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the front hall of his home, some hours later, with Grit leaping joyfully about at his heels, Dick was greeted by Gibbs, the butler, with a warmth warranted by many years of service in the Hamilton family.

"Is my father at home, Gibbs?" asked Dick.

"He's in the library, Mr. Dick. Your uncle is with him."

"My uncle? You mean?"

"Mr. Larabee," finished the butler.

"Oh!" exclaimed Dick, regretfully. "Uncle Ezra here!" he murmured. "I wonder what's wrong at Dankville? Or, maybe there's some new plan afoot, and that I have, after all, to go and live with him." There was dismay on Dick's face.

For Uncle Ezra Larabee was not a very pleasant individual. He was quite wealthy, but he did not enjoy his money. He had a fine place at Dankville, a village about a hundred miles from Hamilton Corners, but the house, which was