UNCLE PETER'S REVELATION
Ernest went direct to his home, for he knew his uncle would be waiting for
him.
The old man's eyes were closed, but he opened them when Ernest entered.
"Was I gone long?" asked the boy.
"I don't know. I think I fell asleep."
"Shall I give you some of the drink?"
"Yes."
He drank a small amount, and it seemed to brighten him up. "You look
better, Uncle Peter. You may live some time."
Peter shook his head.
"No, boy," he replied; "my time has come to die. I know it. I would like
to live for your sake. You will miss me when I am gone, Ernest?"
"Yes, uncle, I shall miss you very much."
The old man seemed gratified. Ernest was the only one he cared for in all
the world.
"I don't care so much about dying, but I am anxious for you. I wish I had
money to leave you, Ernest, but I haven't much."
"I am young and strong. I can get along."
"I hope so. You will go away from here?"
"Yes, uncle. I don't think I shall care to stay here after you are gone."
"You will need money to take you away."
"There is a little more in the trunk."
"But only a little. It is not quite all I have. I have a hundred dollars
in gold laid away for you."
Ernest looked surprised.
"I must tell you where it is while I still have life. Do you remember the
oak tree on the little knoll half a mile away?"
"Yes, I know it."
"Dig under that tree five feet in a westerly direction. There is a wooden
box about a foot below the surface. There's nothing to mark the spot, for
it was buried a year since, and the grass has grown over it. After I am
gone go there and get the money, but don't let anyone see you. It will be
best to go at night. There are evil-disposed men who would rob you of it.
I am sorry it is so little, Ernest."
"But it seems to me a good deal."
"To a boy it may seem so. Once I thought I might have a good deal more to
leave you. Go to the trunk and search till you find a paper folded in an
envelope with your name."
Ernest went to the trunk. He found the envelope readily, and held it up.
"Is that it, uncle?"
"Yes. Put it in your pocket, and read it after I am gone. Then be guided
by circumstances. It may amount to something hereafter."
"Very well, uncle."
"I have told you, Ernest, that I do not expect to live long. I have a
feeling that twenty-four hours from now I shall be gone."
"Oh, no, uncle, not so soon!" exclaimed Ernest in a shocked tone.
"Yes, I think so. If you have any questions to ask me while I yet have
life, ask, for it is your right."
"Yes, Uncle Peter, I have long wished to know something about myself. Have
I any relatives except you?"
"I am not your relative," answered the old man slowly.
"Are you not my uncle?" he asked.
"No; there is no tie of blood between us."
"Then how does it happen that we have lived together so many years?"
"I was a servant in your father's family. When your father died the care
of you devolved upon me."
"Where was I born?"
"In a large town in the western part of New York State. Your grandfather
was a man of wealth, but your father incurred his displeasure by his
marriage to a poor but highly educated and refined girl. A cousin of your
father took advantage of this and succeeded in alienating father and son.
The estate that should have descended to your father was left to the
cousin."
"Is he still living?"
"Yes."
"But my father died?"
"Yes; he had a fever which quickly carried him off when you were five
years of age."
"Was he very poor?"
"No; he inherited a few thousand dollars from an aunt, and upon this he
lived prudently, carrying on a small business besides. Your mother died
when you were three years old, your father two years later."
"And then you took care of me?"
"Yes."
"And I have been a burden to you these many years!"
"No! Don't give me too much credit. A sum of money was put into my hands
to spend for you. We lived carefully, and it lasted. We have been here
three years, and it has cost very little to live in that time. The hundred
dollars of which I spoke to you are the last of your inheritance. You are
not indebted to me for it. It is rightfully yours."
"What is my uncle's name?"
"Stephen Ray. He lives a few miles from Elmira on the Erie Road."
"And is he quite rich?"
"Yes; he is probably worth a quarter of a million dollars. It is money
which should have gone to your father."
"Then the wicked are sometimes prospered in this world?"
"Yes, but this world is not all."
"Has there been any communication with my cousin in all these years?"
"Yes; two years ago I wrote to him."
"What did you write?"
"You must forgive me, Ernest, but I saw you growing up without education,
and I felt that you should have advantages which I could not give you. I
wrote to your cousin, asking if he would pay your expenses in a
preparatory school and afterwards at college."
"What did he reply?"
"Go to the trunk. You will find his letter there. It is in the tray, and
addressed to me."
Ernest found it readily.
"May I read it?" he asked.
"Yes, I wish you to do so."
It ran thus:
Peter Brant--Sir: I have received your letter making an appeal to me
in behalf of Ernest Ray, the son of my cousin. You wish me to educate
him. I must decline to do so. His father very much incensed my
revered uncle, and it is not right that any of his money should go to
him or his heirs. The son must reap the reward of the father's
disobedience. So far as I am personally concerned, I should not
object to doing something for the boy, but I am sure that my dead
uncle would not approve it. Besides, I have myself a son to whom I
propose to leave the estate intact.
It is my advice that you bring up the boy Ernest to some humble
employment, perhaps have him taught some trade by which he can earn
an honest living. It is not at all necessary that he should receive a
college education. You are living at the West. That is well. He is
favorably situated for a poor boy, and will have little difficulty in
earning a livelihood. I don't care to have him associate with my boy
Clarence. They are cousins, it is true, but their lots in life will
be very different.
I do not care to communicate with you again.
Stephen Ray.
Ernest read this letter with flushed cheeks.
"I hate that man!" he said hotly, "even if he is a relative. Peter, I am
sorry you ever applied to him in my behalf."
"I would not, Ernest, if I had understood what manner of man he was."
"I may meet him some time," said Ernest thoughtfully.
"Would you claim relationship?"
"Never!" declared Ernest emphatically. "It was he, you say, who prejudiced
my grandfather against my poor father."
"Yes."
"In order to secure the estate himself?"
"Undoubtedly that was his object."
"Nothing could be meaner. I would rather live poor all my life than get
property by such means."
"If you have no more questions to ask, Ernest, I will try to sleep. I feel
drowsy."
"Do so, Uncle Peter."
The old man closed his eyes, and soon all was silent. Ernest himself lay
down on a small bed. When he awoke, hours afterward, he lit a candle and
went to Peter's bedside.
The old man lay still. With quick suspicion Ernest placed his hand on his
cheek.
It was stone cold.
"He is dead!" cried Ernest, and a feeling of desolation came over him.
"I am all alone now," he murmured.
But he was not wholly alone. There was a face glued against the
window-pane--a face that he did not see. It was the tramp he had met
during the day at the village store.