Herbert received the letter from the doctor’s hands and read it through with feelings of mortification and anger.

Here it is: 

“Dear sir:  I have to acknowledge yours of the 10th inst.  I regret to hear of my sister’s decease.  I regret, also, to hear that her son, Herbert, is left without a provision for his support.  My brother-in-law I cannot but consider culpable in neglecting to lay up something during his life upon which his widow and son might depend.  I suspect that he must have lived with inconsiderate extravagance.

“As for myself, I have a family of my own to provide for, and the expense of living in a city like this is very great.  In justice to them, I do not feel that it would be right for me to incur extra expense.  You tell me that he is now fourteen and a stout boy.  He is able, I should think, to earn his own living.  I should recommend that he be bound out to a farmer or mechanic.  To defray any little expenses that may arise, I enclose ten dollars, which I hope he may find serviceable.  Yours etc.,

“Benjamin Stanton.”

This cold and selfish letter Herbert read with rising color, and a feeling of bitterness found a place in his young heart, which was quite foreign to him.

“Well, Herbert, what do you think of it?” asked the doctor.

“I think,” said Herbert, hotly, “that I don’t want to have anything to do with an uncle who could write such a letter as that.”

“He doesn’t seem to write with much feeling.” acknowledged the doctor.

“Feeling!” repeated Herbert; “he writes as if I were a beggar, and asked charity.  Where is the money he inclosed, Dr. Kent?”

“I have it here in my vest pocket.  I was afraid it would slip out of the letter, and so took care of it.”

“Will you let me send it back to my uncle?” asked Herbert.

“Send it back?”

“Yes, Dr. Kent; I don’t want any of his charity, and I’ll tell him so.”

“I am afraid, Herbert, that you are giving way to your pride.”

“But isn’t it a proper pride, doctor?”

“I hardly know what to say, Herbert.  You must remember, however, that, as you are left quite unprovided for, even this small sum may be of use to you.”

“It isn’t the smallness of the sum that I mind,” said Herbert.  “If Uncle Benjamin had written a kind letter, or showed the least feeling in it for me, or for—­for mother [his voice faltered a moment], I would have accepted it thankfully.  But I couldn’t accept money thrown at me in that way.  He didn’t want to give it to me, I am sure, and wouldn’t if he hadn’t felt obliged to.”

Dr. Kent paced the room thoughtfully.  He respected Herbert’s feelings, but he saw that it was not wise for him to indulge them.  He was in a dependent situation, and it was to be feared that he would have much to suffer in time to come from the coldness and selfishness of the world.