CHAPTER XII.

THE WILL [Part II].

FOR the next year all went prosperously with the inmates of Number Nine. John's business increased more and more, and became altogether that of a builder. The number of his contracts, and the necessity of being, as it were, in three or four places at once, obliged him either to hire a horse or to keep one; and he thought his increasing income justified him in purchasing a useful horse and buggy.

This establishment was a terrible eyesore to Agnes, who had the habit of looking at every new acquisition of her acquaintances as so much taken from herself; and she never rested till she persuaded Joe into purchasing a much more splendid establishment. Agnes imagined that Letty would be greatly annoyed by the contrast in the two carriages; but in this she was mistaken. Letty's only thought about the matter was that now poor Madge would be able to get out again.

Letty, for her own part, was very happy,—happy in her husband, in her pleasant home and kind neighbours, in congenial occupations and congenial society,—happy, above all, in that well-spring of peace within which flows only from the source of an entire daily consecration to God. No longer making the common mistake of living on past experience, she felt the necessity and experienced the blessing of that daily renewing of the Holy Spirit for which we are taught to pray. She had learned the precious lesson how to lift up her heart to God in all places and at all times,—not carrying all day the burden of any sin or sorrow, and allowing it, like a thorn neglected, to rankle and irritate still more, but going at once to the source of healing, and laying her trouble or her transgression, great or small, on Him who bears the burdens of us all.

Letty found increasing pleasure in her charitable ministrations. True, she saw much to mourn over and much to condemn, and she rarely met with that exalted virtue which people, who know little about the matter, are fond of attributing to the very poor. She did not find the daughters of thieves and street-walkers expressing exalted sentiment in pure English; nor did she come across any of those wonderful old apple-women and evangelical scissor-grinders of whom we occasionally read.

But she found and rejoiced in many opportunities of helping the distressed, comforting the sorrowful and instructing the ignorant; and she was able in some instances to rescue children from destruction. The little ones at the Home were a daily pleasure to her, as she watched their bodily growth, their rapid improvement and their intense enjoyment of the warm nursery and airy play-room. Then, too, Letty found great enjoyment in the society of the other visitors, with whom she was naturally thrown in contact. They were mostly cultivated women, who had thought and read for themselves and who knew how to appreciate thought and earnestness in other people.

Mrs. Trescott had always encouraged Letty in reading and study: she had given her time for such pursuits and afforded her every assistance; and Letty had never supposed that her education was at an end because she was married. John always kept up his subscription to the library, and spent many a dollar upon new books as they came out. Mrs. Campion soon discovered that Letty kept up, as well as most people, with the literature of the day; that she dared to have opinions of her own, which she expressed moderately and temperately and in good English. Moved by these considerations, she placed Letty's name on her books; and, two or three vacancies occurring about that time in the Book Club, Mrs. Caswell was proposed and voted in without one dissenting ballot.

It was a bitter day for Agnes when she called at the house of a mutual acquaintance and found in a Club-book lying on the table the name of Mrs. Caswell, of Myrtle Street, as a member; nor was the bitterness at all assuaged by the further discovery that the Club had actually met at Number Nine and spent a very pleasant evening. Agnes went home that day with the firm conviction that she was the most miserable, ill-treated woman in all T—. She wondered if Mrs. De Witt was invited, and surmised that, if she was, Letty must have been finely mortified by her company; and, if she was not, Mrs. De Witt would never speak to her again.

Agnes was mistaken in all these particulars. Letty did not invite Mrs. De Witt, feeling, with her usual tact, that, as a new member of the Club, it did not become her to take liberties; and Mrs. De Witt was not in the least offended. On the contrary, she gave Letty a great deal of valuable help in preparing the simple entertainment permitted by the laws of the Club, and also insisted on lending her precious old china and silver spoons, which were greatly admired by those who understood their value.

The beginning of the next year brought with it two important events,—the birth of a little girl to Letty, and the death of Mrs. Train.

The new-comer, whom they called "Alice Gertrude," was a healthy, good-natured creature, wonderfully bright and full of play, and reigned like a queen over her grave father, whose admiration of her was almost boundless.

But, though Letty loved her little daughter as only mothers can love, there was a still place in her heart of hearts which the new-comer never entered,—a secret shrine reserved for the gentle, fair-haired angel who was kept safely waiting for her in another world.

Mrs. Train died—very suddenly, it was said—shortly after Letty's recovery from her confinement, and she went at once to call upon her cousin. Agnes received her with great cordiality,—with much more than ordinary kindness. It was perhaps no more than natural that her heart should be softened by such an event, and Letty rejoiced that it was so; but she could not help being surprised at the change in Mrs. Van Horn, who was busy in ordering Agnes's mourning. She had always treated Letty as a being of an inferior order; but now she fawned and coaxed and deferred to "dear Mrs. Caswell's judgment."

Letty wondered what had come over them both. Agnes was chiefly concerned, as usual, for herself. She did not see how she was to live without her mother to take care of Madge and attend to the housekeeping. Her health had lately become delicate, and she found the cares of her household quite too much for her. She did, indeed, look ill, and she had a slight—very slight—hacking cough, which startled Letty when she heard it.

"How long have you had that cough?" she asked.

"Why, a good while, off and on. It does not seem to be exactly a cold. I suppose it comes from some irritation of the throat."

"You ought to attend to it," said Letty. "Such a little dry cough is often harder to cure than one which sounds much worse."

"Oh, it is nothing," said Agnes, lightly. "I should not mind it at all, if it did not seem to reduce my strength."

Madge was the person on whom Mrs. Train's death fell with the greatest force. Her grandmother had been her constant attendant, and the poor, helpless thing was warmly attached to her. The child seemed utterly beside herself, and repeated over and over again, in piteous accents, "I want to die and go to my grandmother! Oh, please let me go to my grandmother!"

She entreated Letty to stay all night with her; and, when made to see that it was impossible on account of the baby, she begged earnestly that she might be allowed to go home with her cousin.

Mrs. Van Horn, to whom Agnes referred the question, admitted that it would be unusual—quite unusual—for any of the family to leave the house before the funeral; but, then, dear Mrs. Caswell was so kind, and such a good nurse, and had so much influence over the poor child, and it was such an uncommon cases altogether, that she did not think any one would notice it as being out of the way. She was sure dear Mrs. Caswell was very kind, to undertake such a charge; but it was quite in character with her well-known benevolence.

Letty could not help feeling that something was concealed under all this; but she was glad to take Madge home with her, intending to keep her till after the funeral.

Madge was somewhat comforted to find herself once more in her aunt Letty's house.

"Oh, it is so nice here!" she said, after Letty had taken off her things and laid her on the sofa. "I can't think how it is that some people's houses are so different from other people's."

"A change is always pleasant, especially to sick persons who are much confined to one room."

"Oh, Aunt Letty, I can never bear to think of going back to that room, now granny is gone!" said Madge, crying afresh. "Granny was the only person that loved me or took care of me, except father; and I hardly ever see him now-a-days. He hardly ever gets home till ever so late; and then he act queer that I cannot bear to have him come into the room."

"But your mother, my dear?"

"She doesn't love me any more," said Madge, shaking her head sadly. "She think I am so much trouble; and so I am, and always shall be. I never can play, or run about, or go to school, like other little girls; and I don't see, Aunt Letty, what God ever made me for."

"My dear child, God made you to do the work he has set for you in this world, and after that to live with him for ever and ever,—never to have any more pain or sorrow or weariness or trouble, but to be happy with him in heaven. That is what God made you for. But if you wish to live with him hereafter you must try to live for him here and to do his work."

"I don't see how I can do any work," said Madge. "I cannot even dress myself."

"No: your work is of a different kind. Your work is to try and suffer patiently, and not complain and fret, and make no more trouble than you can help, to be considerate of other people and careful of their comfort. If you try to be faithful in this work,—if you ask God's help in it, and read and study and think about his word, that you may know your duty,—God will perhaps send you something else to do."

"Granny used to read the Bible a great deal after she was sick," said Madge. "She said it was all the comfort there was in the world for her, and she had let it alone too long. And oh, Aunt Letty, a great many times when she wanted to read the Bible, I used to make her read story-books to me. It was very selfish: wasn't it? If I had always been good to her, I should not feel half so badly now."

"My dear, that is the way we all feel," said Letty. "It ought to make us very careful in our treatment of our friends while they are with us, to think how sorrowfully we shall look back at all our selfishness and unkindness when they are gone."

"I tried to be good to grandmother while she was sick, and I felt sorry for her when she used to say that something was the matter with her heart, and that she knew she should die suddenly some day; and father used to talk to her about making a will. He was at her about it for ever so long; and one day he brought a paper, which she signed, and Mrs. Van Horn signed it after her."

All at once the solution of Mrs. Van Horn's civility and Agnes's extra kindness flashed across Letty's mind. Joe had persuaded his mother-in-law to make a will, giving to Agnes all the money that Aunt Eunice had left for her use. Joe and Agnes had always been in the habit of talking about this money as though it rightfully belonged to them; and no doubt they would try to make use of this will in persuading Letty to give up her claim to the property. She mentioned her suspicions to John after Madge had gone to bed.

"Joe must be aware that such a will is not worth the paper it is written on," said John. "Nevertheless, I do not doubt that they will try to coax you into giving up your claim."

"I shall not do so," said Letty, decidedly. "If Agnes were poor, I might think of it; but not under present circumstances."

The event proved that John was right. The day after the funeral, Agnes sent for Letty to come into her room, where she sat arrayed in her new mourning apparel.

"I suppose you don't know, Letty, that my poor mother made a will?" she began, after Letty was seated.

"I heard so," replied Letty.

"She has left me all her property:—perhaps you heard that too?" answered Agnes.

"I supposed she would, of course," said Letty: "it was the only natural arrangement."

"There! I told Joe I knew you would say so," said Agnes. "You are always reasonable, Letty. But Joe says that it will be necessary for you to sign some paper giving up your claim. It is of no consequence, you know,—only a form that the lawyers like to go through."

"I don't at all see how that can be necessary," said Letty, coolly. "I never made the least claim to your mother's property. Why should I?"

"You shouldn't, of course; but Joe says that, unless you sign this paper, Mr. Trescott may make a disturbance with Aunt Eunice's will. As it was worded, you would seem to have an equal claim with myself to the money she left mother, and which mother has left to me."

"But how could your mother leave you that money, Agnes, when it was never hers?" replied Letty, gently, but decidedly. "Aunt Eunice did not leave it to her, but merely the use of it during her life. She had no more right to leave it to you than she had to leave you Mr. Trescott's house or the City Hall."

Agnes's face flushed; but she made a great effort at self-command.

"Now, Letty, don't be unreasonable. You must see that, having taken care of poor mother, as we did, during all the latter part of her life, we have the best right to this money. If you had ever done any thing for her, it would be different; but she has lived with us for the last five years, as you well know, and—"

"During which time she has done fully work enough to pay for her board, besides the fact of having all her money embarked in Joseph's business," said Letty. "You could not find a woman to do for Madge what your mother has done, for less than two dollars a week."

"That is no business of yours," said Agnes, sharply.

"Except when you undertake to found a claim upon it."

"Now, Letty, do be sensible!" said Agnes. "I don't want to quarrel with you, if you will only give up quietly; but, if you don't, we shall be compelled to go to law about it: that's all."

Agnes evidently endeavoured to make a great impression by this threat.

But Letty answered, calmly,—

"Do you imagine you would gain any thing by that?"

"Of course we should: there is not a doubt of it," replied Agnes, confidently. "But it is very disagreeable to have a lawsuit between relations, and would make no end of costs for you. It is much better that you should give up at once."

"Better for you, no doubt; but I tell you at once and decidedly that I shall do nothing of the kind. The property is legally and rightfully mine, and I intend to keep it. If you were poor, it would perhaps be different; but, as things now are, I shall have no hesitation in claiming my own."

"Now, Letty, see here!" said Agnes. "You have always pretended to be a wonderful saint and Christian. I am no great believer in such pretensions myself; but now is the time to prove their truth. If you are what you profess to be,—a Christian,—you will give this matter without any more words; if you don't, I shall think you're a hypocrite: that's all."

"And what harm will it do me if you do think me a hypocrite?" said she. "You will no doubt injure yourself greatly; but I do not see how I shall be the sufferer. It is not by your judgment I stand or fall, or by that of any man or woman, but by my own Master's. As to your thinking me a hypocrite, that is just as you please. I know that neither you nor Joe would think any better of me for giving up my just rights in this matter; but whether you do or not is of small consequence to me."

"I should like to know how you found out any thing about the will," said Agnes, angrily. "I suppose you got it out of Madge, the mischief-making little story-teller! I can tell you this is the last time she enters your door, Letty Caswell; and I'll pay her well for her meddling. I will make her rue the day she ever went tattling to you or anybody else. I'll make you rue it too: see if I don't. You have been trying your best to make that child over after your own pattern; but I'll drive it out of her. I want no saints of your stamp spying and sneaking about me." Agnes paused from lack of breath.

"Agnes," said Letty, rising and speaking in a tone which made her angry listener keep silence in spite of herself, "you can act as you like, so far as I am concerned. I care nothing for what you may say or do; but, if you vent your spite towards me on that afflicted child, you will do a most wicked thing, for which God will bring you into judgment as sure as you stand there,—if not in this life, yet in the life to come. His eye is over the helpless and the innocent, and his ear is open to their prayer. For what you have said to me, may God forgive you, as I do; but beware how you offend one of these little ones; for I tell you, on his authority, that it would be better for you that a mill-stone were hanged about your neck and that you were drowned in the depths of the sea."

Letty left the room as she finished speaking. At the foot of the stairs she encountered Joe, who had evidently been waiting the result of her interview with Agnes.

"So you've seen Agnes,—hey? I suppose she has told you all about mother's will,—hey?"

"If you have any thing to say on that subject, I prefer that you should talk to my husband," said Letty.

"What! So you and Agnes have had a brush?" said he, with a disagreeable laugh. "I might have known she would make a mess of it, with that temper of hers. But never mind that: you and I can be reasonable, I hope; and, of course, Letty, you will at once see the justice of our claim."

"I prefer to have you talk to John," replied Letty. "I have no more to say on the subject."

"Why John?" said Emerson. "What has he got to do with it?"

Letty attempted to pass by him to the door; but Joe placed himself before her.

"Now, look here, Letty Caswell: you are not going off so. You are going to give up your claim upon this property before you leave the house. If you don't, I will make you."

"How do you propose to make me?" asked Letty, looking him full in the face.

If she had not known Joe before, she might have been frightened; but she was well aware that he was at heart an arrant coward. As she took a firm step to pass him, he saw at once that he better yield the point; and she was soon outside of the door.

When Van Horn heard the result of the conference, he said they were a pack of fools. He'd have the money, he said, or part of it at least: he'd be bound, he would. Accordingly, he contrived to join John on his way home one day.

He understood that Joe had been founding a claim to the property of the late Mrs. White upon that foolish affair of Mrs. Train's. He and Mrs. Van Horn had signed the paper as witnesses, merely to gratify a whim of the old lady, who was evidently in her dotage. But, as long as that fact could not be proved, he supposed Mr. Caswell knew the will was good in law, though perhaps not in equity. There was no doubt whatever that if Joe should bring a suit, he would gain it, and he (Caswell) would have all the costs to pay. Would it not be better to come to some arrangement? Perhaps a compromise could be made which would save all trouble and prevent ill feeling. He had no interest in the matter, he added,—none in the world,—except that his natural disposition always led him to act as peace-maker. True, it was a thankless office in most cases; but he did not care for that, if he could only do good and prevent mischief.

It seemed likely to be equally thankless in this case. John heard all this palaver, as he thought it, without interruption, and then quietly informed the peace-maker that the whole affair was in the hands of Mr. Trescott, who was Mrs. White's executor and would manage the matter as he thought proper.

Mr. Van Horn was sorry to hear it. Mr. Trescott was doubtless a smart man; but still he was a lawyer; and every one knew that lawyers liked to make business for themselves: he was sorry to say it; but he had too much reason to know. He had always had the highest opinion of Mr. Caswell's judgment; but it would certainly be lowered if he persisted in involving himself in such a lawsuit, when all the facts of the case were plainly against him, simply because he was afraid of his wife.

Mr. Caswell was of opinion that he could endure a fall in Mr. Van Horn's good graces without breaking any bones; and, being now at his own gate and disinclined to hear further arguments, walked into the house and shut the door after him.

It is needless to add that the suit never was brought. Mr. Van Horn knew very well how it would end; and he had no notion of letting any of his partner's money be spent in useless litigation.