Part 39 (1/2)

One morning as Mr Philip sat at breakfast reading the paper, as was his custom, he heard Mr Caldwell say--

”This is the twenty-second of September.”

”The days and nights are of equal length,” said Mrs Caldwell. ”Dear!

dear! how soon the days will be drawing in!”

”This day last year Miss Bethia Barnes died.”

”Well, she was a good body. I trust she went to a better place.”

”And to-day her will is to be read,” went on Mr Caldwell.

”Is it indeed? Had she much property? She was a decent saving body.

And who is to get it? Not that you can know, however, till the will is opened.”

”I know, having been consulted about the making of it; but that is neither here nor there at the present moment. What I mean to say is this: Being one of the executors of that will, I shall have to be in Mr Bethune's office this morning, and so, Mr Philip, you will need to attend to the business we were speaking of last night yourself, in case I should be detained beyond my time.”

”All right!” said Philip, looking up from his paper.

”And you were consulted about the making of the poor body's will, were you?” said Mrs Caldwell, who was by no means so silent a member of the family as her husband. ”And you were made executor, and all--and you never mentioned it. Not that _that_ is a matter for surprise, however,”

added she, reconsidering the subject. ”I dare say he will be ready to tell us all about it by dinner time, though no mortal power could make him open his lips this morning. Well, I hope whoever gets the money will get the good of it, though why they should have been kept out of it a whole year, I cannot see. I hope that was not by your advice. But dear! dear! money often does more harm than good, for all so hard as we strive for it.”

”It will do good this time--there is no fear,” said Mr Caldwell, rising. ”It has not been striven for, nor expected, and there is not too much of it just for comfort, and--it will open the way.”

The last words struck Philip as familiar, and looking up he caught the eye of Mr Caldwell, who nodded and smiled, as though he ought to understand the whole matter by this time.

”There need be no more waiting now,” said he, but whether he meant for himself or for Mr Philip, or for some one else, he did not say.

”All right!” said Philip, at a venture; and though he heard no more of the matter, and was too busy all day to give it a thought, he was not surprised, when he went, at night, to the bridge house, to hear that there was news awaiting him; but he was a little surprised at the nature of the news. It was Violet who told him. The children were gone out, and David was, for the moment, in his mother's room, and only Frank was with Violet when Philip came in. For this time she was quite free from the ”proper” and ”dignified” air of which Jem used to accuse her where Philip was concerned. She was smiling and eager when, prompted by Frank, she told him there was something he would like to hear.

”It is about Davie, isn't it?” said Philip. ”Davie is Miss Bethia's heir?”

But it was not Davie. Davie had his father's library and the five hundred dollars which Miss Bethia had offered for it as well, to do what he liked with; there were some legacies to relatives, ”to remember her by,” Miss Bethia had written, and there was something to Debby Stone.

But the house and garden in Gourlay, and all else that had been Miss Bethia's, she had bequeathed unconditionally to Mrs Inglis. It was not a large property, but it was a good deal more than Miss Bethia could have been supposed to possess, considering her way of life. It was not quite independence to Mrs Inglis and her children, but it would be a great help toward it.

”And,” said Violet, with a smile and a sigh, ”it opens the way to Davie.”

”Yes; that is what Mr Caldwell said this morning. But you don't seem so delighted as he was at the thought.”

”I am very glad for Davie. But it will be a sad breaking-up for the rest of us to have him go away. And it will be at once, I suppose, if, at this late day, arrangements can be made for his going this year to the university.”

”But the sooner the better, I should think, Violet,” said Frank, cheerfully.

”Yes--the sooner the better for him; but think of mamma and the rest of us. However, I know it is very foolish to look at that side of the matter, and, indeed, I am very glad.”

”And, besides, if you go to M-- you will see him often,” said Frank.

”We shall be rather dismal without you both, I am afraid.”