"That artful young beggar has wound his way into his employer's confidence," thought Mrs. Estabrook, resentfully, "but it may not be always so." A few minutes later, when the housekeeper was in her own sitting-room, she was told that Willis Ford wanted to see her. Mrs. Estabrook's thin face lighted up with pleasure, for she was devotedly attached to her stepson. "Bring him up here at once," she said. A minute later the young man entered the room. He was a thin, sallow-complexioned young man, with restless, black eyes, and a discontented expression--as of one who thinks he is not well used by the world. "Welcome, my dear boy," said the housekeeper, warmly. "I am so glad to see you." Willis submitted reluctantly to his stepmother's caress, and threw himself into a rocking chair opposite her. "Are you well, Willis?" asked Mrs. Estabrook, anxiously. "Yes, I'm well enough," muttered the young man. "I thought you looked out of sorts." "I feel so." "Is anything the matter?" "Yes; I'm sick of working at such starvation wages." "I thought fifteen dollars a week a very good salary. Only last January you were raised three dollars." "And I expected to be raised three dollars more on the first of July." "Did you apply to Mr. Reynolds?" "Yes, and he told me I must wait till next January." "I think he might have raised you, if only on account of the connection between our families." "Perhaps he would if you would ask him, mother."