixteen, mother, and I have been in the habit of looking out for myself. Besides Mr. Gilbert thinks I am old enough, and if he has confidence in me I ought to have confidence in myself."

 

"I suppose it is all right, but I shall miss you terribly."

 

"It is for my good, and will be for yours, mother. I have long wanted to leave the messenger service and get into some steady position where I can push myself ahead, and this seems to me my chance."

 

"You will write often, Mark?"

 

"I will be sure to do that. You don't think I will forget my mother?"

 

On Saturday evening Mark went to Mr. Gilbert's to receive instructions.

 

"I must tell you something about the boy of whom you are to be temporary guardian," said Mr. Gilbert. "Perhaps it will be best for me to read you in the first place the letter I received from my poor cousin just before his death. It was written at his dictation, for he was already too weak to hold the pen."

 

He drew from a desk this letter which he proceeded to read aloud:

 

 

"Gulchville, California,

"Oct. 17.

"My dear Cousin,

 

"When this letter reaches you I shall in all probability be in a better world. I am dying of consumption. I leave behind me a boy of ten—my poor little Philip. I leave him to the mercies of a cold world, for I am penniless. I had a little property once, but I speculated and lost all. Poor Philip will be an orphan³ and

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