CHAPTER VI.

THE WILL.

MRS. VAN HORN did not call upon Letty again; and, when she went to return the visit she had received, the lady was not "at home." But she continued upon the most intimate terms with Agnes. Letty was more than ever convinced that she was not a safe person; but she was grieved at the change in Agnes's feelings, and made several attempts to regain some influence over her. Letty fancied, too, that several of her neighbours looked coolly upon her and once, as she passed a knot of them, there was a laugh and a significant whisper that she could not overlook. She could not help suspecting that Mrs. Van Horn's influence lay at the bottom of the matter; nor was she mistaken.

Letty's baby was born in May. Her confinement was attended with much suffering, and she was considered in some danger for several hours. Mrs. Trescott came down early in the morning, and stayed the whole day, greatly to the comfort of Letty, who regarded her as an infallible oracle in all cases of sickness. In the afternoon, when Letty was comparatively comfortable and had fallen asleep, Mrs. De Witt, who had been with her from the beginning, beckoned Mrs. Trescott out of the room.

"I wish you would come over to my house," said she, rather mysteriously. "I have something to say to you, and I don't want any of 'em to hear a word,—particularly Mrs. Caswell. It's been on my mind a good many days," she continued, opening the door for her visitor, "and I wanted some one's advice that knows more than I do; for I really don't think such things ought to be allowed to go on,—only one don't know how to stop 'em, always."

"Well," said Mrs. Trescott, surprised, and somewhat amused, "I will advise you to the best of my ability. What's the matter?"

"It's about Mrs. Caswell herself," said Mrs. De Witt, sitting down, and, in her extraordinary earnestness, coming to the point at once, without any of her customary circumlocution. "You see, she has a good many handkerchiefs and things marked with your daughter's name, and some very fine towels and table-cloths marked with another name,—Anastasia something."

"Anastasia Burchell? Yes. Those things were given her for wedding-presents, by my aunt and myself. My daughter was very much attached to Letty, and at the time of her death I laid by a number of articles of her wardrobe, such as I thought would be useful to Letty, meaning to give them to her whenever she should leave me."

"Exactly," said Mrs. De Witt. "I understand. Well, Mrs. Van Horn was in there one day when Letty was pulling out all her drawers and putting her things in order, and she got hold of some of these very articles. So, what does she do but go all around the neighbourhood, telling every one that Mrs. Caswell stole those things from you, and that you told her yourself that you knew Letty stole, but, as she was a member of the church and going away so soon, you thought you would take no notice!"

"That I told her!" exclaimed Mrs. Trescott, in profound amazement. "Why, Mrs. De Witt, I never spoke to the woman more than once in my life. I hardly know her by sight."

"Do tell!" said Mrs. De Witt. "Why, she is always bragging how intimate she is at your house,—and so on," remembering in time that all Mrs. Van Horn's stories would not bear repetition. "Anyhow, she has told this story about Mrs. Caswell all over the neighbourhood, and a good many people believe it."

"Where does this person live?" asked Mrs. Trescott, with a flash in her eyes which, to those who knew her, betokened mischief. "I should like to see her."

Mrs. De Witt pointed out the house. "See, there she is now at the gate, talking to Mrs. Brown and Mrs. Clarke and Martha Wilbur. She has got some new story in hand, I'll be bound, by the way she nods her head."

Mrs. Trescott had laid a light scarf over her head to come through the garden. "Come with me, Mrs. De Witt," said she, decidedly.

The two crossed the road, and stood in the midst of the gossiping group almost before they were seen.

"Mrs. Van Horn, I believe?" said Mrs. Trescott, addressing the woman,—who looked as if she did not know whether to be pleased or frightened, as she bowed her head.

"I understand," said Mrs. Trescott, in clear, quiet tones,—"I understand that you have spread a report about this neighbourhood, to the effect that Mrs. Letitia Caswell, who formerly lived with me, stole certain articles, marked with my daughter's name, now in her possession."

"I'm sure I don't remember," stammered Mrs. Van Horn. "I only said it was odd how she came by them,—or something like that."

"Why, Mrs. Van Horn, how can you say so?" exclaimed Martha Wilbur, a pert girl of fifteen, who was rejoicing in the prospect of a scene and very ready to help it on. "I am sure you said at our house that Mrs. Trescott told you herself how Mrs. Caswell stole those things, and about all the other trouble she had made in the family. It was the same night when you told us how you had just been out riding with Mrs. Trescott in her new carriage, and how she asked you to go to Washington with her."

"Martha is right," said Mrs. Clarke. "I heard Mrs. Van Horn say all these things myself."

"I have only to say," said Mrs. Trescott, turning to the bystanders, "that the story is perfectly false from beginning to end. Letty lived with me eight years, and was to me more like a younger sister than a servant. I would have trusted her with any amount of money. She is beyond all question one of the most truthful, faithful persons I ever had any thing to do with. The articles in question were given her by me, as a kind of legacy from my daughter Maria; and the damask towels which excited so much attention were a present from my aunt, Mrs. Burchell. As to this person," she added (turning to Mrs. Van Horn), "I do not know her, nor, may I add, have I any desire to make her acquaintance." And, with a dignified bow, Mrs. Trescott turned away, and walked back to Number Ten, followed by Mrs. De Witt.

"Well, if ever!" exclaimed Martha Wilbur.

"Oh, you needn't mind what she says," said Mrs. Van Horn, recovering herself a little, and the instinct of lying, as usual, coming uppermost. "Mrs. Trescott is queer at times," she added, in a mysterious whisper. "Very likely she will be all right to-morrow, and as good friends as ever. There is insanity in the family; and she has so many domestic troubles, it is no wonder."

"Well, now, I think I wouldn't say any more about Mrs. Trescott, if I was you," said plain-spoken Mrs. Clarke. "I have known all about her family for years, and there never was any such thing the matter with them. For my part, I take shame to myself for ever having listened to such stories about Mrs. Caswell; though I never did believe half of them. Suppose she had died this morning: how should some of us be feeling now about the way we have treated her lately,—a woman who has never done any thing but good to one of us? It will be a lesson to me for my whole life; and I hope, Martha, it may be the same to you."

It was so far a lesson to Martha that she lost no time in spreading the story of Mrs. Van Horn's defeat from one end of the street to the other, and several doors round the corner. A good many people chuckled over the lady's discomfiture, and declared that it served her right. Others felt sorry for her, and thought the lesson a severe one; as indeed it was.

Agnes declared that it was a shame all round, and that she did not believe Mrs. Van Horn meant any harm, or ever said half of what was attributed to her. She insisted that it was Mrs. De Witt who had made all the fuss, by telling Mrs. Trescott, and that it would have died out of itself if she had only held her tongue.

Letty heard nothing of the matter till very long afterwards; and John never heard of it at all.

Mrs. Van Horn kept herself very quiet for some time, and was never afterwards heard to boast of her acquaintances on the Avenue. She confided to Agnes that she would never speak to Mrs. Trescott again, as long as she lived,—a resolution which she was not likely to have much difficulty in keeping,—and that she would never again have any thing to do with the Myrtle Street people. It served her right for mixing herself up with such a low set, she said,—adding, pathetically, that she never did try to do people good without having cause to be sorry for it.

Letty's boy was rather a delicate little fellow, and was, indeed, not nearly so fine a baby as Madge; but, then, he was a boy, and Agnes thought she was somewhat injured. But Joe avowed himself perfectly satisfied, and declared, as he tossed the sturdy little thing up to the ceiling, that he would not change his Magpie for all the boys in the world,—all of which Agnes set down as want of sympathy.

But as the weeks went on, the little boy improved; and at two months old, though still small, was as plump and rosy as a mother could wish, while he already displayed, according to Letty, unusual sagacity.

Gatty De Witt was half out of her senses with delight. She had always longed for a little brother or sister; and Letty gave her full permission to call the new-comer her brother. She spent half her time out of school by his crib or holding him in her arms; and the daily task of sewing or knitting, which her mother rigorously exacted, no longer seemed tedious, if she might only sit where she could see the baby. Then came the grand question of his name. Gatty proposed all sorts of names; but Letty had long ago made up her mind that if a boy were given to her, he must be called Alexander Trescott, and Alexander Trescott it was.

"But that is such a long name for such a short baby," said Gatty.

"You know we can call him Alick till he grows longer," suggested John, gravely,—"or Sandy, if you like it better."

"Sandy!" exclaimed Gatty, indignantly. "Mr. Logan's Scotch terrier is named Sandy; and he is an ugly little thing. I don't mind Alick, though."

Alick was born on the second day of May, and Letty was growing quite strong and well again, when a neighbour of Aunt Eunice's called one day with sad news. The old lady had been found dead in her bed that morning. The funeral was appointed for the next day, and one and all the relations were asked to attend it. John went out at once to assist in the necessary arrangements, and the others were to go on the day of the funeral. Agnes came over in the afternoon to talk about it.

"I suppose you will go, of course?" said she, after a little pause.

"No," replied Letty. "John does not think it best. You know I have not been very strong lately; and he is afraid of my making myself sick. I am very much disappointed; but I suppose he is right."

"I don't believe it would hurt you," said Agnes.

"Nor I; but still it might."

"And so kind as Aunt Eunice has always been to you, too!" continued Agnes. "It will look very odd for you to stay at home. If I were you, I would set my foot down and go, whether or not."

"You don't know John, or you would not talk in that way. When he once makes up his mind, that is all about it. However, I do suppose he would let me go, if I really insisted upon it, this time; but I don't like to take the responsibility; and, then, I don't want to worry him. Suppose the baby should be sick after it: how should I feel!"

"Nonsense! It won't hurt him. Babies are not so easily made sick as men suppose. If you were to listen to Joe, you would think that Madge ought to be kept under a glass case and only taken out upon fine days. For my part, I believe in making them hardy. Here comes Mrs. Trescott. Now, I shall just ask her; for I really do not think it looks decent for you to stay at home."

Mrs. Trescott was appealed to accordingly. Much to Agnes's disappointment, and perhaps a little to Letty's, she sustained John's decision. "It is raw, damp weather, and Letty has not been well. A little cold might easily make her sick; and there is not only her own health, but the baby's, to be considered. Ask yourself, Letty, what Aunt Eunice would say."

"Oh, I know you are right," said Letty; and the tears filled her eyes. "But I did feel as though I wanted to see her once more."

"The feeling is a natural one," said Mrs. Trescott; "but look at it in another way. Aunt Eunice is not there,—only, so to speak, the cast-off clothes which she has worn and done with. You will now remember her as you saw her last,—well and happy, with the light of a loving spirit in her eye and the hue of health on her cheek. Is there not some comfort in that?"

"I think she was one of the most beautiful old women I ever saw," said Agnes.

"Her beauty came from within," replied Mrs. Trescott. "It was the spirit which shone in her eyes and smiled in her mouth that gave her face its charm. She always seemed to live, as it were, in the sunshine of God's presence. I never spent an hour in her company without feeling myself the better for it. She seemed to carry about with her an atmosphere of peace and truth, which did good to all who came within its influence."

"Yes, indeed," said Agnes, rather to Letty's surprise. "If one could always live with such people, it would be easy to be good; but when one's daily companions are the very reverse of that, one cannot help being influenced by them. I am sure I feel it so every day of my life," she added, with the usual sigh.

"Yet some of the most lovely Christian characters have grown up under just such influences as those you describe," remarked Mrs. Trescott.

"May-be so; but it is very hard work," said Agnes. "Well, Letty, I must go home and get ready. I am sorry you cannot go; but perhaps it is for the best. John is so indulgent and kind that you must not mind his setting up his will against yours once in a while. It is daily contradiction and selfishness which wear one out."

"What does Agnes mean by talking in that way?" said Mrs. Trescott, after she had gone. "Doesn't she live happily with her husband? Is he an irreligious man?"

"I believe he is rather the more serious of the two,—though that is not saying much," replied Letty; "but he and Agnes have taken up an unfortunate way of talking about each other. They are always complaining,—especially Agnes. I think Mrs. Van Horn encourages her to do so. I always stop her short as soon as I can; but she thinks I have no sympathy with her."

"I wonder if Aunt Eunice made a will?" said Joseph to his wife, as they were riding out next day. "She must have been pretty well off."

"You know she had the farm only for her lifetime," replied Agnes.

"Yes; but I understand that all the furniture and stock were hers; and one would think she must have laid up money."

"She always gave away a good deal," said Agnes. "And if she had any property, I dare say it is left to some institution or other,—very likely to the 'Old Ladies' Home.' She was always sending them butter and other things. But it's hardly right to be talking of such matters now."

"Only it's as well to think about them,—and natural, too."

"Natural to some people," said Agnes; "but not to me, I am sure. I never thought of speculating on the poor old lady's property. But you are so worldly, Joseph! You never seem to care for any thing else."

Joe muttered that he didn't think he any worse than other people in that respect, only he never set himself up to be much.

It turned out that Aunt Eunice had something to leave, and also that she had made a will. Her personal property amounts to more than five thousand dollars. Of this, nine hundred was left to each of the girls, and the use of the remainder to Mrs. Train for her life, to be divided at her death between Agnes and Letty.

The furniture, linen, china, &c.—all the contents of the house, in fact—were left to Letty; "as I am well assured," the testator went on to say, "that she will value them as they deserve." That unlucky ironing-sheet! Aunt Eunice had always intended to make an equal division of all these matters between her two grand-nieces; but the sight of her fine linen reduced to such base uses at last, changed her mind.

A gray crape shawl was left to Mrs. De Witt, and to her husband, a venerable Dutch copy of Calvin's "Institutes," which would have been a prize to any book-collector in the land. Even little Gatty received a remembrance, in the shape of a shepherd and shepherdess of Dutch china, the admiration of several successive generations of children.

Agnes was very much annoyed. Not that she cared so much for Aunt Eunice's quaint, old-fashioned furniture, or her Indian-chintz bed and window curtains; but there were certain spoons and ladles of heavy, solid silver, and a teapot of the same metal, which, transformed into more fashionable shapes, would have been a great ornament to her tea-table. Agnes's spoons were only plated, and, as she pathetically expressed it, it did seem mysterious that Letty, who had a dozen of real silver spoons already, should get so many more. It was always the way in this world, she added, with a sigh, as though longing for a world where spoons should be more equally distributed.

Joe was very provoking, too. He did not care any thing about the spoons,—Letty was welcome to them and to all the rest; and he even said that he didn't wonder at it, for Letty did know how to take care of her things,—a great deal better than they did. He didn't wonder, either, that Aunt Eunice thought so, seeing what a mess Agnes was in the day she came to see them; and then he put on a grave expression, and reminded Agnes that some people never seemed to care for any but worldly things, and that she ought to be thinking of something better.

In a short time the furniture was brought into town and set up in Letty's parlour and front chamber,—the latter apartment never having been furnished before. Very snug and comfortable it looked, with its old, carved mahogany bedstead and bureau, its chintz hangings, and chairs covered with birds and flowers unknown to science, with little Chinamen in attitudes anatomically impossible, and landscapes utterly inconsistent with the laws of gravitation.

Agnes contrasted all this with Mrs. Van Horn's new green-and-gold chamber set, and declared the room was horrid,—enough to give one the nightmare but Catherine Trescott was in ecstasies, and declared that she should come and stay with Letty for the mere pleasure of sleeping under those curtains.

The tall clock also arrived safely. A wonderful clock it was, endowed with surprising powers, of which Gatty was half afraid; for it not only struck the hours and half-hours and the quarters, but it also showed the age of the moon, by means of a great face which looked through a kind of window; and—wonder of wonders!—it had a glass case at the top, under which was a ship in full sail, which actually rose and fell on a wave,—just like a real ship, said Gatty, whose knowledge of maritime affairs was quite limited. This precious clock was believed to have come from Holland in some unknown age before the Revolution.

The store of household linen was really very valuable; for Aunt Eunice had inherited, as I said, the spinnings and weavings of two or three generations of thrifty Dutch and New England women. A good deal of it was of very fine quality; and Letty certainly felt a considerable accession of respectability as she put away the carefully assorted piles in Aunt Eunice's bureaus and clothed the pillows on her own bed with linen. A closet opening out of the parlour held the old-fashioned Canton and Dutch china, as well as the queensware bowls and jars filled with various sweetmeats which had fallen to her share.

When all was arranged, Letty took a pot of preserved peaches and another of raspberry jam, and set out to carry them over to Agnes. As she reached the half-open door, she paused a moment to shake down her dress, which she had held up in crossing the street; and, as she did so, she heard Mrs. Van Horn's voice say, in a decided manner,—

"Oh, yes: you may depend upon it, it was her doing. She got round the old lady in some way or other. Very likely she told her stories about you. Those pious people are always up to such doings."

Letty heard no more. She opened the door, and confronted the speaker with the words on her lips. Both Mrs. Van Horn and Agnes looked confused, and the latter coloured deeply. She had a trick of blushing which made some people think she was very modest and sensitive.

"Dear me, Letty! How you do come in on one, like a spirit!" said Agnes, peevishly. "Why couldn't you knock?"

"For a very good reason:—because I had both my hands full, and the door was open," replied Letty, smiling. "Pray, when did you begin to be so ceremonious, Agnes? If you make a point of it, I will set down my jars, go back and perform the ceremony properly. Perhaps you would like to have me send in a card!"

"Nonsense! What a fuss you make!" (It was always somebody else who made the fuss, according to Agnes.) "What have you there?"

"I have brought you some of Aunt Eunice's sweetmeats," replied Letty. "They are very nice; and I know Joe likes such things."

"I think Aunt Eunice might have left me part of them herself," said Agnes. "It is very odd that she should have left every thing to you. I believe some one must have prejudiced her against me."

"Who?" asked Letty, looking her cousin full in the face.

Agnes was not prepared with an answer to such a direct question. She was fond of dealing in hints and innuendoes; but she rather shrunk from an open war with Letty, who, gentle as she was, had a straightforward way of standing her ground, not very easy to encounter.

Mrs. Van Horn came to her help.

"Now, dear Agnes, pray don't disturb yourself! So nervous and sensitive as you are, you ought to be careful. I don't wonder you feel keenly the injustice of your aunt's will. Of course it is not the value of a parcel of old rubbish, which no one with a particle of taste would have in the house; but no one likes to be treated with unkindness. No doubt, however, the old lady was quite childish when she made that addition to her will,—if, indeed, she ever made it at all." And with this parting shot, Mrs. Van Horn sailed away.

"How can you endure that woman?" said Letty, looking after the retreating figure some disgust.

"You don't like her, that is clear; she is rather too much for you," said Agnes, with an ill-natured laugh.

"Naturally I don't," replied Letty. "When a woman calls me a thief, and tells several lies to sustain the accusation, it does certainly give me a prejudice against her."

"Mrs. Van Horn was wrong the other day, I admit," said Agnes. "She was a great deal too hasty; and she is apt to embroider a little,—that cannot be denied; but, after all, she is very kind-hearted."

"I don't understand the kindness of heart which allows people to slander their neighbours and to try to set relations against one another," said Letty. "As to Aunt Eunice, she had a right to make her will as she pleased; and, considering what she has done for your mother, I think it is not very gracious in you to find fault with her."

"Well, well, who cares?" said Agnes, impatiently. "You have got the things, and you are welcome to them. What are you going to do with your money?"

"We have not quite decided," replied Letty. "I think, however, we shall pay up the mortgage on our house and lot; then we shall be sure of a house, whatever happens; and with the rest of the money we may get the house insured, or we may let it lie by against a rainy day."

"Is that your plan, or John's?"

"Mine. I have always told John that I should not be easy till the place was paid for. 'Out of debt, out of danger,' you know."

"Well, but what danger, Letty?"

"Danger of having the mortgage foreclosed, and so losing the house and all we have laid out upon it," said Letty. "You know Mr. Grayson has the reputation—whether justly or not—of being a hard man in such matters. They say he has made a great deal of money in that way,—by allowing people to go on and make improvements, and then taking advantage of some unfortunate time to foreclose."

"But so long as you pay the interest,—"

"We may not always be able to pay the interest. Times may be bad; or John may be sick; or a dozen other things may happen."

"You are always borrowing trouble, Letty," said Agnes. "Does not the Bible say, 'Take no thought for to-morrow'?"

"Yes; and the way to avoid doing so is to take thought for to-day," said Letty, smiling. "The house once our own, there will be no more thought needed, except to pay the taxes and the insurance. The Bible says, too, 'Owe no man any thing.' And, since we are upon quotations, I will give you another,—a wise one, too, though not from the Bible:—'He that buildeth his house with other men's money is like one that gathereth together stones for his own tomb.'"

"I don't know what you mean by that," said Agnes. "The money is our own."

"Not while we honestly owe it, Agnes."

"That may be your doctrine, but it is not mine," said Agnes, lightly. And then she added, as if to turn the conversation, "Shall I turn these things out of the jars, or keep them till I want to use them."

"Keep them altogether," said Letty. "I meant you should. They are handsome old jars, and will be useful for a good many purposes."

Agnes expressed herself much obliged, and the cousins parted.

A few days later, John came home, looking both annoyed and amused.

"Has Agnes said any thing to you about their notion of building?" he asked.

"Nothing whatever," replied Letty, surprised. "What do they want to build?"

"Oh, Joe says they want another parlour. He has found out that it is very ungenteel to eat in the kitchen, and that a dining-room is a necessary of life: so they are going to build on a wing north of the entry for a grand large parlour."

"I believe they think nine hundred dollars is a perfect mine of wealth," said Letty. "Did Joe talk to you about building it for him?"

"Yes; he has been up at the shop this afternoon. I could not help advising him against it. You see, he has only made one payment on the place, and that not a large one. Joe has been behind-hand with his interest twice; and, without thinking Grayson such a sharper as people call him, he is a hard man, and I should not like to be in his power."

"Nor I."

"This addition, as they propose to finish it, will cost three or four hundred dollars, at the least calculation; then they will want new carpets and furniture, and so on."

"Exactly," said Letty. "One expense leads to another. What did you say to Joe?"

"I advised him strongly to see Grayson and pay up the mortgage before he did any thing else. He objected that it would use up nearly the whole of Aunt Eunice's legacy, and they would have nothing left for themselves."

"Nothing for themselves!" exclaimed Letty. "Why, won't they have the house for themselves?"

"So I told him; but Joe said he had that now. He believed in people enjoying themselves as they went along, and not borrowing trouble. In short, I believe the only effect of my advice will be that Joe will give the job to some one else."

"He may at least give you credit for being disinterested," said Letty. "But have you seen Mr. Grayson yourself?"

"Yes; I spoke to him to-night. He was very civil,—said there was no hurry; he thought it would be better for me to lay out the money on my business; but I told him the money was yours, and you preferred to have it used in this way.

"'What!' said he. 'In paying debts rather than in buying new furniture or finery?'

"And then he wiped his glasses a while, and said he,—

"'My good friend, let me give you one piece of advice. You make your will and leave this place to your wife; or, better still, deed it to her now: she is a woman who can be trusted; and you won't die any the sooner for having your affairs arranged.'"

John concluded rightly. The only effect of his advice was that Joseph gave his building to some one else,—a Mr. Carr. John had not a high opinion of the man, but, of course, said nothing about him. Materials were soon collected, and the work of building began. They had at first intended only to make one large room for a parlour; but Mr. Carr suggested that it would be very convenient to have a nursery down-stairs; and, now that they were about it, it would not cost much more: so the nursery was added to the original plan.

A good many little variations were made,—such as a door here and a closet there. Mrs. Van Horn thought the parlour should have a cornice; and Agnes, of course, agreed with her. Then Joe came to the conclusion that windows down to the floor were absolutely necessary. John took the liberty of reminding him that every one of these additions to the original plan was an added expense; but Joe did not take the hint in very good part. He drew himself up, thanked Mr. Caswell for his advice, but believed he knew what he was about.

Meantime, John had paid up his mortgage. It was a happy day when he brought home his papers and announced to Letty that the house was all her own. Letty made a little feast on the occasion, and invited Mr. and Mrs. De Witt, Agnes and Joseph to tea.

Joe, who had quite overcome his fit of ill humour, made himself very agreeable, discussed flowers with Mrs. De Witt, and chemistry with her husband, and praised Letty's biscuits and cakes, till she, laughingly, told him he would incite her to set up a bakery. Joe said that a school for instruction in the art would be more to the purpose, and declared he would endow a professorship for her when his ship came home.

Agnes, who chose to take all this as an imputation on herself, sighed, and took occasion to remark that, if girls only knew half of what was before them, they would never be married. She appealed to Mrs. De Witt for confirmation.

But that lady, perhaps partly actuated by a spirit of perversity, declared that she had been a great deal happier in marriage than she ever expected to be.

Thereat Mr. De Witt smiled calmly; and Agnes remarked that the ways of Providence were mysterious. Agnes's religion mostly spent itself in little expressions of this kind; which had caused Joe to remark, upon one occasion, that she was never very pious except when she was very cross.

It now became a question what was to be done with the rest of the money (about three hundred and fifty dollars) which remained after the mortgage was discharged and a few little improvements made about the place; and, after various consultations, it was concluded to deposit it in the Sixpenny Savings-Bank, to be ready against the time of need.