“Uncle Oliver, you have given the wrong direction.”

“No, Rebecca, I know what I am about.”

“Do you live on Madison Avenue?” asked Mrs. Forbush.

“I am going to and so are you.  You must know that I own a furnished house on Madison Avenue.  The late occupants sailed for Europe last week, and I was looking out for a tenant when I found you.  You will move there to-morrow, and act as house keeper, taking care of Philip and myself.  I hope Julia and you will like it as well as your present home.”

“How can I thank you for all your kindness, Uncle Oliver?” said Mrs. Forbush, with joyful tears.  “It will be living once more.  It will be such a rest from the hard struggle I have had of late years.”

“You can repay me by humoring all my whims,” said Uncle Oliver, smiling.  “You will find me very tyrannical.  The least infraction of my rules will lead me to send you all packing.”

“Am I to be treated in the same way, Mr. Carter?” asked Philip.

“Exactly.”

“Then, if you discharge me, I will fly for refuge to Mr. Pitkin.”

“That will be ‘out of the frying-pan into the fire’ with a vengeance.”

By this time they had reached the house.  It was an elegant brown-stone front, and proved, on entrance, to be furnished in the most complete and elegant manner.  Mr. Carter selected the second floor for his own use; a good-sized room on the third was assigned to Philip, and Mrs. Forbush was told to select such rooms for Julia and herself as she desired.

“This is much finer than Mrs. Pitkin’s house,” said Philip.

“Yes, it is.”

“She will be jealous when she hears of it.”

“No doubt.  That is precisely what I desire.  It will be a fitting punishment for her treatment of her own cousin.”

It was arranged that on the morrow Mrs. Forbush and Julia should close their small house, leaving directions to sell the humble furniture at auction, while Mr. Carter and Philip would come up from the Astor House.

“What will the Pitkins say when they hear of it?” thought Philip.  “I am afraid they will feel bad.”

CHAPTER XXVII.

An unpleasant surprise.

While these important changes were occurring in the lives of Philip Brent and the poor cousin, Mrs. Pitkin remained in blissful ignorance of what was going on.  Alonzo had told her of his encounter with Phil on Broadway and the intelligence our hero gave him of his securing a place.

“You may rest assured the boy was lying, Lonny,” said Mrs. Pitkin.  “Boys don’t get places so easily, especially when they can’t give a recommendation from their last employer.

“That’s just what I thought, ma,” said Alonzo.

“Still Phil looked in good spirits, and he was as saucy as ever.”

“I can believe the last very well, Lonny.  The boy is naturally impertinent.  They were probably put on to deceive you.”