"
"Ah, yes!" said I, "but you have given us only the bright side of the
picture. To make room for this stranger, whose only connection with the
house of which he has so unexpectedly become the head is probably that
preserved in genealogical tables, the daughters of the house, or their
children it may be, reared in luxury, must go forth to a life of
comparative privation. I met, some years ago, in one of my visits to the
Far West, a young Englishman, who--but I will read you the story of his
life, as I wrote it out soon after parting with him."
"Have you a picture of him, Aunt Nancy?" asked Robert Dudley.
"Yes, Robert," I replied with a smile, "but you must have patience, for
I shall neither show the picture nor tell the story till evening."
When we were assembled in the evening, Annie, with much ceremony, led me
to the high-backed arm-chair, which she called the Speaker's Chair, and
placed before me the small travelling desk, in which she knew my
manuscripts were kept. I unlocked it, and soon found the scroll of which
I was in search.
"But the picture, Aunt Nancy--where is the picture?" cried the eager
Robert.
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