CHAPTER V
WHAT CAME AFTERWARD
There was silence for a minute after the will was read. Mrs. Pinkerton fanned herself furiously, and looked angry and excited.
At length she said: “I wish to say that that is a very unjust will, Mr. Spencer.”
“I am not responsible for it, Mrs. Pinkerton,” answered the lawyer, quietly.
“I don't know what the rest of you think,” said the angry lady, with a general glance around the office, “but I think the will ought to be broken.”
“On what grounds?” asked Mr. Spencer.
“He had no right to put off his own flesh and blood with a beggarly pittance, and leave all his money to the town.”
“Pardon me; whatever you may think of Mr. Carter's will, there is no doubt that he had a perfect legal right to dispose of it as he did.”
“Then the laws ought to be altered,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, angrily. “I don't believe he was sane when he made the will.”
“If you can prove that,” said the lawyer, “you can set aside the will; but not otherwise.”
“My brother was in his right mind,” here interposed Miss Nancy. “He always meant to give the town money for a school.”
“No doubt you think he was sane,” sneered Mrs. Pinkerton, turning upon the old lady. “You have fared better than any of us.”
“Miss Nancy was most nearly related to the deceased,” said the lawyer, “and she needed help most.”
“It's all very well to talk,” said the lady, tossing her head, “but me and mine have been badly used. I have hard work enough to support the family, and little help I get from him,” she added, pointing to her unhappy husband.
“I'm workin' all the time,” remonstrated Josiah. “You are unkind, Maria.”
“I could hire a boy to do all your work for three dollars a week,” she retorted. “That's all you help me. I've worried along for years, expectin' Mr. Carter would do something handsome for us; and now he's put us off with four hundred dollars.”
“I get only one hundred,” said the farmer.
“And I, too. It's a beastly shame,” remarked Cornelius.
“Really,” said the lawyer, “it appears to me unseemly to speak so bitterly so soon after the funeral.”
“I dare say you like it well enough,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, sharply. “You've got all our money to build a schoolhouse.”
“It will not benefit me any more than the townspeople generally,” said the lawyer. “For my part, I should have been glad if my late friend had left a larger sum to those connected with him by blood.”
“Don't you think we could break the will?” asked Mrs. Pinkerton, persuasively. “Couldn't you help us?”
“You can attempt it, but I assure you in advance you haven't the ghost of a chance. You would only lose your money, for the town would strenuously oppose you.”
The stout lady's face fell. She felt that the last hope was gone.
“All I can say is, that it's a scandalous thing,” she concluded, bitterly.
“I should like to know what's in that trunk he left you,” said Cornelius Dixon, turning to Herbert. “Maybe it's money or bonds. If it is, don't forget our agreement.”
This drew attention to Herbert.
“To be sure,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, whose curiosity was aroused, “Mr. Dixon may be right. Suppose we all go over to the house and open it.”
Herbert looked irresolutely toward the lawyer.
“There is no objection, I suppose,” said Mr. Spencer.
“I know what's in the trunk,” said Miss Nancy.
Straightway all eyes were turned upon her.
“What is it?”
“It's clothes. My brother used to keep his clothes in that trunk.”
Cornelius Dixon burst into a rude laugh.
“I say, Herbert, I congratulate you,” he said, with a chuckle. “The old fellow's left you his wardrobe. You'll look like a peacock when you put 'em on. If you ever come to New York to see me, leave 'em at home. I wouldn't like to walk up Broadway with such a gawk as you'd look.”
“Young man,” said Miss Nancy, her voice tremulous, “it don't look well in you to ridicule my poor departed brother. He didn't forget you.”
“He might as well,” muttered Cornelius.
“I hope you won't laugh at my brother's gift,” said the old lady, turning to Herbert.
“No, ma'am,” said Herbert, respectfully. “I am glad to get it. I can't afford to buy new clothes often, and they can be made over for me.”
“You wouldn't catch me wearing such old-fashioned duds,” said Cornelius, scornfully.
“No one asked you to, young man,” said the old lady, disturbed at the manner in which her brother was spoken of. “The boy's worth a dozen of you.”
“Thank you,” said Cornelius, bowing with mock respect. “I should like to ask,” he continued, turning to the lawyer, “when I can get my legacy. It isn't much, but I might as well take it.”
“As the amount is small, I will send you a check next week,” said Mr. Spencer, “if you will leave me your address.”
“And can I have my money, too?” demanded Mrs. Pinkerton. “It's a miserable pittance, but I owe it to my poor children to take it.”
“I will send your husband a check also, next week, madam.”
“You needn't send it to him. You may send it to me,” said the lady.
“Part of it is mine,” expostulated the husband, in meek deprecation.
“I can give you your part,” said his wife. “Mr. Spencer, you may make the check payable to me.”
“But, Maria—-”
“Be silent, Josiah! Don't make a fool of yourself,” said his wife, in an imperious tone.
The poor man was fain to be silent, but the lawyer was indignant, and said: “Mr. Pinkerton, I will certainly not pay your legacy, nor your children's, to anyone but yourself. I will send Mrs. Pinkerton a check for her own share—one hundred dollars—since she desires it.”
“I insist upon your sending me the children's money also,” said the lady angrily. “He ain't fit to take charge of it.”
“You may insist as much as you like, Mrs. Pinkerton,” said the lawyer, coolly, “but it will be useless. As the head of the family, I shall send the money designed for the children to your husband.”
“Do you call him the head of the family?” demanded the angry Maria. “I would have you to know, sir, that I am the head of the family.”
“The law does not recognize you as such. As to the pantaloons, which form a part of the legacy, I will forward them to you, if you wish.”
“Do you mean to insult me, sir?” gasped Mrs. Pinkerton, growing very red in the face.
“Not at all; but they were left either to you or your husband, as you might jointly agree.”
The lady was about to decline accepting them at all, but it occurred to her that they might be made over to suit her husband, and so save the expense of a new pair, and, she directed that they should be sent to him.
Then, gathering her family about her, she strode majestically from the office, shaking off, metaphorically, the dust of her feet against it.
Next Mr. Granger, after a few words with the lawyer, departed. Mr. Cornelius Dixon also announced that he must depart.
“Come and see me some time in the city,” he said to Herbert, “and if you ever get a windfall just put it into my hands, and I'll go into business with you.”
“I'll remember,” said Herbert, “but I'm afraid it'll be a good while before that.”
“I don't know about that. You can open a second-hand clothing store. The old man's left you a good stock in trade. Good joke, isn't it? Good-by.”
Next Miss Nancy rose to go.
“Tell your mother to call and see me, my boy,” she said, kindly, to Herbert. “I wish my brother'd left her more, for I know she needs it.”
“Thank you, Miss Nancy,” said Herbert, respectfully; “but we don't complain. We are thankful for what we have received.”
“You're the best of 'em,” said the old lady, earnestly. “You're a good boy, and God will prosper you.”
She went out, and of the eight heirs Herbert alone remained.
CHAPTER VI
THE LAWYER'S HOME
The lawyer regarded Herbert with a smile.
“Your uncle's will doesn't seem to have given general satisfaction,” he said.
“No,” responded Herbert; “but for my part I have come out as well as I expected.”
“I suppose you know Mr. Carter was rich?”
“So my mother told me.”
“How much do you think he was worth?”
Herbert was rather surprised at this question. Why should the lawyer ask it, when of course he knew much more about the matter?
“About a hundred thousand dollars, I suppose,” he answered.
“You are not far wrong. Now doesn't your share, and your mother's, seem very small compared with this large amount?”
“It is very small compared with that, but we had no claim to anything. The clothes and the money will be very useful to us.”
“You are a model heir,” said Mr. Spencer, smiling “You alone do not find fault, except, of course, Miss Nancy, who has fared the best.”
“I would rather make a fortune for myself than inherit one from another,” said Herbert, sturdily.
“I respect your independence, my boy,” said the lawyer, who felt favorably disposed toward our hero. “Still, a legacy isn't to be despised. Now tell me when you want to take your trunk.”
“I want to ask your advice about that,” said Herbert. “I walked over from Wrayburn. How shall I carry the trunk back?”
“You will have to return by the stage to-morrow morning, that is, if you are ready to go back so soon.”
“Do they charge much to stop overnight at the hotel?” asked Herbert, anxiously, for he had but seventy-five cents with him. It occurred to him how foolish he had been not to consider that it would be necessary for him to spend the night in Randolph.
“I don't know exactly how much. I think they charge fifty cents for a bed, and the same for each meal.”
Herbert's face lengthened, and he became alarmed. How was he going to manage, on his limited resources?
The lawyer penetrated his perplexity, and, being a kind-hearted man, quickly came to his relief.
“I think you would find it lonely at the hotel, my boy,” he said, “and I shall therefore invite you to pass the night at my house instead.”
“You are very kind, sir,” said Herbert, gratefully, finding his difficulty happily removed. “I accept your invitation with pleasure.”
“The boy has been well brought up, if he is poor,” thought Mr. Spencer. “Well,” he said, “that is settled. I think our supper must be ready, so we will go over to the house at once. By the way, there is a boy from your town visiting my son. You must know him?”
“Is it James Leech?” asked Herbert, remembering what James had told him.
“Yes. Do you know him?”
“We are schoolmates.”
“Then it will be pleasant for you to meet.”
Herbert was not quite sure about this, but forbore to say so.
He accompanied Mr. Spencer to his house, which was just across the street from the office, and followed the lawyer into an apartment handsomely furnished. James Leech and Tom Spencer were sitting at a small table, playing checkers.
“Hello, Carter!” exclaimed James, in surprise, “how came you here?”
“Mr. Spencer invited me,” said Herbert, not surprised at the mode of address.
“Did your uncle leave you anything?” asked James, with interest.
“Yes.”
“How much?”
“He left my mother a hundred dollars.”
“That isn't much,” said James, contemptuously. “Was that all?”
“No, he left me a trunk, and what is in it.”
“What is in it?”
“Clothes, I believe.”
“A lot of old clothes!” commented James, turning up his nose. “That's a fine legacy, I must say.”
“I shall find them useful,” said Herbert, quietly.
“Oh, no doubt. You can roll up the pants and coat-sleeves. It will be fun to see you parading round in your uncle's tailcoats.”
“I don't think you'll have that pleasure,” said Herbert, flushing. “If I wear them I shall have them made over for me.”
“I congratulate you on your new and extensive wardrobe,” said James, mockingly. “Won't you cut a dash, though, on the streets of Wrayburn!”
Herbert did not deign a reply to this rude speech. Tom Spencer, who was much more of a gentleman than James, was disgusted with his impertinence. He rose, and took Herbert by the hand.
“You must let me introduce myself,” he said. “My name is Thomas Spencer, and I am glad to see you here.”
“Thank you,” said Herbert, his heart opening at the frank and cordial manner of the other. “My name is Herbert Carter, and I am very glad to make your acquaintance.”
“Are you going to finish this game, Tom?” drawled James, not relishing the idea of Herbert's receiving any attention from his friend.
“If you don't mind, we'll have it another time,” said Tom. “There goes the supper bell, and I for one am hungry.”
At the supper table James noticed, to his secret disgust, that Herbert was treated with as much consideration as himself. Mr. and Mrs. Spencer appeared to consider them social equals, which made James very uncomfortable.
“You boys are about of an age, I suppose,” said Mr. Spencer.
“I really don't know,” said James, haughtily.
“You attend the same school?”
“Yes,” said James, “but I expect to go to some select academy very soon. At a public school you have to associate with all classes, you know.”
Mr. Spencer arched his brows, and steadily regarded the young aristocrat.
“I don't see any great distinction of classes in a country village,” said he, dryly. “Besides, we are living in a republic.”
“You wouldn't like to associate on equal terms with a day laborer,” said James, pertly.
“I am a laborer myself,” said the lawyer, smiling. “I wish I could say I were a day laborer exclusively, but sometimes I have to work into the night.”
“You are a professional man, and a gentleman,” said James. “You don't work with your hands.”
“I hope you boys will all grow up gentlemen,” said Mr. Spencer.
“I shall, of course,” said James.
“And you, Tom?”
“I hope so.”
“And you, Herbert?”
“I hope so, too,” said Herbert; “but if it is necessary to be rich to be a gentleman, I am not sure about it.”
“What is your idea of a gentleman, James?” asked the lawyer.
“He must be of a good family, and wear good clothes, and live nicely.”
“Is that all?”
“He ought to be well educated.”
“I see you name that last which I should name first. So these constitute a gentleman, in your opinion?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Not always. I have known men combining all the qualifications you have mentioned, who were very far from being gentlemen, in my opinion.”
“How is that, sir?” asked James, puzzled.
“They were arrogant, puffed up with an idea of their own importance, deficient in politeness.”
“How well he has described James!” thought Herbert, but he was too much of a gentleman to say so.
James looked disconcerted, and dropped the subject. He thought the lawyer had some queer ideas. Why need a gentleman be polite to his inferiors? he thought, but he didn't say so.
After supper the boys went out behind the house, and feasted on peaches, which were just ripe. Herbert found Tom very social, but James took very little notice of him. Our hero did not make himself unhappy on this account. In fact, he was in unusual good spirits, and enjoyed in anticipation the pleasure of going back to Wrayburn with the welcome news of the two legacies.
About half past seven Mr. Spencer came out into the orchard.
“As the stage starts early in the morning, Herbert,” he said, “we had better go over and get the trunk ready, so that you can take it home.”
James Leech hoped to receive an invitation to accompany the two; but no invitation was given, and he was forced to content himself with staying behind.
CHAPTER VII
A WELCOME DISCOVERY
Mr. Spencer entered the house so lately vacated by the old man who had occupied it for forty years.
“The trunk is in your uncle's room,” said the lawyer, “or ought to be. I suppose it has not been moved.”
The two entered the chamber. It was a small, poorly furnished apartment, covered with a carpet which, cheap in the first place, was so worn with use that the bare floor showed in spots.
“Your uncle was not very luxurious in his taste,” said Mr. Spencer. “There are plenty of day laborers in town who have as good rooms as this.”
“I suppose he liked laying up money better than spending it,” said Herbert.
“You are right there. This must be the trunk.”
It was a small, black hair trunk, studded with brass nails. Mr. Spencer took a bunch of keys from his pocket and unlocked it. Lifting the cover he exposed to view a collection of woolen clothes-coats, vests, and pants.
“This is your legacy, Herbert,” said the lawyer. “I am afraid you won't find it very valuable. What is this?”
He drew out, and held up to view, a blue cloak of ample proportions.
“Will you try it on?” he said, smiling.
Herbert threw it over his shoulders, and looked at himself in a small seven-by-nine looking-glass which was suspended over the washstand. It came down nearly to his feet.
“I should hardly dare to wear this without alteration,” he said; “but there is a good deal of good cloth in it. Mother can cut a coat and vest out of it for me.”
“Here is a blue coat with brass buttons. I remember your uncle used to wear it to church twenty years ago. Of late years he has not attended, and has had no occasion to wear it. Here is a pair of pantaloons; but they are pretty well worn.”
So they went through the list, finding little of value. The last article was a vest.
“It seems heavy,” said Herbert.
The lawyer took it from him and examined it.
“There seems to be an inside pocket,” he said. “There must be something in it.”
The pocket was confined by a button; Mr. Spencer thrust his fingers inside, and drew out something loosely enveloped in brown paper.
“What have we here?” he said, in a tone of curiosity.
The secret was speedily solved. When the paper was opened, it was found to contain five gold eagles, and two dollars in silver coins.
Herbert's eyes glistened with delight as he viewed the treasure.
“Fifty-two dollars!” he exclaimed. “And it is mine.”
“Undoubtedly. The will expressly says you are to have the trunk, and all it contains.”
“I wonder whether Uncle Herbert remembered this money?”
“We can't tell as to that, but it doesn't affect your title to the money. I congratulate you, Herbert.”
“It will do us a great deal of good. Then there are the hundred dollars for mother. Why, we shall be rich.”
“Then you are content with your legacy?” asked Mr. Spencer.
“Oh, yes; it was more than I expected, or mother, either.”
“Yet it is but a mere drop of your uncle's wealth,” said the lawyer, thoughtfully.
“That may be; but he needn't have left us anything.”
“I see you look upon it in the best way. You are quite a model heir—very different from most of your relatives—Mrs. Pinkerton, for instance.”
“I supposed she expected more than I did.”
“She appeared to expect the bulk of the property. I am afraid her husband will have a hard time of it for a week to come,” said the lawyer, laughing. “He will have to bear the brunt of her disappointment. Well, there seems no more for us to do here. We have found out the value of your legacy, and may lock the trunk again. If you will lend a hand, we will take it across to my house, so that there may be no delay when the stage calls in the morning.”
“All right, sir.”
James Leech was looking out of the front window, awaiting the return of Mr. Spencer and Herbert with not a little curiosity. At length he spied them.
“Tom!” he exclaimed, “your father and that Carter boy are coming back.”
“Why do you call him that Carter boy? Why don't you call him Herbert?”
“I am not on intimate terms with him,” said James.
“That is strange, as you both live in the same village.”
“You must remember that there is some difference in our social positions,” said James, haughtily.
“That is something I never think of,” said Tom, candidly. “I am a genuine republican.”
“I am not,” said James. “I should like to live in England, where they have noblemen.”
“Not unless you could be a nobleman yourself, I suppose?”
“No; of course not.”
By this time Mr. Spencer and Herbert were bringing the trunk into the front entry.
“I shouldn't think a professional gentleman like your father would like to be seen carrying a trunk across the street,” said James.
“Oh, he don't care for that; nor should I,” said Tom.
Herbert entered the room.
“Well, Herbert, what luck?” asked Tom.
“Better than I expected,” said Herbert, gayly. “What do you say to that?” and he displayed the gold and silver.
“How much is it?” asked James, his vanity melting under the influence of curiosity.
“Fifty-two dollars.”
“Capital!” said Tom.
“It isn't much,” said James, in a tone of depreciation.
“I'll bet Herbert is richer than you, James,” said Tom, in a lively manner. “Can you show as much money as that?”
“I shall be a rich man some day,” said James, with an air of importance.
“Your father may fail.”
“The moon may be made of green cheese,” retorted James, loftily. “How about the clothes? Are you going to show them?”
“I think not,” said Herbert.
“A parcel of rags, I suppose,” said James, with a sneer.
“Not quite so bad as that,” responded Herbert, good-naturedly. “Still, I think I shall hardly venture to wear any of them without alteration.”
“I wouldn't wear second-hand clothes,” remarked James Leech, in his usual amiable tone.
“Perhaps you would if you were poor,” said Herbert, quietly.
“But I am not poor.”
“Fortunately for you.”
“Then you won't show the clothes? I suppose they look as if they were made in the year one.”
“For our forefather Adam?” suggested Tom, laughing. “I am inclined to think the old gentleman in question hadn't clothes enough to fill a trunk as large as that.”
“Probably not,” said Herbert; “he had no uncle, you know, to leave any to him.”
“What are you going to do with your money, Carter?” asked James, whose curiosity got the better of his dignity occasionally.
“I haven't made up my mind yet. I think I shall find plenty of uses for it.”
“What would you do with it if you had it, James?” asked Tom.
“I can have more if I want to. I have only to ask father.”
“Then you're better off than I. Say, father, will you give me fifty-two dollars?”
“When you are twenty-one I may do it.”
“You see,” said Tom. “But you haven't answered my question. What would you do with the money if you had it?”
“I think I would buy a new rowboat; there's a pond near our house.”
“When you get it send for me, and I'll help you row.”
“Very well,” said James; but he did not answer very positively. In fact, he was by no means sure that his father would comply with his request for money, although it suited him to make this representation to his companions.
Herbert retired early. It had been a fatiguing day for him, and it would be necessary to rise in good season the next day, as the coach left Randolph for Wrayburn at an early hour.
CHAPTER VIII
HERBERT'S RETURN
Mrs. Carter awaited Herbert's return with interest. She felt lonely without him, for he had never before been away from home to stay overnight. But there was a feeling of anticipation besides. Her hopes of a legacy were not very strong, but of course there was a possibility of her uncle's having remembered them in his will.
“Even if it is only five dollars, it will be welcome,” she thought. “Where people are so poor as we are, every little helps.”
She sat at her sewing when the stage stopped before the door.
“I'm glad he rode home,” thought the widow; “the walk both ways would have been too fatiguing.”
“But why does not Herbert come in at once?”
He had gone behind the coach, and the driver was helping him take down a trunk.
“Where did he get it?” thought his mother, in surprise.
“I guess you can get it into the house yourself,” she heard the driver say.
“Yes, I'll manage it; you needn't wait,” said Herbert.
The driver cracked his whip, and the lumbering old coach drove on.
“Oh, there you are, mother,” said Herbert, looking toward the house for the first time. “I'll be with you in a minute.”
And he began to draw the trunk in through the front gate.
“Where did you get that trunk, Herbert?” asked Mrs. Carter.
“Oh, it's my legacy,” said Herbert, laughing. “Here it is,” and he lifted it up, and laid it down in the front entry.
“What is inside?” asked his mother, with natural curiosity.
“It isn't full of gold and silver, mother, so don't raise your expectations too high. It contains some clothes of Uncle Herbert, out of which you can get some for me.”
“I am glad of that, for you need some new clothes. Well, we were not forgotten, after all.”
“You don't seem disappointed, mother.”
“I might have wished for a little money besides, Herbert; but beggars cannot be choosers.”
“But sometimes they get what they wish for. Uncle Herbert left you a legacy of a hundred dollars.”
“A hundred dollars!” said Mrs. Carter, brightly. “Why, that will be quite a help for us. Was it left to me?”
“Yes, to you.”
“It was kind in your uncle. My legacy is more than yours, Herbert.”
“I don't know about that, mother; look here!”
And Herbert displayed his gold and silver.
“Here are fifty-two dollars that I found in the pocket of a vest. It belongs to me, for the will says expressly that I am to have the trunk and all it contains.”
“I am really glad,” said his mother, joyfully. “We are more fortunate than I expected. Sit down and tell me all about it. Who got the bulk of the property?”
“None of the relations. It is bequeathed to the town of Randolph, to found a high school, to be called the Carter School.”
“Well, it will do good, at any rate. Didn't the other relations receive legacies?”
“Small ones; but they didn't seem very well satisfied. Do you know Mr. and Mrs. Josiah Pinkerton?”
“Slightly,” said Mrs. Carter, smiling. “Were they there?”
“She was, and he was in attendance upon her. She didn't give him a chance to say much.”
“I have always heard she kept him in good subjection. How did they fare?”
“They and their two children received a hundred dollars apiece. She was mad and wanted to break the will. Then there was a Mr. Granger, a farmer, who got the same; and Cornelius Dixon, also.”
“I hope Aunt Nancy fared better. She is the best of them all.”
“She is allowed to occupy the house, rent free, and is to have an income of two hundred dollars a year as long as she lives.”
“I am really glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Carter, with emphasis. “She deserves all her good fortune. One of the best things her brother did in life was to allow her such an income as to keep her independent of public charity; I feared he would forget to provide for her.”
“She seems a good old lady. She asked me to invite you to call and see her.”
“I should like to do so, and if I ever have occasion to go to Randolph I will certainly do so.”
“Now, mother,” said Herbert, when he had answered his mother's questions, “I want you to take this money, and use it as you need.”
“But, Herbert, it was left to you.”
“And if you use it I shall receive my share of it. By the way, your money will be sent you next week; so Mr. Spencer assured me.”
“Who is Mr. Spencer?”
“The lawyer who read the will. He was very kind to me. It was at his house I spent the night. I got acquainted with his son, Tom, a fine fellow. I met also James Leech, whom I cannot compliment so highly. He was visiting Tom.”
“I never thought him an agreeable boy.”
“Nor anyone else, I expect. He appears to think he can put on airs, and expects everybody to bow down to him because his father is a rich man.”
“I hope you didn't quarrel with him,” said Mrs. Carter, apprehensively.
“Oh, no, he sneered at me, as usual, and drew a ridiculous picture of my appearance with my uncle's clothes on.”
“Do you mind what he says?” asked his mother, anxiously.
“A little,” said Herbert, “but I can stand it if he doesn't go too far.”
“He has an unhappy nature. I think his father must have been somewhat like him when he was young.”
“So do I. He feels just as important as James. I like to see him strut round, as if he owned the whole village.”
“He does own more of it than anyone else. Among the rest, he owns our house, in part.”
“You mean he has a mortgage on it, mother?”
“Yes.”
“Seven hundred and fifty dollars, isn't it?”
“Yes, Herbert.”
“How much do you consider the whole worth?” asked our hero, thoughtfully.
“It cost your father fifteen hundred dollars. That is, the land—nearly an acre—cost three hundred dollars, and the house, to build, twelve hundred.”
“Would it sell for that?”
“Not if a sale were forced; but, if anybody wanted it, fifteen hundred dollars would not be too much to pay.”
“I wish the mortgage were paid.”
“So do I, my son; but we are not very likely to be able to pay it.”
“How fine it would have been if Uncle Herbert had left us, say eight hundred dollars, so that we might have paid it up, and still have had a little left for immediate use!”
“Yes, Herbert, it would have made us feel quite independent, but it isn't best speculating on what might have been. It is better to do the best we can with what we really have.”
“I suppose you are right, mother; but it is pleasant to dream of good fortune, even if we know it is out of reach.”
“The trouble is, our dreaming often interferes with our working.”
“It shan't interfere with mine. I've got something to work for.”
“Do you refer to anything in particular, Herbert?”
“Yes. I want to pay off this mortgage,” answered Herbert, manfully.
“Some day, when you are a man, you may be able; but the time is too far off to spend much time upon it at present.”
Herbert had moved to the window as the conversation went on. Suddenly he called to his mother: “Look, mother, there is Squire Leech riding up. He is pointing out our house to the man that is riding with him. Do you know who it is?”
“Yes, it is Mr. Banks, his new superintendent. He has just come into the village.”
“I wonder why he pointed at our house?”
“Probably he was telling him that he had a mortgage on it.”
“When does the interest come due on the mortgage?”
“Next week. I had only five dollars laid by to meet it, but, thanks to my legacy, I shall have no trouble in the matter.”
“If you couldn't pay the interest, could the squire foreclose?”
“Yes, that's the law, I believe.”
“And he would take advantage of it. But he never shall, if I can prevent it.”
CHAPTER IX
A BUSINESS CONFIDENCE
Squire Leech lived in a large, square, white house, situated on an eminence some way back from the street. It had bay windows on either side of the front door, a gravel walk, bordered with flowers, leading to the gate, a small summerhouse on the lawn, and altogether was much the handsomest residence in the village. Three years before, the house, or, at all events, the principal rooms, had been newly furnished from the city. No wonder the squire and all the family held up their heads, and regarded themselves as belonging to the aristocracy.
In a back room, used partly as a sitting room, partly as an office, the great man and his new superintendent, Amos Banks, were sitting, the evening previous to Herbert's return home. It may be asked why Squire Leech needed a superintendent. To this I answer that his property, beside the home farm, included two outlying farms, which he preferred to carry on himself rather than let to tenants. Besides, he had stocks and bonds, to which he himself attended. But the farms required more attention than he individually was willing to bestow. Accordingly he employed a competent man, who had the general supervision of them. His former superintendent having emigrated to the West, he had engaged Mr. Banks, who had been recommended to him for the charge. Banks came from a town thirty miles distant, and had never lived in Wrayburn before. He had just entered upon his duties, and was talking over business matters with the squire.
“You will occupy the house on the Ross farm,” said Squire Leech. “I think you will find it comfortable. I have always reserved it for my superintendent.”
“There is a house on the other farm, I suppose,” said Banks.
“Yes; but that is occupied by a family already. I don't rent the farm, that is, except about half an acre of land for a kitchen garden. That I have prepared to cultivate myself.”
“Precisely,” said the superintendent. “I will tell you why I inquired. You tell me there will be need of another permanent farm workman. Now I know an excellent man—in fact, he is a cousin of my own—who would be glad to accept the place.”
“Very well. I have no objection to your engaging him, since you vouch for him.”
“Oh, yes; he is a faithful and industrious man, and he will be willing to do work for moderate wages. Indeed, he cares more for a permanent place than high pay. Where he is now, he is liable to be idle for some months in the year.”
“Is he a family man?”
“Yes; he has two young children.”
“Of course he will move to Wrayburn.”
“Yes; if he can get a suitable house. In fact, that was what I was coming at. I thought of your other house, but you say that is already occupied.”
“Yes; and the family has occupied it for several years. I should not like to dislodge them.”
“Do you know any other small house my cousin could rent?”
Squire Leech reflected.
“The fact is,” he said, after a pause, “there has not been much building going on in Wrayburn for several years, and it is hard to find a vacant house.”
“I am sorry for that. I am afraid it may interfere with Brown's coming.”
“There is one house, I think, that would just suit your cousin,” said Squire Leech, slowly.
“Where is it?”
“It is now occupied by the widow Carter and her son.”
“Is she going to move?”
“She wouldn't like to.”
“Then how will that help us? Who owns the house?”
“She does; that is, nominally. I hold a mortgage on the place for seven hundred and fifty dollars, which is more than half the market value.”
“Then it may eventually fall into your hands?”
“Very probably. Between ourselves, I think it probable that she will fail to be ready with the semi-annual interest, which comes due next week. She is quite poor—has nothing but this property—and has to sew for a living, or braid straw, neither of which pays well.”
“Suppose she is not ready with the interest, do you propose to foreclose?”
“I think I shall. I will allow her three or four hundred dollars for her share of the property, and that will be the best thing she can do, in my opinion.”
Whether or not it would be the best thing for Mrs. Carter, it certainly wouldn't be a bad speculation for the squire, since the place, as already stated, was worth fully fifteen hundred dollars. How a rich man can deliberately plot to defraud a poor woman of a portion of her small property, you and I, my young reader, may find it hard to understand. Unfortunately there are too many cases in real life where just such things happen, so that there really seems to be a good deal of truth in the old adage that prosperity hardens the heart.
If Mr. Banks had been a just or kind-hearted man, he would not have encouraged his employer in the plan he had just broached; but he was selfish, and thought he saw in it an easy solution of the difficulty which he had met with in securing a house for his cousin. He did not know Mrs. Carter, and felt no particular interest in the question what was to become of her if she was ejected from her house. No doubt she would find a home somewhere. At any rate, it was not his business.
“It seems to me that will be an excellent plan,” he said, with satisfaction. “How soon can we find out about it?”
“Next week—Tuesday. It is then that the interest comes due.”
“Suppose she is ready to pay the interest, what then?”
“Then I will make her an offer for the place, and represent to her that it will be the better plan for her to part with it, and so escape the payment of interest. She has to pay forty-five dollars a year, and that is a great drain upon one who earns no more than she does.”
“I think you said she had a son; does he earn anything? Or perhaps he isn't old enough.”
“Yes, he is thirteen or fourteen; still, there isn't much in a small village like this for a boy to do. He is attending school, I believe.”
“Then, in one way or another, you think there is a good chance of our obtaining the house,” said the superintendent, with satisfaction.
“Yes, I think so.”
“How would it do to go around and speak to the widow about it beforehand? I could then write to Brown.”
“As to that, she may be very particular to retain the house, and even if she is not provided with the money, succeed in borrowing enough. Now, my idea is to say nothing about it till Tuesday. She may depend upon my waiting a few days. That I shall not do. If the money is not forthcoming I will foreclose at once, without giving her time to arrange for the money.”
The superintendent nodded.
“A very shrewd plan, Squire Leech,” he said. “By the way, where is the house situated?”
“Only a furlong up the road. It is on the opposite side of the way.”
“I think I remember it. There is some land connected with it, isn't there?”
“Nearly an acre. The house is small, but neat. In fact, for a small place, I consider it quite desirable. Tomorrow we will ride by it, and you can take more particular notice.”
They did ride by, as we know, and Squire Leech pointed it out to his superintendent. Herbert noticed this, but he did not know that the two men had formed a scheme for turning his mother and himself out of their comfortable home, and defrauding his mother of a considerable portion of the small property which his father had left. Had he known this, it would have filled him with indignation, and he would have felt that even property is no absolute safeguard against the selfish schemes of the mercenary and the rapacious.