CONSULTATIONS.
Mrs. Bell went home on the evening of the funeral, very much exhausted
and fatigued under the combined effects of watching, anxiety, and
exertion. She went to bed, and slept very soundly until nearly
midnight. The thunder awaked her.
She felt solitary and afraid. Mary Bell, who was then about nine years
old, was asleep in a crib, in a corner of the room. There was a little
night lamp, burning dimly on the table, and it shed a faint and dismal
gleam upon the objects around it. Every few minutes, however, the
lightning would flash into the windows and glare a moment upon the
walls, and then leave the room in deeper darkness than ever. The
little night lamp, whose feeble beam had been for the moment entirely
overpowered, would then gradually come out to view again, to diffuse
once more its faint illumination, until another flash of lightning
came to extinguish it as before.
Mrs. Bell rose from her bed, and went to the crib to see if Mary Bell
was safe. She found her sleeping quietly. Mrs. Bell drew the crib out
a little way from the wall, supposing that she should thus put it into
a somewhat safer position. Then she lighted a large lamp. Then
she closed all the shutters of the room, in order to shut out the
lightning. Then she went to bed again, and tried to go to sleep. But
she could not. She was thinking of Mary Erskine, and endeavoring to
form some plan for her future life. She could not, however, determine
what it was best for her to do.
In the morning, after breakfast, she sat down at the window, with her
knitting work in her hand, looking very thoughtful and sad. Presently
she laid her work down in her lap, and seemed lost in some melancholy
reverie.
Mary Bell, who had been playing about the floor for some time, came
up to her mother, and seeing her look so thoughtful and sorrowful, she
said,
"Mother, what is the matter with you?"
"Why, Mary," said Mrs. Bell, in a melancholy tone, "I was thinking of
poor Mary Erskine."
"Well, mother," said Mary Bell, "could not you give her a little
money, if she is poor? I will give her my ten cents."
[Illustration: MRS. BELL.]
Mary Bell had a silver piece of ten cents, which she kept in a little
box, in her mother's room up stairs.
"Oh, she is not poor for want of money," said Mrs. Bell. "Her husband
made his will, before he died, and left her all his property."
"Though I told Mr. Keep about it last night," continued Mrs. Bell,
talking half to herself and half to Mary, "and he said the will was
not good."
"Not good," said Mary. "I think it is a very good will indeed. I am
sure Mary Erskine ought to have it all. Who should have it, if not
she?"
"The children, I suppose," said her mother.
"The children!" exclaimed Mary Bell. "Hoh! They are not half big
enough. They are only two babies; a great baby and a little one."
Mrs. Bell did not answer this, nor did she seem to take much notice of
it, but took up her knitting again, and went on musing as before. Mary
Bell did not understand very well about the will. The case was this:
The law, in the state where Mary Erskine lived, provided that when a
man died, as Albert had done, leaving a wife and children, and a farm,
and also stock, and furniture, and other such movable property, if
he made no will, the wife was to have a part of the property, and the
rest must be saved for the children, in order to be delivered to them,
when they should grow up, and be ready to receive it and use it. The
farm, when there was a farm, was to be kept until the children should
grow up, only their mother was to have one third of the benefit of
it,--that is, one third of the rent of it, if they could let it--until
the children became of age. The amount of the other two thirds was to
be kept for them. In respect to all movable property, such as stock
and tools, and furniture, and other things of that kind, since they
could not very conveniently be kept till the children were old enough
to use them, they were to be sold, and the wife was to have half the
value, and the children the other half.
In respect to the children's part of all the property, they were
not, themselves, to have the care of it, but some person was to be
appointed to be their guardian. This guardian was to have the care of
all their share of the property, until they were of age, when it was
to be paid over into their hands.
If, however, the husband, before his death, was disposed to do so, he
might make a will, and give all the property to whomsoever he pleased.
If he decided, as Albert had done, to give it all to his wife, then
it would come wholly under her control, at once. She would be under no
obligation to keep any separate account of the children's share, but
might expend it all herself, or if she were so inclined, she might
keep it safely, and perhaps add to it by the proceeds of her own
industry, and then, when the children should grow up, she might give
them as much as her maternal affection should dictate.
In order that the property of men who die, should be disposed of
properly, according to law, or according to the will, if any will be
made, it is required that soon after the death of any person takes
place, the state of the case should be reported at a certain public
office, instituted to attend to this business. There is such an office
in every county in the New England states. It is called the Probate
office. The officer, who has this business in charge, is called the
Judge of Probate. There is a similar system in force, in all the
other states of the Union, though the officers are sometimes called by
different names from those which they receive in New England.
Now, while Albert was lying sick upon his bed, he was occupied a great
deal of the time, while they thought that he was asleep, in thinking
what was to become of his wife and children in case he should die.
He knew very well that in case he died without making any will, his
property must be divided, under the direction of the Judge of Probate,
and one part of it be kept for the children, while Mary Erskine would
have the control only of the other part. This is a very excellent
arrangement in all ordinary cases, so that the law, in itself, is a
very good law. There are, however, some cases, which are exceptions,
and Albert thought that Mary Erskine's case was one. It was owing,
in a great measure, to her prudence and economy, to her efficient
industry, and to her contented and happy disposition, that he had been
able to acquire any property, instead of spending all that he earned,
like Mr. Gordon, as fast as he earned it. Then, besides, he knew
that Mary Erskine would act as conscientiously and faithfully for the
benefit of the children, if the property was all her own, as she
would if a part of it was theirs, and only held by herself, for safe
keeping, as their guardian. Whereas, if this last arrangement went
into effect, he feared that it would make her great trouble to keep
the accounts, as she could not write, not even to sign her name. He
determined, therefore, to make a will, and give all his property, of
every kind, absolutely to her. This he did, in the manner described in
the last chapter.
The law invests every man with a very absolute power in respect to his
property, authorizing him to make any disposition of it whatever, and
carrying faithfully into effect, after his death, any wish that he may
have expressed in regard to it, as his deliberate and final intention.
It insists, however, that there should be evidence that the wish, so
expressed, is really a deliberate and final act. It is not enough that
the man should say in words what his wishes are. The will must be in
writing, and it must be signed; or if the sick man can not write, he
must make some mark with the pen, at the bottom of the paper, to stand
instead of a signature, and to show that he considers the act, which
he is performing, as a solemn and binding transaction. Nor will it do
to have the will executed in the presence of only one witness; for if
that were allowed, designing persons would sometimes persuade a sick
man, who was rich, to sign a will which they themselves had written,
telling him, perhaps, that it was only a receipt, or some other
unimportant paper, and thus inducing him to convey his property in a
way that he did not intend. The truth is, that there is necessity for
a much greater degree of precautionary form, in the execution of a
will, than in almost any other transaction; for as the man himself
will be dead and gone when the time comes for carrying the will into
effect,--and so can not give any explanation of his designs, it is
necessary to make them absolutely clear and certain, independently
of him. It was, accordingly, the law, in the state where Mary Erskine
lived, that there should be three witnesses present, when any person
signed a will; and also that when signing the paper, the man should
say that he knew that it was his will. If three credible persons thus
attested the reality and honesty of the transaction, it was thought
sufficient, in all ordinary cases, to make it sure.
Albert, it seems, was not aware how many witnesses were required. When
he requested Mrs. Bell to sign his will, as witness, he thought that
he was doing all that was necessary to make it valid. When, however,
Mrs. Bell, afterwards, in going home, met Mr. Keep and related to
him the transaction, he said that he was afraid that the will was not
good, meaning that it would not stand in law.
The thought that the will was probably not valid, caused Mrs. Bell a
considerable degree of anxiety and concern, as she imagined that its
failure would probably cause Mary Erskine a considerable degree of
trouble and embarrassment, though she did not know precisely how. She
supposed that the children's share of the property must necessarily be
kept separate and untouched until they grew up, and that in the mean
time their mother would have to work very hard in order to maintain
herself and them too. But this is not the law. The guardian of
children, in such cases, is authorized to expend, from the children's
share of property, as much as is necessary for their maintenance while
they are children; and it is only the surplus, if there is any, which
it is required of her to pay over to them, when they come of age. It
would be obviously unjust, in cases where children themselves have
property left them by legacy, or falling to them by inheritance, to
compel their father or mother to toil ten or twenty years to feed and
clothe them, in order that they might have their property, whole and
untouched, when they come of age. All that the law requires is
that the property bequeathed to children, or falling to them by
inheritance, shall always be exactly ascertained, and an account of it
put upon record in the Probate office: and then, that a guardian shall
be appointed, who shall expend only so much of it, while the children
are young, as is necessary for their comfortable support and proper
education; and then, when they come of age, if there is any surplus
left, that it shall be paid over to them. In Mary Erskine's case,
these accounts would, of course, cause her some trouble, but it would
make but little difference in the end.
Mrs. Bell spent a great deal of time, during the day, in trying to
think what it would be best for Mary Erskine to do, and also in trying
to think what she could herself do for her. She, however, made very
little progress in respect to either of those points. It seemed to her
that Mary Erskine could not move into the new house, and attempt to
carry on the farm, and, on the other hand, it appeared equally out
of the question for her to remain where she was, in her lonesome log
cabin. She might move into the village, or to some house nearer the
village, but what should she do in that case for a livelihood. In a
word, the more that Mrs. Bell reflected upon the subject, the more at
a loss she was.
She determined to go and see Mary Erskine after dinner, again, as the
visit would at least be a token of kindness and sympathy, even if it
should do no other good. She arrived at the house about the middle
of the afternoon. She found Mary Erskine busily at work, putting the
house in order, and rectifying the many derangements which sickness
and death always occasion. Mary Erskine received Mrs. Bell at first
with a cheerful smile, and seemed, to all appearance, as contented and
happy as usual. The sight of Mrs. Bell, however, recalled forcibly to
her mind her irremediable loss, and overwhelmed her heart, again, with
bitter grief. She went to the window, where her little work-table
had been placed, and throwing herself down in a chair before it, she
crossed her arms upon the table, laid her forehead down upon them in
an attitude of despair, and burst into tears.
Mrs. Bell drew up toward her and stood by her side in silence. She
pitied her with all her heart, but she did not know what to say to
comfort her.
Just then little Bella came climbing up the steps, from the stoop,
with some flowers in her hand, which she had gathered in the yard. As
soon as she had got up into the room she stood upon her feet and went
dancing along toward the baby, who was playing upon the floor, singing
as she danced. She gave the baby the flowers, and then, seeing that
her mother was in trouble, she came up toward the place and stood
still a moment, with a countenance expressive of great concern. She
put her arm around her mother's neck, saying in a very gentle and
soothing tone,
"Mother! what is the matter, mother?"
Mary Erskine liberated one of her arms, and clasped Bella with it
fondly, but did not raise her head, or answer.
"Go and get some flowers for your mother," said Mrs. Bell, "like those
which you got for the baby."
"Well," said Bella, "I will." So she turned away, and went singing and
dancing out of the room.
"Mary," said Mrs. Bell. "I wish that you would shut up this house and
take the children and come to my house, at least for a while, until
you can determine what to do."
Mary Erskine shook her head, but did not reply. She seemed, however,
to be regaining her composure. Presently she raised her head, smoothed
down her hair, which was very soft and beautiful, readjusted her
dress, and sat up, looking out at the window.
"If you stay here," continued Mrs. Bell, "you will only spend your
time in useless and hopeless grief."
"No," said Mary Erskine, "I am not going to do any such a thing."
"Have you begun to think at all what you shall do?" asked Mrs. Bell.
"No," said Mary Erskine. "When any great thing happens, I always have
to wait a little while till I get accustomed to knowing that it has
happened, before I can determine what to do about it. It seems as if
I did not more than half know yet, that Albert is dead. Every time the
door opens I almost expect to see him come in."
"Do you think that you shall move to the new house?" asked Mrs. Bell.
"No," said Mary Erskine, "I see that I can't do that. I don't wish to
move there, either, now."
"There's one thing," continued Mrs. Bell after a moment's pause, "that
perhaps I ought to tell you, though it is rather bad news for you. Mr.
Keep says that he is afraid that the will, which Albert made, is not
good in law."
"Not good! Why not?" asked Mary Erskine.
"Why because there is only one witness The law requires that there
should be three witnesses, so as to be sure that Albert really signed
the will."
"Oh no," said Mary Erskine. "One witness is enough, I am sure. The
Judge of Probate knows you, and he will believe you as certainly as he
would a dozen witnesses."
"But I suppose," said Mrs. Bell, "that it does not depend upon the
Judge of Probate. It depends upon the law."
Mary Erskine was silent. Presently she opened her drawer and took out
the will and looked at it mysteriously. She could not read a word of
it.
"Read it to me, Mrs. Bell," said she, handing the paper to Mrs. Bell.
Mrs. Bell read as follows:
"I bequeath all my property to my wife, Mary Erskine. Albert
Forester. Witness, Mary Bell."
"I am sure that is all right," said Mary Erskine. "It is very plain,
and one witness is enough. Besides, Albert would know how it ought to
be done."
"But then," she continued after a moment's pause, "he was very sick
and feeble. Perhaps he did not think. I am sure I shall be very sorry
if it is not a good will, for if I do not have the farm and the stock,
I don't know what I shall do with my poor children."
Mary Erskine had a vague idea that if the will should prove invalid,
she and her children would lose the property, in some way or other,
entirely,--though she did not know precisely how. After musing upon
this melancholy prospect a moment she asked,
"Should not I have _any_ of the property, if the will proves not
to be good?"
"Oh yes," said Mrs. Bell, "you will have a considerable part of it, at
any rate."
"How much?" asked Mary Erskine.
"Why about half, I believe," replied Mrs. Bell.
"Oh," said Mary Erskine, apparently very much relieved. "That will
do very well. Half will be enough. There is a great deal of property.
Albert told me that the farm and the new house are worth five hundred
dollars, and the stock is worth full three hundred more. And Albert
does not owe any thing at all."
"Well," said Mrs. Bell. "You will have half. Either half or a third, I
forget exactly which."
"And what becomes of the rest?" asked Mary Erskine.
"Why the rest goes to the children," said Mrs. Bell.
"To the children!" repeated Mary Erskine.
"Yes," said she, "you will have to be appointed guardian, and take
care of it for them, and carry in your account, now and then, to the
Judge of Probate."
"Oh," said Mary Erskine, her countenance brightening up with an
expression of great relief and satisfaction. "That is just the same
thing. If it is to go to the children, and I am to take care of it for
them, it is just the same thing. I don't care any thing about the will
at all."
So saying, she threw the paper down upon the table, as if it was of no
value whatever.
"But there's one thing," she said again, after pausing a few minutes.
"I can't keep any accounts. I can not even write my name."
"That is no matter," said Mrs. Bell. "There will be but little to
do about the accounts, and it is easy to get somebody to do that for
you."
"I wish I had learned to write," said Mary Erskine.
Mrs. Bell said nothing, but in her heart she wished so too.
"Do you think that I could possibly learn now?" asked Mary Erskine.
"Why,--I don't know,--perhaps, if you had any one to teach you."
"Thomas might teach me, perhaps," said Mary Erskine, doubtfully. Then,
in a moment she added again, in a desponding tone,--"but I don't know
how long he will stay here."
"Then you don't know at all yet," said Mrs. Bell, after a short pause,
"what you shall conclude to do."
"No," replied Mary Erskine, "not at all. I am going on, just as I am
now, for some days, without perplexing myself at all about it. And I
am not going to mourn and make myself miserable. I am going to make
myself as contented and happy as I can, with my work and my children."
Here Mary Erskine suddenly laid her head down upon her arms again, on
the little work-table before her, and burst into tears. After sobbing
convulsively a few minutes she rose, hastily brushed the tears away
with her handkerchief, and went toward the door. She then took the
water pail, which stood upon a bench near the door, and said that
she was going to get some water, at the spring, for tea, and that she
would be back in a moment. She returned very soon, with a countenance
entirely serene.
"I have been trying all day," said Mrs. Bell, "to think of something
that I could do for you, to help you or to relieve you in some way or
other; but I can not think of any thing at all that I can do."
"Yes," said Mary Erskine, "there is one thing that you could do
for me, that would be a very great kindness, a very great kindness
indeed."
"What is it?" asked Mrs. Bell.
"I am afraid that you will think it is too much for me to ask."
"No," said Mrs. Bell, "what is it?"
Mary Erskine hesitated a moment, and then said,
"To let Mary Bell come and stay here with me, a few days."
"Do you mean all night, too?" asked Mrs. Bell.
"Yes," said Mary Erskine, "all the time."
"Why, you have got two children to take care of now," replied Mrs.
Bell, "and nobody to help you. I should have thought that you would
have sooner asked me to take Bella home with me."
"No," said Mary Erskine. "I should like to have Mary Bell here, very
much, for a few days."
"Well," said Mrs. Bell, "she shall certainly come. I will send her,
to-morrow morning."