"The day is always long till you come, Walter. Tea is ready now, my son. When you are rested, we will sit down."
"Ah, mother, you are cheerful to-day. I have brought you, besides the papers, a new book, which we will commence presently."
"A thoughtful boy you are; but you haven't told me all, Walter. I see something behind those eyes of yours."
"What telltales they must be! Well, I have a pretty present for you,--a sweet picture I bought the other day, and which will come home to-morrow, I fancy."
"Is that all? I shall be glad to see the picture, because you like it. But you have something else on your mind."
"I see I never keep anything from you, mother. You seem to know my thoughts."
"I have been thinking, mother, that our little property was hardly so productive as it ought to be,--earning barely six per cent., while I know that many of my friends are getting eight, and even ten."
"I am afraid that the extra interest is only to pay for the risk of losing all."
"True, that is often the case; but I think we can make all safe."
"I have left it with Mr. Sandford, an acquaintance of mine, to invest for me. He is secretary of an insurance company, and knows all the ways of the money-lending world."
"It's a great risk, Walter, to trust our all."
"Not our all, mother. I have a salary, and, whatever may happen, we can always depend on that. Besides, Mr. Sandford is a man of integrity and credit. He has the unlimited confidence of the company, and I rely upon him as I would upon myself."
"How has he invested it? Have you got the securities?"
"Not yet, mother. I have left the money on his note for the present; and when he has found a good chance to loan it, he will give me the mortgages or stocks, as the case may be. But come, mother, let us sit down to tea. All is safe, I am sure; and to-morrow I will make you satisfied with my prudent management."
When the simple meal was over, they sat in the twilight before the gas was lighted. The moments passed rapidly in their free and loving converse. Then the table was drawn out and the new book was opened. Mrs. Monroe suddenly recollected something.
"Walter, my dear, a letter was left here to-day by the postman. As it was directed to the street and number, it did not go to your box. Here it is. I have read it; and rather sad news it brings. Cousin Augustus is failing, so his daughter writes, and it is doubtful whether he ever recovers. Poor child! I am sorry for her."