"He said he threw a little snow at you playfully
and you sprang upon him like a tiger."

"There's a little mistake in that," said Phil.  "The 
snow-ball was hard enough to stun me if it had hit
me a little higher.  I wouldn't be hit like that again
for ten dollars."

"That ain't so!  Don't believe him, mother!" said
Jonas from the sofa.

"And what did you do?" demanded Mrs. Brent
with a frown.

"I laid him down on the snow and washed his face
with soft snow."

"You might have given him his death of cold,"
said Mrs. Brent, with evident hostility.  "I am not
sure but the poor boy will have pneumonia now, in
consequence of your brutal treatment."

"And you have nothing to say as to his attack
upon me?" said Phil indignantly.

"I have no doubt you have very much exaggerated it."

"Yes, he has," chimed in Jonas from the sofa.

Phil regarded his step-brother with scorn.

"Can't you tell the truth now and then, Jonas?"
he asked contemptuously.

"You shall not insult my boy in my presence!"
said Mrs. Brent, with a little spot of color mantling
her high cheek-bones.  "Philip Brent, I have too
long endured your insolence.  You think because I
am a woman you can be insolent with impunity, but
you will find yourself mistaken.  It is time that you
understood something that may lead you to lower
your tone.  Learn, then, that you have not a cent of
your own.  You are wholly dependent upon my
bounty."

"What!  Did my father leave you all his money?"
asked Philip.

"He was NOT your father!" answered Mrs. Brent
coldly.

CHAPTER II.

A STRANGE REVELATION.

Philip started in irrepressible astonishment as
these words fell from the lips of his step-mother. 
It seemed to him as if the earth were crumbling
beneath his feet, for he had felt no more certain of the
existence of the universe than of his being the son
of Gerald Brent.

He was not the only person amazed at this
declaration.  Jonas, forgetting for the moment the part
he was playing, sat bolt upright on the sofa, with his
large mouth wide open, staring by turns at Philip
and his mother.

"Gosh!" he exclaimed in a tone indicating utter
surprise and bewilderment.

"Will you repeat that, Mrs. Brent?" asked Philip,
after a brief pause, not certain that he had heard
aright.

"I spoke plain English, I believe," said Mrs. Brent
coldly, enjoying the effect of her communication.

"I said that Mr. Brent, my late husband, was not
your father."

"I don't believe you!" burst forth Philip impetuously.

"You don't wish to believe me, you mean,"
answered his step-mother, unmoved.

"No, I don't wish to believe you," said the boy,
looking her in the eye.

"You are very polite to doubt a lady's word," said
Mrs. Brent with sarcasm.

"In such a matter as that I believe no one's
word," said Phil.  "I ask for proof."

"Well, I am prepared to satisfy you.  Sit down
and I will tell you the story."

Philip sat down on the nearest chair and regarded
his step-mother fixedly.

"Whose son am I," he demanded, "if not Mr.
Brent's?"

"You are getting on too fast.  Jonas," continued
his mother, suddenly turning to her hulking son, on
whose not very intelligent countenance there was
an expression of greedy curiosity, "do you understand
that what I am going to say is to be a secret,
not to be spoken of to any one?"

"Yes'm," answered Jonas readily.

"Very well.  Now to proceed.  Philip, you have
heard probably that when you were very small your
father--I mean Mr. Brent--lived in a small town in
Ohio, called Fultonville?"

"Yes, I have heard him say so."

"Do you remember in what business he was then
engaged?"

"He kept a hotel."

"Yes; a small hotel, but as large as the place
required.  He was not troubled by many guests.  The
few who stopped at his house were business men
from towns near by, or drummers from the great
cities, who had occasion to stay over a night.  One
evening, however, a gentleman arrived with an
unusual companion--in other words, a boy of about
three years of age.  The boy had a bad cold, and
seemed to need womanly care.  Mr. Brent's
wife----"

"My mother?"

"The woman you were taught to call mother,"
corrected the second Mrs. Brent, "felt compassion
for the child, and volunteered to take care of it for
the night.  The offer was gladly accepted, and you--
for, of course, you were the child--were taken into
Mrs. Brent's own room, treated with simple remedies,
and in the morning seemed much better.  Your
father--your real father--seemed quite gratified,
and preferred a request.  It was that your new
friend would take care of you for a week while he
traveled to Cincinnati on business.  After dispatching
this, he promised to return and resume the care
of you, paying well for the favor done him.  Mrs.
Brent, my predecessor, being naturally fond of
children, readily agreed to this proposal, and the child
was left behind, while the father started for Cincinnati."

Here Mrs. Brent paused, and Philip regarded her
with doubt and suspense

"Well?" he said.

"Oh, you want to know the rest?" said Mrs. Brent
with an ironical smile.  "You are interested in the
story?"

"Yes, madam, whether it is true or not."

"There isn't much more to tell," said Mrs. Brent.

"A week passed.  You recovered from your cold,
and became as lively as ever.  In fact, you seemed
to feel quite at home among your new surroundings,
which was rather unfortunate, FOR YOUR FATHER NEVER
CAME BACK!"

"Never came back!" repeated Philip.

"No; nor was anything heard from him. Mr.
and Mrs. Brent came to the conclusion that the
whole thing was prearranged to get rid of you. 
Luckily for you, they had become attached to you,
and, having no children of their own, decided to
retain you.  Of course, some story had to be told to
satisfy the villagers.  You were represented to be
the son of a friend, and this was readily believed. 
When, however, my late husband left Ohio, and
traveled some hundreds of miles eastward to this
place, he dropped this explanation and represented
you as his own son.  Romantic, wasn't it?"

Philip looked searchingly at the face of his step-
mother, or the woman whom he had regarded as
such, but he could read nothing to contradict the
story in her calm, impassive countenance.  A great
fear fell upon him that she might be telling the
truth.  His features showed his contending
emotions.  But he had a profound distrust as well as
dislike of his step-mother, and he could not bring
himself to put confidence in what she told him.