Part 5

Good Mr. Simonton rubbed his hands and brushed up his spruce gray whiskers, singing all the while in his splendid tenor voice, just as he did when he led the children in Sunday-school.

[Illustration: THE CHRISTMAS TREE]

"There, nephew and niece Fletcher," said Mrs. Bertie, sweeping up to the table when the anthem was finished, and laying her withered hand glittering with diamonds upon the head of the nearest child; "this is your Christmas present. I felt sure that neither of you would enjoy your Christmas unless you had a parcel of poor children round you: so knowing Mr. Simonton to be superintendent of your Sunday-school, I employed him to collect these little folks together to meet you this evening."

"I thank you from the bottom of my heart, Aunt Sally," said Mr. Fletcher as soon as he could find his voice. "Nothing in the world could have given me greater pleasure. The thought of being no longer able to do any thing for these little ones, has been one of the bitterest things I have experienced in all my reverses. I hope—"

And here Mr. Fletcher broke down entirely, and had recourse to his handkerchief, while Mr. Simonton rubbed his spectacles and cleared his throat, and Mr. and Mrs. Coles looked on in silent amazement.

"Nonsense, nephew Fletcher," said Mrs. Sally, while the bright drops stood on her own lashes. "I have given you trouble enough in the course of my life, and I dare say I shall give you plenty more if I live, for I am rather too old to change my ways. But come, give your protégés their presents and dainties, and let them go home before it grows late, as they have already been kept longer than I intended. Nephew Coles, if you have done staring, perhaps you will be able to render some assistance."

In fact, Mr. and Mrs. Coles were to the last degree astonished. Mrs. Bertie, as we have already remarked, was at first very angry at Mr. Fletcher, and Mr. Coles had left no opportunity untried of fostering the feeling. He had relied upon the knowledge of Ethel's late business transactions to put the climax to his aunt's discontent, knowing how nervously sensitive she was to any thing which touched what she considered the honor of the family. And now to see her taking so much pains, and going to such an expense to feast "a parcel of dirty little Irish young ones—" so did Mr. Coles mentally designate these lambs of the flock,—for no other purpose than to give pleasure to this very offending nephew Fletcher—he was utterly confounded, and began to think Mrs. Bertie had lost her wits.

Mrs. Bertie, however, seemed to be in full possession of her faculties. She went around among the children, laughing and joking, inquiring their names, ages, and circumstances, seeing that all were helped, and making herself so agreeable that the children were perfectly delighted with her. Indeed, one little girl declared to her companions, as they were putting on their hoods to go home, that Mrs. Bertie was exactly like the fairy godmother in Cinderella; which speech being overheard by the girls and repeated to their aunt, greatly amused and delighted the old lady, who declared it to be the prettiest compliment she had had since she was a young girl.

No one in the world could be pleasanter than Mrs. Sally when she was pleased; and this evening she seemed resolved to be pleased with every thing and everybody. The presents were remarkably well chosen, except that Mr. Simonton made a grimace at a diamond ring, and declared that people would think he was growing a beau in his old age. Abby had a gold necklace and her mother a gold bracelet, which the latter secretly thought was not half as handsome as she expected. Ethel had a new paint-box and a complete set of Miss Yonge's books, with which she was greatly delighted.

"I have a present for you, Aunt Sally," she said modestly. "It is only a yard-ribbon, but I thought you would like it, because I bought it with my own earnings."

"Umph!" said her aunt. "What made you think so?"

"I don't know," replied Ethel, "unless it is because I should feel so myself."

"Really, Ethel, you are a rational child, all things considered. Yes, my dear, I am much pleased with it, and shall value it greatly—though mind, that is not saying that I approve of your working for money. What have you there, Abby?"

"A pin-cushion, aunt. I did not earn the money, like Ethel, but I hope you will like it."

"Thank you, my dear—it is very pretty, indeed. Did you make it all yourself?"

"No, aunt," replied Abby, honestly, disregarding her father's signs for silence. "I wanted to do every stitch of it, but mother thought it would not be pretty enough, so our sewing girl did all but the filling up. But I mean to do the next one all myself—see if I don't."

"That is right, Abby. Speak the plain truth, whatever you do. Now for the rest of the things."

Abby's present to Ethel was a pretty little silver-mounted magnifying glass, an instrument for which she had heard her cousin express a wish some time before. Mrs. Coles had no present for Ethel; and the reason was this: she had purchased a frock for Abby, but, upon examination, there were found in it several blemishes, which she knew very well would be enough to make Abby refuse to wear it; whereupon she resolved that the said frock should be her Christmas present to Ethel, who, she thought, might by this time be glad to have a new frock, even if it were not very perfect. She had sent it round to Aunt Sarah Bertie's for this purpose, but Aunt Sarah had not brought it forward. Mrs. Coles drew her aside, and inquired the reason.

"What a dunce you are, niece Coles!" was the polite reply. "Don't you see that your cousin Fletcher would be very much hurt at your giving her daughter a frock which you did not consider good enough for your own? I am surprised at you."

"Well, I don't know," replied Mrs. Coles; "I should think, when they are not above letting Ethel work for money, they need not be offended at her receiving a present of any sort of a dress. But I suppose you know best; only I shall not have any present for Ethel, that's all, and I should not like to have them think I meant to neglect the child, now that times are changed with them."

"That last remark has some sense in it," said Mrs. Bertie. "I'll manage it for you."

And returning to the company, she said to Ethel, "There was a mistake about your cousin Coles' present for you, child, which mistake was partly mine; so you must not feel hurt about it."

"Of course not," said Mrs. Fletcher, seeing that Ethel did not know exactly how to reply. "Ethel has had too many proofs of her cousin's kindness to doubt it, and she has had quite presents enough for once."

"Well," said Mrs. Coles to herself, "I am nicely out of the scrape; but, after all, I don't see why she should not have been glad of the dress."

The evening passed off very pleasantly to all concerned, especially to the children, who thought Aunt Sally had never been so agreeable before. The party broke up at an early hour, and they found themselves at home before half-past ten o'clock.

"Well, Ethel," said Mrs. Fletcher, "this Christmas, which you dreaded so much, has turned out pleasantly after all, has it not?"

"Yes, indeed, mother, though I came pretty near to spoiling it too. Was it not kind of Aunt Sally to get the school-children together to meet us?"

"It was indeed," said Mr. Fletcher. "I never experienced a pleasanter surprise in my life."

"How odd she is!" continued Ethel. "She never does any thing like any one else. I don't mean ever to get out of patience with her again, if I can help it."

"A good resolution, as regards her or any one else," said Mrs. Fletcher, smiling. "Now go to bed, and don't keep awake to read your new books."

It was rather hard for Ethel to put the new books aside on Monday morning, and sit down to the pictures, which had now become an old story, and especially difficult to say "no," when Abby, with a whole sleigh-load of the school-girls, came for her to take a ride. But the chair was before her to remind her of her debt, and Ethel persevered so steadily, that by ten o'clock on Wednesday morning they were all done and carried home.

Mr. Beckford praised her punctuality, and begged leave to present her with a new book in token of his regard.

So Ethel returned home, feeling as though the holidays were going to be as happy as any she had ever spent.

Pleasant indeed they were, though destined to have rather a sorrowful termination. As the family were sitting at the breakfast table the morning after New Year's day, a hasty ring was heard at the door, and a messenger announced the sudden death of Mrs. Sally Bertie. She had not rung her bell at the usual time, and her maid going to her room, found her dead in her bed. She must have expired some hours before, as she was quite cold, and her features and limbs were composed, as though she had passed away in her sleep.

Mrs. Bertie had left written directions for her funeral along with her will, in the hands of Mr. Simonton; and according to the tenor of them, the families of both her nephews were provided with handsome mourning at her expense.

The funeral was put off for a week, greatly to the secret annoyance of Mr. Coles, who was all impatience to have the will opened. He had long felt pretty sure in his own mind that Abby would be her aunt's heiress, but recent events had somewhat shaken his confidence, and he felt rather nervous about it. As he told his wife in the carriage going up to the cemetery, "She was such an unaccountable old piece, no one ever knew where to have her, or what to expect from her."

"For shame! father," said Abby, who had not been brought up to be as respectful in her manners as was desirable. "How dare you speak so of poor Aunt Sally, now she is dead and gone? I am sure she was always good to us." And Abby, who really loved Aunt Sally for her own sake, began to cry afresh.

Mr. Coles was silent, and Mrs. Coles made a moral reflection upon the vanity of earthly things. She always had a moral reflection ready for every occasion, and Aunt Sally used to tell her that she talked like a copy-book.

After the funeral, the family again met at the house to hear the reading of the will.

Mr. Coles' face was properly solemn, but he could not help glancing around the rooms and estimating the probable value of the furniture, &c. Mrs. Coles had already decided that she should send it all to auction, or perhaps give it to her cousin Fletcher. Abby and Ethel sat side by side on the sofa, Ethel holding poor little Fido, who missed his kind mistress sadly, and watched the door eagerly with his black eyes, as though he expected to see her enter! As often as a hand was laid on the lock, he brightened up and wagged his tail; and at every fresh disappointment, he gave a little whine, and drew up closer to Ethel, as though asking her sympathy in his bereavement.

When Mr. Simonton finally read the will, it astonished every one but himself. Mrs. Bertie began by bequeathing her wardrobe and her jewels, of which she had a splendid collection, to her grandniece Abby Coles, and a thousand dollars to Abby's father. The house, with its contents, was given to Ethel, on condition that she should take care of the dog and parrot as long as they lived. Three or four valuable pictures, and a cabinet of shells, were to go to Mr. Simonton; there were some legacies to servants, and then all the rest of her property, amounting to about sixty thousand dollars, was bequeathed "to my beloved nephew George Fletcher, in whose integrity and Christian principles I have the utmost confidence." There was no condition attached, but Mrs. Bertie expressed a wish that her cousin should live in the house, and keep the furniture, at least till Ethel should come of age.

Mr. Fletcher was as much amazed as any one by this sudden change in his circumstances, for he had never taken any particular pains to court Mrs. Bertie, and she had been so angry at him for his failure, that he supposed himself to have lost her favor forever. He could hardly realize what had happened; and it was not till Mr. Simonton, having finished the will, begged to congratulate him upon his good fortune, that he felt himself to be awake. He returned the grasp of Mr. Simonton's hand warmly; but if he had known how much he was indebted to the good little man's representations, he would have returned it more warmly still.

Mr. and Mrs. Coles were still more astonished than their cousin. Mr. Coles, indeed, could hardly believe his ears, and asked to look at the will, which Mr. Simonton politely put into his hands, with the gratifying remark that he would find it perfectly formal and correct.

"Well, Fletcher," he said, bitterly enough, but trying to smile, "you have played your cards cleverly, I must allow, and won the game. I believe you understood the old lady better than I did, after all."

"It may be well for those to play such a game who can stoop to it," said Mrs. Coles, who was as angry as her husband, and had less prudence. "For my part, I should be ashamed of it."

"Cousin Anna," said Mr. Fletcher calmly, "do not say any thing which you will afterwards be sorry for. You are angry now, and not in a condition to weigh your words. You both know very well that I never courted Aunt Sally's favor by subserviency, though I always intended to treat her with all the respect due to her age and our relationship. No one can be more surprised than myself at the disposition she has made of her property, with which, let me remind you, she had a perfect right to do as she pleased."

Meantime Ethel and Abby were talking on the sofa.

"You are quite an heiress now, Ethel," said Abby, who, childlike, was perfectly satisfied with the prospect of possessing all Aunt Sally's cashmere shawls and diamonds. "Only think how funny it will seem to own a house, and such a large one too!"

"It seems very strange," said Ethel. "I cannot feel right about it somehow. One minute I feel pleased to think we are going to be well off again, and the next it seems wicked to be glad of any thing that comes from Aunt Sally's dying. I am sure I will always take care of you, dear Fido," she continued, addressing the dog, and hugging him in her arms, "and of poor old Polly, too. I hope you will both live to be fifty years old."

"I am glad she did not leave him to me, for I don't like dogs much," said Abby; "not but that I would have taken as good care of him as I could. Well, Ethel, I am very glad that your father has the money, for now we shall be alike again. It always made me feel mean to be dressed up myself and have every thing that I wanted, while you were wearing all your old things, and living in that little stuck-up house."

So spoke Abby, whose naturally kind and generous disposition had not been spoiled by the worldly influences to which she had been subjected, and who was perhaps too young to understand exactly what she had lost by her cousin's gain.

It was with no small pleasure that the Fletcher family took possession of their new abode, where every thing was kept as far as possible unaltered, out of respect to Aunt Sally's memory. Mrs. Coles, was very ready to be on friendly terms with her cousins again, after the first heat of her disappointment had passed away, advised them to have the house papered, or at least to cover up that hideous old brown India paper in the dining room.

But Mrs. Fletcher only smiled and said the house was Ethel's, and Ethel cherished a great admiration for the processions of elephants and long-tailed Chinamen, and Chinese ladies drinking tea out of thimbles, with their little fingers turned up in the air, and would not hear of their being covered: so every thing remained just as it had been for thirty years past.

Fido mourned for his mistress a long time, but he gradually became attached to his new friends, especially to Ethel, who occupied her aunt's bed-room, and seems likely to live to a good old age.

The first use Mr. Fletcher made of his means was to pay off all his remaining debts, after which he felt himself a free man once more. It was with a wonderful satisfaction that when the last receipt was signed, he walked into a bookstore and gave an order for new books.

"Here come the books, mother!" said Ethel laughing, as the large package made its appearance. "Father is going back to his old ways, and you will soon be saying again—'I wish there was one table in the house, that was not covered three deep with books.' After all, mother, I feel rather sorry to leave the little house. It seems as if I had learned more there than I ever knew in all my life before."

"I have no doubt of that, my dear Ethel," replied her mother. "Experience is a hard teacher, but her lessons are worth all they cost. I only hope we shall none of us forget in prosperity the lessons we learned in adversity, nor to thank God for all His mercies to us. We may truly say with the Psalmist: 'We went through fire and through water: but Thou broughtest us out into a wealthy place.'"

[Illustration]