“I don’t think Jonas has represented the matter to you as it happened,” said Phil.  “Did he tell you that he flung a snow-ball at my head as hard as a lump of ice?”

“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.