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 But at the sight of the children the old man broke completely down and sat with his great head sunk on his breast.

He drew Ruth down and whispered:

"Take them away, dear. It's too much. I—can't—see—them—now."

When she returned from the nursery, he said:

"Come, Ruth, sit beside me and tell me about it, and I'll see my way clearer how to help you."

She drew a stool beside his chair, leaned her head against his knee, took one of his hands in hers, and, while his other stroked her raven hair, she gently and without reproach told him all.

When she had finished, his eyes were heavy with grief beyond the power of tears.

"And—my—boy—told—you—to—take—this—money, Ruth?" he slowly and sorrowfully asked.

"Yes, father."

"Do you know an honest lawyer, dear?"

"Yes; an old friend of mine, Morris King."

"Call him over your telephone immediately, and take me to your desk. My fortune is not large, as the world reckons wealth—perhaps fifty thousand dollars carefully saved during the past thirty years of frugal living. It shall be yours, my dear."

"But, father, you must not take it from yourself in your age!"

"Are you not my beloved daughter? And do not your babies call me grandfather? It's such a poor little thing I can do. I've enough in bank to last