Part 46 (1/2)
”I can go to the theater as often as I please there, can't I?”
”We will see about that.”
”How soon shall we move to the city?”
”As soon as business will allow. I must settle up your father's affairs here.”
”Can't I go beforehand?”
”Would you leave me alone?” asked his mother, with a little touch of wounded affection, for she did feel attached to her son. He was the only one, indeed, for whom she felt any affection.
”You won't miss me, mother. It'll be awfully stupid here, and you know you'll be coming to the city as soon as you get through with the business.”
Mrs. Preston was disappointed, but she should not have been surprised.
Her only son reflected her own selfishness.
”It would not look well for you to go to the theater just at the present,” she said.
”Why not?”
”So soon after your father's death.”
G.o.dfrey said nothing, but looked discontented. It was early to think of amus.e.m.e.nt, while his father lay yet unburied in the next room. He left the room, whistling. He could not gainsay his mother's objections, but he thought it hard luck.
A funeral in a country village is a public occasion. Friends and neighbors are expected to be present without invitation. Among those who a.s.sembled at the house were Mrs. Burke and Andy. They felt truly sorry for the death of Colonel Preston, who had been a friend to both.
Mrs. Preston saw them enter, and, notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, the thought intruded: ”They're after the legacy, but they will be disappointed. I've taken good care of that.”
G.o.dfrey saw them, also, and his thought was a characteristic one:
”What business has that Irish boy at my father's funeral? He ought to know better than to poke himself in where he is not wanted.”
Even G.o.dfrey, however, had the decency to let this thought remain unspoken. The services proceeded, and among those who followed on foot in the funeral procession were Andy and his mother. It never occurred to them that they were intruding. They wanted to show respect for the memory of one who had been a friend to them.
On the day after the funeral Squire Tisdale called at the house, invited by Mrs. Preston. The squire had a smattering of law, and often acted as executor in settling estates.
”I invited you to come here, Squire Tisdale,” said Mrs. Preston, ”to speak about my affairs. Of course, it is very trying to me to think of business so soon after the death of my dear husband”--here she pressed her handkerchief to her tearless eyes--”but I feel it to be my duty to myself and my boy.”
”Of course,” said the squire, soothingly. ”We can't give way to our feelings, however much we want to.”
”That is my feeling,” said Mrs. Preston, whose manner was wonderfully cool and collected, considering the grief which she desired to have it thought she experienced for her husband.
”Did Colonel Preston leave a will?” asked the squire.
”I don't think he did. He never mentioned making one to me. Did you ever hear of his making any?”
”I can't say that I ever did. I suppose it will be best to search.”
”Won't it be more proper for you to make the search, Squire Tisdale?”
said the widow. ”I am an interested party.”