Part 22 (2/2)

When Miss Graham entered Emily was waltzing around the room, waving the doc.u.ment ecstatically. ”See what I've found!” she cried, darting toward her with an impulsive caress.

Cousin Irene took the paper, and, as she perused it, became, though in a less demonstrative fas.h.i.+on, as agitated as Emily. ”Your father!” she stammered.

Mr. Mahon had come into the house and was now in the little study, which he called his den. Cousin Irene and Emily almost flew thither, and a few minutes later his voice, with a glad ring in it, was heard calling first his wife and then the children to tell them the joyful news.

The will so long sought, so strangely brought to light, made a great change in the family fortunes. By it Bryan, the old man's son, who was unmarried and dissipated, was ent.i.tled to merely a certain income and life-interest in the estate, which upon his demise was to go to the testator's nephew William (Mr. Mahon) and Cousin Irene. In fact, however, at his father's death, Bryan, as no will was discovered, had entered into full possession of the property; and when within a year his own career was suddenly cut short, it was learned that he had bequeathed nothing to his relatives but a few family heirlooms.

”I did not grudge Bryan what he had while he lived,” said Mr. Mahon; ”but when, after the poor fellow was drowned, we heard that he had left all his money to found a library for 'the Preservation of the Records of Sport and Sportsmen,' I did feel that, with my boys and girls to provide for and educate, I could have made a better use of it. And Cousin Irene would have been saved a good deal of hard work if she could have obtained her share at the time. Thank G.o.d it is all right now, and the library with the long name will have to wait for another founder.”

The girls of the literature cla.s.s soon heard of their friends' good fortune, and were not slow in offering their congratulations.

One day, some two years after, when Anna and Rosemary happened to call at the Mahons', a chance reference was made to the discovery of the will. ”Only think,” exclaimed Rosemary, ”how much came about through the spoiling of that mirror! Emily, you surely can never again believe it unlucky to break a looking-gla.s.s?”

”No, indeed!” replied Emily, thinking of the uninterrupted happiness and prosperity which the family had enjoyed since then.

”It was a fortunate accident for us,” said Cousin Irene; ”but I should not advise any one to go around smas.h.i.+ng all the looking-gla.s.ses in his or her house, hoping for a similar result. It certainly would be an unlucky sign for the person who had to meet the bill for repairs.”

”Miss Graham, how do you suppose this superst.i.tion originated?” asked Anna, as eager for information as ever. After a general laugh at her expense, Cousin Irene said:

”The first mirrors, you must remember, were the forest pools and mountain tarns. As the hunter stooped to one of these to slake his thirst, if perchance so much as a shadow should break the reflection of his own image in its tranquil depths, he had reason to fear that danger and perhaps death were at hand; for often in some such dark mirror a victim caught the first glimpse of his enemy, who had been waiting in ambush and was now stealing upon him from behind; or of the wild beast making ready to leap upon him. But the popular augury that the mere fact of breaking a looking-gla.s.s portends death, is, you must see, senseless and absurd. And so, as I think you have become convinced, are all superst.i.tions. It is true we sometimes remark coincidences, and are inclined to make much of them; without noting, on the contrary, how many times the same supposed omens and signs come to nought. When G.o.d wills to send us some special happiness or trial, be a.s.sured He makes use of no such means to prepare us for it; since He directs our lives not by chance, but by His all-wise and loving Providence.”

UNCLE TOM'S STORY.

I.

Some pine logs burned brightly upon the andirons in the wide, old-fas.h.i.+oned chimney; and the Tyrrell children were comfortably seated around the fire, roasting chestnuts and telling stories.

”Come, Uncle Tom, it is your turn!” cried Pollie, breaking in upon the reverie of their mother's brother, who, seated in the old red arm-chair, was gazing abstractedly at the cheery flames.

”Yes, please let us have something about the war,” put in Rob.

”But everybody has been telling war stories for the last twenty-five years. Do you not think we have had enough of them?” said the gentleman.

”One never tires of hearing of deeds of bravery,” answered Rob, dramatically.

”Or of romantic adventures,” added Pollie.

Uncle Tom looked amused; but, after some hesitation, said; ”Well, I will tell you an incident recalled by this pine-wood fire. It may seem extraordinary; but, having witnessed it myself, I can vouch for its truth. You consider me an old soldier; yet, though I wore the blue uniform for more than a year and saw some fighting, I was only a youth of eighteen when the war closed; and, in spite of my boyish anxiety to distinguish myself and become a hero, I probably would never have attained even to the rank of orderly, had it not come about in the following manner:”

Our regiment was stationed at A------, not far from the seat of war.

Near our quarters was a Catholic church, attended by the ------ Fathers. I early made the acquaintance of one of them, who was popularly known as Father _Friday_, this being the nearest approach to the p.r.o.nunciation of his peculiar German name to which the majority of the people could arrive. In him I recognized my ideal of a Christian gentleman, and as such I still revere his memory.

He was one of the handsomest men I ever saw--tall and of splendid physique, with light brown hair, blue eyes, and a complexion naturally fair, but bronzed by the sun. Though in reality he was as humble and una.s.suming as any lay-brother in his community, his bearing was simply regal.

He could not have helped it any more than he could help the impress of n.o.bility upon his fine features. The youngsters used to enjoy seeing him pa.s.s the contribution box in church at special collections. It must have been ”an act” (as you convent girls say, Pollie). He would move along in his superb manner, looking right over the heads of the congregation, and disdaining to cast a glance at the ”filthy lucre”

that was being heaped up in the box which from obedience he carried.

What were silver and gold, let alone the cheap paper currency of the times, to him, who had given up wealth and princely rank to become a religious! Yet, in fact, they were a great deal, since they meant help for the needy--a church built, a hospital for the sick poor. In this sense none appreciated more the value of money.

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