AUNT JANE.
"Lift me up, Phibbs--no, not that way! Confound your awkwardness--do
you want to break my back? There! That's better. Now the pillow at my
head. Oh--h. What are you blinking at, you old owl?"
"Are you better this morning, Miss Jane?" asked the attendant, with
grave deference.
"No; I'm worse."
"You look brighter, Miss Jane."
"Don't be stupid, Martha Phibbs. I know how I am, better than any
doctor, and I tell you I'm on my last legs."
"Anything unusual, Miss?"
"Of course. I can't be on my last legs regularly, can I?"
"I hope not, Miss."
"What do you mean by that? Are you trying to insult me, now that I'm
weak and helpless? Answer me, you gibbering idiot!"
"I'm sure you'll feel better soon, Miss. Can't I wheel you into the
garden? It's a beautiful day, and quite sunny and warm already."
"Be quick about it, then; and don't tire me out with your eternal
doddering. When a thing has to be done, do it. That's my motto."
"Yes, Miss Jane."
Slowly and with care the old attendant wheeled her mistress's invalid
chair through the doorway of the room, along a stately passage,
and out upon a broad piazza at the back of the mansion. Here were
extensive and carefully tended gardens, and the balmy morning air was
redolent with the odor of flowers.
Jane Merrick sniffed the fragrance with evident enjoyment, and her
sharp grey eyes sparkled as she allowed them to roam over the gorgeous
expanse of colors spread out before her.
"I'll go down, I guess, Phibbs. This may be my last day on earth,
and I'll spend an hour with my flowers before I bid them good-bye
forever."
Phibbs pulled a bell-cord, and a soft faraway jingle was heard. Then
an old man came slowly around the corner of the house. His bare
head was quite bald. He wore a short canvas apron and carried
pruning-shears in one hand. Without a word of greeting to his mistress
or scarce a glance at her half recumbent form, he mounted the steps of
the piazza and assisted Phibbs to lift the chair to the ground.
"How are the roses coming on, James?"
"Poorly, Miss," he answered, and turning his back returned to his work
around the corner. If he was surly, Miss Jane seemed not to mind it.
Her glance even softened a moment as she followed his retreating form.
But now she was revelling amongst the flowers, which she seemed to
love passionately. Phibbs wheeled her slowly along the narrow paths
between the beds, and she stopped frequently to fondle a blossom or
pull away a dead leaf or twig from a bush. The roses were magnificent,
in spite of the old gardener's croaking, and the sun was warm and
grateful and the hum of the bees musical and sweet.
"It's hard to die and leave all this, Phibbs," said the old woman, a
catch in her voice. "But it's got to be done."
"Not for a while yet, I hope, Miss Jane."
"It won't be long, Phibbs. But I must try to live until my nieces
come, and I can decide which of them is most worthy to care for the
old place when I am gone."
"Yes, Miss."
"I've heard from two of them, already. They jumped at the bait I held
out quickly enough; but that's only natural. And the letters are very
sensible ones, too. Elizabeth DeGraf says she will be glad to come,
and thanks me for inviting her. Louise Merrick is glad to come, also,
but hopes I am deceived about my health and that she will make me more
than one visit after we become friends. A very proper feeling; but I'm
not deceived, Phibbs. My end's in plain sight."
"Yes, Miss Jane."
"And somebody's got to have my money and dear Elmhurst when I'm
through with them. Who will it be, Phibbs?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Miss."
"Nor do I. The money's mine, and I can do what I please with it; and
I'm under no obligation to anyone."
"Except Kenneth," said a soft voice behind her.
Jane Merrick gave a start at the interruption and turned red and angry
as, without looking around, she answered:
"Stuff and nonsense! I know my duties and my business, Silas Watson."
"To be sure," said a little, withered man, passing around the chair
and facing the old woman with an humble, deprecating air. He was
clothed in black, and his smooth-shaven, deeply lined face was
pleasant of expression and not without power and shrewd intelligence.
The eyes, however, were concealed by heavy-rimmed spectacles, and his
manner was somewhat shy and reserved. However, he did not hesitate to
speak frankly to his old friend, nor minded in the least if he aroused
her ire.
"No one knows better than you, dear Miss Jane, her duties and
obligations; and no one performs them more religiously. But your
recent acts, I confess, puzzle me. Why should you choose from a lot
of inexperienced, incompetent girls a successor to Thomas Bradley's
fortune, when he especially requested you in his will to look after
any of his relatives, should they need assistance? Kenneth Forbes, his
own nephew, was born after Tom's death, to be sure; but he is alone in
the world now, an orphan, and has had no advantages to help him along
in life since his mother's death eight years ago. I think Tom Bradley
must have had a premonition of what was to come even though his sister
was not married at the time of his death, and I am sure he would want
you to help Kenneth now."
"He placed me under no obligations to leave the boy any money,"
snapped the old woman, white with suppressed wrath, "you know that
well enough, Silas Watson, for you drew up the will."
The old gentleman slowly drew a pattern upon the gravelled walk with
the end of his walking-stick.
"Yes, I drew up the will," he said, deliberately, "and I remember that
he gave to you, his betrothed bride, all that he possessed--gave it
gladly and lovingly, and without reserve. He was very fond of you,
Miss Jane. But perhaps his conscience pricked him a bit, after all,
for he added the words: 'I shall expect you to look after the welfare
of my only relative, my sister. Katherine Bradley--or any of her
heirs.' It appears to me, Miss Jane, that that is a distinct
obligation. The boy is now sixteen and as fine a fellow as one often
meets."
"Bah! An imbecile--an awkward, ill-mannered brat who is only fit for a
stable-boy! I know him, Silas, and I know he'll never amount to a hill
of beans. Leave _him_ my money? Not if I hadn't a relative on earth!"
"You misjudge him, Jane. Kenneth is all right if you'll treat him
decently. But he won't stand your abuse and I don't think the less of
him for that."
"Why abuse? Haven't I given him a home and an education, all because
Thomas asked me to look after his relatives? And he's been rebellious
and pig-headed and sullen in return for my kindness, so naturally
there's little love lost between us."
"You resented your one obligation, Jane; and although you fulfilled it
to the letter you did not in the spirit of Tom Bradley's request. I
don't blame the boy for not liking you."
"Sir!"
"All right, Jane; fly at me if you will," said the little man, with a
smile; "but I intend to tell you frankly what I think of your actions,
just as long as we remain friends."
Her stern brows unbent a trifle.
"That's why we are friends, Silas; and it's useless to quarrel with
you now that I'm on my last legs. A few days more will end me, I'm
positive; so bear with me a little longer, my friend."
He took her withered hand in his and kissed it gently.
"You're not so very bad, Jane," said he, "and I'm almost sure you
will be with us for a long time to come. But you're more nervous and
irritable than usual, I'll admit, and I fear this invasion of your
nieces won't be good for you. Are they really coming?"
"Two of them are, I'm sure, for they've accepted my invitation," she
replied.
"Here's a letter that just arrived," he said, taking it from his
pocket. "Perhaps it contains news from the third niece."
"My glasses, Phibbs!" cried Miss Jane, eagerly, and the attendant
started briskly for the house to get them.
"What do you know about these girls?" asked the old lawyer curiously.
"Nothing whatever. I scarcely knew of their existence until you hunted
them out for me and found they were alive. But I'm going to know them,
and study them, and the one that's most capable and deserving shall
have my property."
Mr. Watson sighed.
"And Kenneth?" he asked.
"I'll provide an annuity for the boy, although it's more than he
deserves. When I realized that death was creeping upon me I felt a
strange desire to bequeath my fortune to one of my own flesh and
blood. Perhaps I didn't treat my brothers and sisters generously in
the old days, Silas."
"Perhaps not," he answered.
"So I'll make amends to one of their children. That is, if any one of
the three nieces should prove worthy."
"I see. But if neither of the three is worthy?"
"Then I'll leave every cent to charity--except Kenneth's annuity."
The lawyer smiled.
"Let us hope," said he, "that they will prove all you desire. It would
break my heart, Jane, to see Elmhurst turned into a hospital."
Phibbs arrived with the spectacles, and Jane Merrick read her letter,
her face growing harder with every line she mastered. Then she
crumpled the paper fiercely in both hands, and a moment later smoothed
it out carefully and replaced it in the envelope.
Silas Watson had watched her silently.
"Well," said he, at last, "another acceptance?"
"No, a refusal," said she. "A refusal from the Irishman's daughter,
Patricia Doyle."
"That's bad," he remarked, but in a tone of relief.
"I don't see it in that light at all," replied Miss Jane. "The girl
is right. It's the sort of letter I'd have written myself, under the
circumstances. I'll write again, Silas, and humble myself, and try to
get her to come."
"You surprise me!" said the lawyer.
"I surprise myself," retorted the old woman, "but I mean to know more
of this Patricia Doyle. Perhaps I've found a gold mine, Silas Watson!"