"It's a family tradition, and if the proper care has been taken that the boys should not learn of it, it will be as much of a test for them as it was for you and for me, and for my father. You have not forgotten the day I gave it to you, Cornelius?"
"That would be impossible," said his son, still smiling.
The elder man's somewhat stern features relaxed, and he sat back in his chair with a chuckle. "Do it at once," he requested, "and make it a stiff one. You know their characteristics; give it to them hard. I feel pretty sure of Cyrus, but Cornelius——" He shook his head doubtfully and returned to his letter. Suddenly he wheeled about again.
"Do it Thursday, Cornelius," he said in his peremptory way, "and whichever one of them stands it shall go with us on the tour of inspection. That will be reward enough, I fancy."
"Very well, sir," replied his son, and the two men went on with their work without further words. They were in the habit of dispatching important business with the smallest possible waste of breath.
On Thursday morning, immediately after breakfast, Cyrus Woodbridge found himself summoned to his father's library. He presented himself at once, a round-cheeked, bright-eyed lad of fifteen, with an air of alertness in every line of him.
"Cyrus," said his father, "I have a commission for you to undertake, of a character which I cannot now explain to you. I want you to take this envelope"—he held out a large and bulky packet—"and without saying anything to any one follow its instructions to the letter. I ask of you your word of honour that you will do so."
The two pairs of eyes looked into each other for a moment, singularly alike in a certain intent expression, developed into great keenness in the man, but showing as yet only an extreme wide-awakeness in the boy. Cyrus Woodbridge had an engagement with a young friend in half an hour, but he responded firmly:
"I will, sir."