you a new suit of clothes.”
“But, Maria,” expostulated the meek husband, “it will be left to me, not to you.”
“Why so?” demanded she, frowning.
“Because he is my cousin, not yours.”
“You indeed!” retorted the wife, angrily; “and what do you know about the use of money? Who supports the family, I should like to know?”
“I help,” answered Josiah, meekly.
“And precious little you help,” returned his wife, sarcastically. “So far as you are concerned, we should all be in the poor house long before this. No, Josiah, the money must come into my hands. I’ll give you a good allowance, and hire an errand boy so that you needn’t have to carry round bundles. You ought to be contented with that.”
As no legacy had yet been received, Mr. Pinkerton thought it best not to continue the discussion. Indeed, he was rather afraid of his imperious wife, who held the reins of authority, and whom he did not dare to dispute.
The two other relations were, first, a brown-faced and brown-handed farmer, Alonzo Granger, and an old lady, of seventy or thereabouts—Miss Nancy Carter, a sister of the deceased. For years she had lived on a small pension from her brother, increased somewhat by knitting stockings for the neighbors. She, indeed, was the only real mourner. The rest were speculating about how far they were likely to be benefited by the death of the deceased, of whom they had seen but little in life. Even Herbert, though impressed by the presence of death, could hardly be expected to feel deep grief for a man who had neglected his mother in his life.
Of the funeral rites it is unnecessary to speak. We are interested in what came afterwards.
The relations were quietly notified to meet at five o’clock in the office of Mr. Spencer, the lawyer, to whom had been intrusted the will of the late Mr. Carter. Those who have even a slight knowledge of human nature will not need to be told that the attendance of all was punctual. There was an anxious, expectant look on the faces of all—not even excepting the old lady. She knew that if her brother had made no provision for her, she must go to the alms-house, and against this her honest pride revolted. She was willing to live on anything, however little, if she might live independently, as she had hitherto done. To feel herself dependent on public charity would indeed have been a hard trial for the poor old lady. Of all, probably Mrs. Pinkerton was the most confident. She had come to feel that her family was entitled to a large share of the estate, and she had gone so far as to decide just how she would invest it, and what new arrangements she would make, for she had no idea of consulting her husband on the subject.
The lawyer was a gentlemanly-looking man, whose face inspired confidence in his integrity—a remark which, unhappily, cannot be made of all in his profession. He took his seat at a table, and produced the will, which he considerately commenced reading at once. After the usual introduction, the will proceeded thus:
“To my sister Nancy I give the use of my house, rent free, as long as she shall live. I leave her also an income of two hundred dollars a year, which, as her wants are small, will be sufficient to maintain her in comfort.”
The old lady breathed a sigh of relief. Her fears were removed. She could continue to live as she had been accustomed to do, and need not be beholden to private or public charity. Mrs. Pinkerton was not so well pleased. She felt almost as if she had been deprived of what belonged to her by right. She frowned at Miss Nancy, but the old lady was unconscious of the displeasure excited in the bosom of her imposing-looking relative.
The lawyer proceeded: “To my cousin, Alonzo Granger, I leave one hundred dollars; not because he needs it, for I understand that he is well-to-do, but as a mark of remembrance.”
The farmer scowled slightly, and opened and closed his brown hands in dissatisfaction. He was well-to-do; but when was a man ever satisfied with that? He had counted upon a few thousands, with which he proposed to buy an adjoining farm. Mrs. Pinkerton, however, was pleased. There was so much the more for her.
“To Cornelius Dixon”—here Herbert’s morning acquaintance began to feel excited—“I bequeath one hundred dollars, to buy a looking-glass and a new suit of clothes.”
The young man’s face lengthened very perceptibly as he heard the small amount of his legacy, and he glared savagely at Mrs. Pinkerton, who showed a mirthful face at his discomfiture.
Her turn came next.
“To Josiah Pinkerton, his wife and children, I leave one hundred dollars apiece; also my best black pantaloons, which he or his wife may appropriate, as may be arranged between them.”
All except the Pinkertons laughed at this sly hit, and even the lawyer smiled; but the stout lady flushed with rage and disappointment, and ejaculated: “Abominable!” The eyes of all were now directed to Herbert, who was the only one remaining. Could it be possible that the balance of the property was left to him? The fear of this made him the focus of unfriendly eyes, and he became restive and anxious.
“To my namesake, Herbert Carter, I leave a black trunk which I keep in my room, with all that it contains. To his mother I direct that the sum of one hundred dollars be paid.”
This was not much, but it was more than Herbert had expected. He knew how welcome even one hundred dollars would be to his mother, and he looked satisfied—the only one of the party, except the old lady, who showed any pleasure at the contents of the will.
The relatives looked bewildered. All had been mentioned in turn, and yet but a small part—a very small part—of the estate had been disposed of. Mrs. Pinkerton bluntly expressed the general curiosity.
“Who’s to have the rest, Mr. Spencer?” she demanded.
“I’m coming to that,” answered the lawyer, quietly.
“All the rest and residue of my property, of whatever kind, I leave to the town of Randolph, to establish a high school, directing that not more than twenty thousand dollars be expended upon the building, which shall be of brick. I desire that the school shall be known as the Carter School, to the end that my name may be remembered in connection with what I hope will prove a public blessing.” “That is all,” said the lawyer, and he laid down the will upon the table.
CHAPTER V
WHAT CAME AFTERWARD
There was silence for a minute after the will was read. Mrs. Pinkerton fanned herself furiously, and looked angry and excited.
At length she said: “I wish to say that that is a very unjust will, Mr. Spencer.”
“I am not responsible for it, Mrs. Pinkerton,” answered the lawyer, quietly.
“I don’t know what the rest of you think,” said the angry lady, with a general glance around the office, “but I think the will ought to be broken.”
“On what grounds?” asked Mr. Spencer.
“He had no right to put off his own flesh and blood with a beggarly pittance, and leave all his money to the town.”
“Pardon me; whatever you may think of Mr. Carter’s will, there is no doubt that he had a perfect legal right to dispose of it as he did.”
“Then the laws ought to be altered,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, angrily. “I don’t believe he was sane when he made the will.”
“If
