had absolutely nothing and to-day he is a millionaire. Their father met with so many losses, what with his ill-health and the bank failing, that he couldn’t help them any. But they’ve all succeeded, except poor Robert — and I must admit that he’s a total failure.”
“Oh, no, no,” said the little teacher deprecatingly.
“A total failure!” Aunt Isabel repeated her words emphatically. She was not going to be contradicted by anybody, least of all a Bell from Avonlea. “He has been a failure since the time he was born. He is the first Monroe to disgrace the old stock that way. I’m sure his brothers and sisters must be dreadfully ashamed of him. He has lived sixty years and he hasn’t done a thing worth while. He can’t even make his farm pay. If he’s kept out of debt it’s as much as he’s ever managed to do.”
“Some men can’t even do that,” murmured the little school teacher. She was really so much in awe of this imperious, clever old Aunt Isabel that it was positive heroism on her part to venture even this faint protest.
“More is expected of a Monroe,” said Aunt Isabel majestically. “Robert Monroe is a failure, and that is the only name for him.”
Robert Monroe stood up below the window in a dizzy, uncertain fashion. Aunt Isabel had been speaking of him! He, Robert, was a failure, a disgrace to his blood, of whom his nearest and
