WOLVERTON'S FIRST MOVE.
Why did not Aaron Wolverton burn the receipt, and get rid once for all
of the only proof that the interest had been paid? It would have been
the most politic thing to do, inasmuch as he had made up his mind to be
dishonest. But, though unprincipled, he was not a bold man. The thought
did certainly occur to him, and he even went so far as to light a match.
But more timid counsel prevailed, and he concealed it in his desk,
carefully locking the desk afterwards.
It is unnecessary to describe the grief of the little family at Burton's
Ranch when the body of the master was brought home. No one had dreamed
of speedy death for Richard Burton. He seemed so strong and vigorous
that it would have seemed safe to predict for him a long life--long
beyond the average; yet here, in middle life, in the fullness of health
and vigor, the summons had come.
To Mrs. Burton, who was a most devoted wife, it was a crushing blow. It
seemed at first as if it would be happiness to lie down beside her dead
husband, and leave the world for him.
"What have I to live for now?" she asked, mournfully.
"You have me, mother," answered Bob, gently. "I have lost my father.
What would become of me if I should lose my mother also?"
"You are right, Robert," said Mrs. Burton. "I was wrong to give way; but
it is a very hard trial."
"Indeed it is, mother," said Robert, kissing her affectionately. "But we
must try to bear up."
Mrs. Burton felt that this was her plain duty, and henceforth strove to
control her emotions. She ceased to sob, but her face showed the grief
she suffered.
The funeral took place, and the little family held a council to decide
what was to be done.
"Can we carry on the ranch now that your father is gone?" asked Mrs.
Burton, anxiously. "Would it not be better to sell it?"
"No, mother; the sacrifice would be too great."
"But I do not feel capable of managing it, Robert."
"You may think me presumptuous, mother, but my proposal is to assist
you, relieving you of the greater part of the care. Between us we can
carry it on, I am confident."
"You are only a boy of sixteen, Robert," objected his mother.
"That is true; but I have watched carefully the manner in which the
ranch has been carried on. Of course you must help, and you will try to
get a man with whom I can advise. I am sure we can make a good deal more
out of the farm than we could realize from investing the money it would
bring."
"And are you willing to undertake this, Robert? It will be a hard task."
"I'll help him, missis," said Clip, eagerly.
"I shall have Clip to advise me, mother," said Robert.
"No doubt Clip is willing," said Mrs. Burton, smiling faintly; "but
after all, it will be only two boys."
"Try us a single year, mother," said Bob, confidently.
Mrs. Burton gave her consent, and Bob at once took his father's place,
rising early and going to the field to superintend the farming
operations. He seemed to have developed at once into a mature man,
though in appearance he was still the same. Clip was his loyal
assistant, though, being a harum-scarum boy, fond of fun and mischief,
he was of very little service as adviser.
He had mentioned to Bob seeing Aaron Wolverton bending over the body of
his father, and exploring his pockets. This puzzled Bob, but he was not
prepared to suspect him of anything else than curiosity, until his
mother received a call from the real estate agent a month after her
husband's decease.
Aaron Wolverton had been anxious to call before, but something withheld
him. It might have been the consciousness of the dishonorable course he
had taken. Be that as it may, he finally screwed up his courage to the
sticking-point, and walked out to Burton's Ranch early one afternoon.
Mrs. Burton was at home, as usual, for she seldom went out now. She had
no intimate friends in the neighborhood. All that she cared for was
under her own roof.
She looked up in some surprise when Mr. Wolverton was ushered into the
sitting-room.
"I hope I see you well, Mrs. Burton," said the real estate agent,
slipping to a seat, and placing his high hat on his knees.
"I am well in health, Mr. Wolverton," answered the widow, gravely.
"Yes, yes, of course; I understand," he hastily answered. "Terribly
sudden, Mr. Barton's death was, to be sure, but dust we are, and to dust
we must return, as the Scripture says."
Mrs. Burton did not think it necessary to make any reply.
"I came over to offer my--my condolences," continued Mr. Wolverton.
"Thank you."
"And I thought perhaps you might stand in need of some advice from a
practical man."
"Any advice will be considered, Mr. Wolverton."
"I've been thinkin' the thing over, and I've about made up my mind that
the best thing you can do is to sell the ranch," and the real estate
agent squinted at Mrs. Burton from under his red eyebrows.
"That was my first thought; but I consulted with Robert, and he was
anxious to have me carry on the ranch with his help."
Aaron Wolverton shook his head.
"A foolish plan!" he remarked. "Excuse me for saying so. Of course you,
being a woman, are not competent to carry it on--"
"I have my son Robert to help me," said the widow.
Aaron Wolverton sniffed contemptuously.
"A mere boy!" he ejaculated.
"No; not a mere boy. His father's death and his affection for me have
made a man of him at sixteen. He rises early every morning, goes to the
fields, and superintends the farming operations. Peter, my head man,
says that he is a remarkably smart boy, and understands the business
about as well as a man."
"Still I predict that he'll bring you deeper in debt every year."
"I don't think so; but, at any rate, I have promised to try the
experiment for one year. I can then tell better whether it will be wise
to keep on or sell."
"Now, Mrs. Burton, I have a better plan to suggest."
"What is it, Mr. Wolverton?"
"In fact, I have two plans. One is that you should sell me the ranch.
You know I hold a mortgage on it for three thousand dollars?"
"I know it, Mr. Wolverton!" answered the widow, gravely.
"I'll give you three thousand dollars over and above, and then you will
be rid of all care."
"Will you explain to me how Robert and I are going to live on the
interest of three thousand dollars, Mr. Wolverton?"
"You'll get something, and if the boy runs the ranch you'll get nothing.
He can earn his living, and I don't think you will suffer, even if you
have only three thousand dollars."
"It is quite out of the question. Mr. Burton considered the ranch worth
ten thousand dollars."
"A very ridiculous over-valuation--pardon me for saying so."
"At any rate, I don't propose to sell."
"There's another little circumstance I ought to mention," added
Wolverton, nervously. "There is half a year's interest due on the
mortgage. It was due on the very day of your husband's death."
Mrs. Burton looked up in amazement.
"What do you mean, Mr. Wolverton?" she said. "My husband started for
your office on the fatal morning of his death, carrying the money--one
hundred and fifty dollars--to meet the interest. Do you mean to tell me
that he did not pay it?"
"That is strange, very strange," stammered Aaron Wolverton, wiping his
forehead with a bandana handkerchief. "What became of the money?"
"Do you mean to say that it was not paid to you?" asked the widow,
sharply.
"No, it was not," answered Wolverton, with audacious falsehood.