I
“Willard!”
Mrs. Morris’s rebuke sounded only half-hearted, and she shot an apologetic glance at Willard’s father. But for once Mr. Morris, the sternest of disciplinarians, chose to be deaf. After all, the boy’s disappointment was keen, and so his criticism of Grandma Pierson elicited only the perfunctory warning from his mother. The boy’s disappointment was shared to a scarcely lesser extent by his parents, but they had learned to bear disappointment in silence. Willard, waiting for his father’s reprimand, sat with downcast eyes fixed on his untasted breakfast. Finally, however, as the storm did not break, Willard took courage and went on, but with more caution.
“Well, I can’t help it,” he insisted, with a gulp. “She’d ought never to have promised if she didn’t mean to keep it!”
“I’m certain, Will,” responded Mrs. Morrissoothingly, “that your Grandma Pierson fully meant to keep it. Mother was never the sort to say a thing and not mean it.”
“If she hadn’t died, she’d have done just as she said she’d do,” said Mr. Morris. “I guess she expected to live a good many years yet. Eighty-one isn’t very old; leastways, it wasn’t for her; she was such an active old lady. When were we out there before this time, mother?”
“Three years ago Christmas. That was when she made the promise. I sort of wish she hadn’t, seeing it’s turned out as it has.”
“She might have known she’d have to die sometime,” said Willard rebelliously. “Seems as though she might have made a new will after she promised what she did.”
“Maybe she put it off, thinking there’d be more money later,” replied Mr. Morris. “Cousin Joe writes that the whole estate won’t amount to much more than five thousand dollars; and some of that’s in a mortgage that’ll take a lot of handling to realize on. Fact is, mother, I don’t just see where she expected to get the money for Will, anyway, do you?”
Mrs. Morris shook her head thoughtfully.“Perhaps she thought that by the time Will was ready for college she’d have the money. She certainly meant to do something for him, George. She’d always been especially fond of Will.”
“Oh, she meant it, I’m sure. She asked me how much it would take to see him through college, and I told her two thousand. It was her own idea. There wasn’t anything actually said to that effect, mother, but I think it was sort of understood that Will was to have that money and that we weren’t to expect anything more. And there wasn’t any reason why we should. She’d have done quite enough for us if—if she’d done that. As it is, Clara and Alice get it all.”
“I suppose that’s my fault, George. You see, I always wanted her to think we had—had plenty. Mother was always pretty hard on folks that couldn’t get along. And then Clara and Alice both marrying men that couldn’t support them——”
“I know. I’m glad you did. And I’m not begrudging the money to your sisters. They need it more’n we do, even if—— Anyway, we’vealways managed to get along pretty fair so far, haven’t we? Maybe we haven’t had many luxuries, Jenny, but we’ve managed, eh?”
“Of course we have. You and I don’t need luxuries. I’ve always had everything I really wanted, George. I’d have liked Will to go to college, seeing he’s set his heart on it, but maybe this is for the best, too. Maybe he will be more help to you in the shop.”
Willard, staring distastefully at his plate, frowned impatiently. “That’s fine, isn’t it?” he demanded. “Here I’ve been telling all the fellows that I was going to college in the fall; and I’ve gone and taken the college course, too; and Mr. Chase has been helping me with my Greek! And now—now I can’t go after all! I think it’s”—he gulped—“too bad!”
“Maybe you’ll get there, son, although I don’t see much chance of it next fall. Maybe, though, if business picks up——”
He stopped with a hopeless shake of his head. Willard scowled.
“I’ve heard that before,” he muttered, “about business picking up. It never has, and I guess it never will.”
“Son, you’ve said about enough,” replied his father sternly. “If I can find the money to send you to college, you’ll go. If I can’t, you’ll have to buckle down at the shop. There’s plenty of men doing well who never went to college. I wanted you should go, but maybe it wasn’t intended so.”
“Well, I’m going, sir! When I get through high school next Spring I’m going to find some work and make enough money to start, anyway! If I can make good on the football team this year maybe I’ll get an offer and college won’t cost me anything.”
“You let me hear of you doing anything like that,” said Mr. Morris grimly, “and I’ll take you out in the shed as I used to and just about take the hide off you. You ain’t too big yet, my boy!”
“He wouldn’t do a thing like that, father. He was just fooling, weren’t you, Will?”
“Lots of fellows do it,” muttered Willard.
“But you’re not to be one of them,” returned his father decisively. “Here, let me see those envelopes.”
Willard passed the packet across to him andwatched glumly while his father slid off the faded blue ribbon that held the envelopes together. One by one Mr. Morris held them up and peered into them for the third or fourth time.
“Unless she meant to put some money or a check in one of these,” he murmured, “I can’t understand it.” He laid the six envelopes in a row on the cloth and shook his head over them. Then he took up the papers which, with the strange and disappointing legacy, had arrived from the West by the morning’s mail, but they told him nothing new. Grandmother Pierson’s will, a copy of which Cousin Joe had sent, was short and definite. There was a legacy of some personal trinkets and a small sum of money to an old family servant, and “To my grandson, Willard Morris, the contents of the packet inscribed with his name, which will be found in the mahogany workbox on the table in my bedchamber.” The rest of the estate, real and personal, was bequeathed in equal shares to Mrs. Morris’s two sisters. Cousin Joe’s letter was brief. In pursuance of his duties as executor of the estate, he was forwarding the legacy mentionedin the will; also a copy of the instrument in case they had forgotten its provisions. Willard was to sign the accompanying receipt; and Cousin Joe hoped they were all well.
The package had been done up in a piece of brown paper and tied with a white string—what Grandma Pierson would have called “tie yarn.” On the outside, in the old lady’s shaky writing, was the legend, “For my Grandson, Willard Morris.” Inside they had found six envelopes which, once white, had yellowed with age. The inscription on each was the same: “Miss Ellen Hilliard, Fayle’s Court House, Virginia,” and the postmarks showed various dates in the years 1850 and 1851. In the upper right-hand corner of each envelope was a stamp quite unlike any Mr. Morris had ever seen. Five were buff and one was blue. Each was round and about the size of a silver half dollar. They were printed in faded black. A circlet of stars ran around the outer edge and inside was the inscription, “Postoffice, Alexandria.” In the center was the word “Paid,” and under it a figure “5.”
“You say these were your father’s love letters, Jenny?” asked Mr. Morris.
“Yes. I have seen them many times. Mother read me parts of them, too, sometimes. He wrote beautifully, father did. Mother always kept those letters in that old workbox with the green velvet lining; the one the will speaks about. It was her treasure box, and it was always kept locked. I remember there were three or four daguerreotypes there, and some clippings from newspapers and such things.”
“She was careful to take the letters out,” mused Mr. Morris.
“Maybe she had a feeling that she wouldn’t get well. I suppose she destroyed the letters. She wouldn’t want anyone reading them afterward, you see, mother wouldn’t. Of course, it might be that her mind wandered a little toward the end and she thought she was really doing something for Will when she put his name on the package.”
“But Cousin Joe says the will was made almost a year before she died,” objected Mr. Morris. “I guess her mind was all right then. Well, it’s plumb funny.” He arose from thetable with a sigh. “That’s what it is, plumb funny.” He pulled out a big silver watch and looked at it. “Son, I guess it’s time we were hiking along.”
Willard pushed his chair back disconsolately and arose. He was seventeen, rather tall for his age, and had strong, broad shoulders like his father’s, or as his father’s had been before constant bending over desk and bench had stooped them. The boy had a good-looking, frank face and nice eyes, but just at present the brown eyes were gloomy and the face expressed discontent.
“Better take those envelopes before they get lost, Will,” counseled his mother. He regarded them with a scowl of contempt.
“I don’t want the old things,” he muttered as he left the room. Mr. Morris, looking after him, frowned and then sighed. Mrs. Morris echoed the sigh.
“I guess this settles it, Jenny,” said Mr. Morris, tucking the AudelsvilleMorning Timesin his pocket. “If I could get hold of the money any way, he should have it, but I don’t know where to turn for it, and that’s a fact.”
“Never mind, dear,” said Mrs. Morris as her husband stooped over her chair to kiss her. “There’s almost a year yet and something may turn up. You never can tell.”
“Well, might as well look on the bright side, I suppose,” returned Mr. Morris, “although things haven’t been turning up my way much of late, Jenny.”
His gaze encountered the envelopes again, and he stared at them a moment. Then, with a puzzled shake of his head, he passed out.