heard of his being at peace with anyone. Mother used to say that he would fight his left hand against his right rather than not fight at all.”
“From what you have been telling us a marked alteration must have taken place in his character. But then, when people are dying, they are apt to change; to become quite different beings—especially in the eyes of those who are looking on.” Again there was that dryness in the speaker’s tone. I felt sure there was a twinkle in his eye. “You will see, Miss Blyth, that this letter is, to all intents and purposes, a certificate of your uncle’s death; you will understand, therefore, how unfortunate it is that it should be undated. We are, thus, in this position; that, although his death, and even his burial, are certified, we do not know when either event took place; except that, as it would appear from the context, he was buried on the same day on which he died—which, in such a climate, is not unlikely. Our only means of even remotely guessing at the period of his decease is by drawing deductions from the date of his will.”
“His will! You don’t mean to say that my uncle Benjamin left a will?”
“He did; and here it is.”
“I expect that that’s all he did leave.”
“You are mistaken; he left a good deal more.”
“To whom did he leave it?”
“It is to give you that very information, Miss Blyth, that I ventured to bring you here.”
I gasped. This was getting interesting. A cold shiver went down my back. I had never heard of a will in our family before, there having been no occasion for such a thing. And to think of Uncle Benjamin having been the first to start one! As the proverb says, you never can tell from a man’s beginning what his end will be—and you cannot.
Emily came a little closer, and she took my
