"I've lived in the cabins, sir."
"Well, we'll cut all the windows you want and have the school and"—Markham was quivering—"we'll see if the Morleys can't rise up in the land of their fathers and stamp the Hertfords under foot!"
"Yes, sir!" And then Sandy gave one of his rare, rich laughs.
From that day the preparations began. A school in the mountains of New Hampshire was selected, and Sandy fitted out with everything necessary and proper.
Markham was noted for a sense of propriety. He kept his mills and lands in good condition because he was wise and sane; he housed his employees decently for the same reason, and he insisted upon their coöperation. He never let his taxes lapse, nor his money lie fallow. He had, hidden in a drawer of his desk, a valuable diamond ring that he took out in secret moments to enjoy. Occasionally the jewels were sent to Boston and put on the wheel because the artistic soul of Levi Markham demanded that through no carelessness of his should their lustre become dimmed. For much the same reasons Sandy Morley was entered upon his career in a manner befitting the hope that was in Markham for him.
The day Sandy was sent from Bretherton, Olive Treadwell and her adopted son, Lansing Treadwell, sailed for a year's stay in Europe, and Levi and Matilda Markham grimly agreed to leave things as they were.
"There's no use stirring up pudding past a certain point," Matilda said. "If you do it's apt to go heavy."
"And it's the part of wisdom to watch a rising batch of bread," Levi returned humorously. "When you can't get pudding—or when the pudding fails—look to bread and make the best of it!"