THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER.
"Where were you born, Mr. Maggimore?" asked the Wittleworth lawyer.
"In London," replied Andre.
"Are you a Frenchman?"
"My father was Italian, my mother French."
"Did you ever learn the barber's trade, or did you pick it up
yourself?"
"I was apprenticed to a barber in London, and served seven years."
"Have you always worked at the business?"
"No, sir. I used to shave an English gentleman who had a stiff arm, and
I finally went into his service as his valet. I remained with him till
he died of cholera in Paris. I lived with him fourteen years," answered
Andre, meekly.
"Have you ever told any person that Marguerite Checkynshaw died at the
hospital?" demanded the attorney, sharply.
"I have, sir."
"Was it true?"
"No, sir."
"Why did you say so, then?"
"Because I thought it was true."
"What made you think so?"
"The last name of the Marguerite that died was so like Checkynshaw."
"What was the name of the other Marguerite?"
"Poulebah."
"Did you make any effort to find the parents of the child you adopted?"
"I did; I found the lodgings they had occupied, and the _concierge_
identified some clothing and the locket which I carried to him. He told
me that the parents of the child were both dead. He only knew that they
were English. I have no doubt now that he was a bad man, and that he
told me what he knew was not true in regard to the child."
"Why so?"
"I think it is probable the Chuckinghams left some property in their
rooms which he desired to keep, and because I have learned from Mr.
Checkynshaw that the house I visited was not the one occupied by him.
The _concierge_ told me two falsehoods--that the clothing and locket
belonged to the child of his lodger, and that she spoke French."
The lawyer twisted the matter about in various ways; but Andre was as
clear as light itself, and he did not materially contradict himself.
Mrs. Checkynshaw was called for the defence; but, to the astonishment
and disgust of the legal gentleman and his employers, she testified, in
the most positive manner, that the elegant young lady in court was
Marguerite Checkynshaw. She had taken care of her as a child, and she
could not be mistaken. Mrs. Wittleworth was put upon the stand, with
the letter announcing the death of Marguerite in her hand; but, poor
woman, all her evidence was against herself. She identified the locket,
and was in the end very sure that the beautiful young lady was her
niece.
Mr. Fitzherbert Wittleworth was utterly disgusted, though he could not
help believing that the young lady was his cousin. Not a doubt was left
in the mind of any person, and of course Mr. Checkynshaw won his case;
but the great man was very far from satisfied with himself, or with the
position in which the trial left him. It was apparent to all the world
that he had attempted to defraud Mrs. Wittleworth out of the block of
stores, and ten years' income upon it; but the banker was not a man to
bend before the storm of popular opinion. He took the trouble to define
his position, and to explain away what was dark and unsatisfactory. He
did not believe his child was dead. He was satisfied that Marguerite
Poulebah was Marguerite Checkynshaw, though he could not find her. The
director of the hospital said the Sisters had taken her, and he was
sure she was living.
Besides, it would have been wicked to hand the property over to Mrs.
Wittleworth for her drunken husband to squander away, and make her a
beggar a second time. He intended, in due time, if his daughter did not
appear, to pass the property to the rightful heir when it could be
safely done. The integrity of his intentions could not be doubted, for
had he not given Mrs. Wittleworth ten thousand dollars? The quitclaim
deed, he declared, was only to save himself from being annoyed by Fitz
and his father. Of course he intended to make it all right in the end.
Mr. Checkynshaw did not forgive the Wittleworths for the mischief they
had attempted to do. He hinted at steps for compelling them to restore
the ten thousand dollars; but Maggie protested, in her way, against
such a course, and nothing was ever done.
Marguerite Checkynshaw went to live in Pemberton Square; but she was
not happy there, and every day she visited the house at No. 3
Phillimore Court. Poor Andre was actually miserable. He had lost his
darling child, and it was little comfort to know that she dwelt in the
midst of luxury and splendor. Though he saw her every day, he was sad,
and almost disconsolate.
Maggie tried to be happy in her new home, but her heart was not there.
Mrs. Checkynshaw was cold and distant to her, and Elinora was a little,
petulant, disagreeable tyrant, who lived for herself alone. She tried
to love her, but she tried in vain. Her father was kind and indulgent
to her; yet she saw but little of him. Maggie went to school for two
years, and was busy with her studies and her music lessons; but not an
evening passed without her going to see her foster-father, after he
left the shop. About nine o'clock Leo walked home with her; but he
seldom entered her father's house.
In the choice of a pursuit for life, Leo won the day, and went to learn
the machinist's trade. He did not give up the "mouse business"
entirely, but found time to make new houses; and there were customers
to purchase them, adding quite a sum to the income of his
foster-father. A housekeeper was employed to take Maggie's place; but
home was never the place it had been after Maggie went away.
John Wittleworth kept his solemn promise, and continued to be a steady
man. He obtained employment in a wholesale grocery, and served so
faithfully that he won the esteem and regard of the firm. His former
ambition returned to him, and when he spoke of going into business on
his own account, with a portion of his wife's money as his capital, he
was admitted as a partner in the firm that employed him. He was a man
of excellent abilities, and in time he acquired a handsome property.
Fitz never amounted to much. His ideas were too big for his station. He
obtained several situations; but, as he aspired to manage his
employers' business without their aid, he was often out of a place.
When his father went into business, he was taken as an entry-clerk; but
he was such a trial that even parental solicitude could not tolerate
him, and he was sent away. He was not a bad boy; but self-conceit was
the rock on which he wrecked himself. He found another situation, and
another, and another; but his stay in each was short. And so he went
from one place to another, achieving nothing, until he was twenty-five
years old, when he married a lady ten years his senior, whom even the
twenty thousand dollars she possessed did not tempt any one else to
make a wife. Fitz is a gentleman now; and though his lot at home is
trying, he still maintains his dignity, and lives on his wife's
property. He is not dissipated, and has no bad habits; but he does not
amount to anything. People laugh at him, and speak contemptuously of
him behind his back; and he is, and will continue to be, nothing but a
cipher in the community.
In the little smoking-room in the house in Pemberton Square, three
years after Maggie went to live there, on the very sofa where Andre
Maggimore had lain, was stretched the inanimate form of another person,
stricken down by the same malady. It was Mr. Checkynshaw. The two
gentlemen with whom he had been conversing when attacked by the fit had
placed him there, and Dr. Fisher had been sent for. From that sofa he
was conveyed to his bed, still insensible. His eyes were open, but he
knew none of those who stood by his couch.
The doctor came; but the banker was out of the reach of human aid,
though he survived a day and a half. Maggie watched over him, as she
had over Andre; but vain was her care, and vain were her hopes. Her
father died. A few days later a long funeral procession left the house,
and Mr. Checkynshaw was borne to his last resting-place at Mount
Auburn. Mrs. Checkynshaw was bewildered and overwhelmed; Elinora was so
nervous that she required an attendant constantly; and Maggie had
little time to weep herself, so devoted was she to the wants of others.
By the death of her father, everything was changed with Maggie. There
was little sympathy between her and the other members of the family.
Mrs. Checkynshaw decided that the house should be sold, and that she
and the two daughters should board with a relative of her own. Maggie
did not like this arrangement, though she was prepared to accept it if
no better one could be suggested. She stated her objection in the
gentlest terms; but her step-mother was cold, and even harsh, and
Maggie realized that the future was to be more unhappy than the past.
In this emergency she consulted her old friend, Dr. Fisher, who was
familiar with all the circumstances of the family.
"I cannot live with Mrs. Checkynshaw and Elinora, now that my father is
no longer with us," said she, sadly. "I do not like them, and they do
not like me."
"It is not necessary that you should live with them," replied the
doctor.
"Couldn't I live with Andre again?" asked she, eagerly.
"Certainly you can. Leave this to me. I will see your father's
executors, and tell them your wishes."
"Thank you, doctor."
"The block of stores yields a large income, besides your share of your
father's property; but, Maggie, you are under age, and you must have a
guardian to take charge of your property. Your own wishes in this
matter will be consulted."
"Andre!" exclaimed she, with enthusiasm.
The doctor smiled, and shook his head.
"Why not?" demanded she, her face looking sad again.
"Andre is a very good man, but he does not know much about business."
"There is nothing to do at present but to collect the rents on the
block of stores. I could not name any one but Andre for my guardian."
"Perhaps the court will not approve of him if you do," added the
doctor, with a smile.
"I'm sure Andre is honest and true, and will be faithful to the end. He
knows enough about business to take care of the property."
Maggie argued like a woman, and the doctor promised to do what he could
to meet her wishes. Mr. Checkynshaw's executors were opposed to the
plan; but, at the earnest solicitation of Maggie and the doctor, they
at last consented to recommend it, and Andre was appointed guardian of
the rich man's daughter. If ever a man was amazed and bewildered, Andre
was, when he found himself the keeper of such a vast property.
Maggie had a plan of her own. Andre was to be a barber no longer. A
nice brick house in Harrison Avenue was hired, and furnished in good
style, and the strange family were once more united. Leo sold out the
mouse business to Tom Casey, and was as happy as a lord in his new
home. The executors paid Maggie's share of her father's estate to
Andre, in accordance with the provisions of the will. The ex-barber was
not a business man; but this fact rendered him all the more cautious in
handling the property intrusted to his care. He had shaved men of
dignity and substance for so many years, that he had no lack of
friendly advisers. With fear and trembling he discharged his sacred
duty.
But Andre's duties as guardian were abruptly terminated one day, before
Maggie was twenty-one. A remarkably good-looking young lawyer, Mr.
Charles Harding, the partner of an older legal gentleman who had done
Andre's business, relieved him of his charge by marrying his ward.
Everybody said he was a splendid fellow, and Maggie knew he was. No one
seemed to be astonished except Leo, who thought the affair had come off
rather suddenly. He did not exactly understand how Maggie could have
fallen in love with any fellow--he never thought of such things.
"So Maggie is married," said Mr. Fitz Wittleworth one day, when they
met in the street.
"Yes; and a capital fellow Harding is, too," replied Leo, warmly.
"It was rather sudden--wasn't it?"
"Well, it was rather sudden; but when I think what a beautiful girl
Maggie was, and when I think what a good girl she was, I am not at all
surprised--not a bit."
"But, Leo, I always thought you would marry Maggie," added Mr.
Wittleworth, stroking his chin.
"I!" exclaimed Leo, opening his eyes. "Why, I never thought of such a
thing."
"The more fool you, when you could have done it."
"What, marry my sister!"
"She isn't your sister, any more than I am."
"Well, it's all the same thing, and I could never look upon her as
anything but a sister," replied Leo, as he hastened to his work.
Leo was satisfied; for he could still love Mrs. Harding as a sister;
and he had certainly never thought of her in any other relation.
Perhaps he did not think of anything at that time but machines and
machinery. Both he and Andre remained with Mrs. Harding, for she would
not consent to their leaving her. And her husband liked them because
she did.
When Leo was twenty-five, his inventive genius had laid the foundation
of his fortune, and his "royalties" soon made him independent, for he
had the business ability to profit by his inventions. When he was
married, the "strange family" was separated, but never in spirit. Andre
goes from one house to the other half a dozen times a day, and is
honored as a "grandpa" by four little boys and girls.
Leo has always been the determined and persevering individual he was in
his youth, when engaged in the "mouse business." As an apprentice, as n
journeyman, as a master machinist, and as an inventor, it has been
"MAKE or BREAK" with him; and, though the parts of his machinery often
did break, and the apparatus failed to do its expected work, he did not
give up; and he conquered in the end, whatever trials and difficulties
interposed.
Mrs. Harding is superlatively happy in her husband, her children, her
foster-father, whom she still lovingly calls "_mon pere_" and in her
noble brother. She calls, at long intervals, upon Mrs. Checkynshaw and
Elinora; and peace reigns between the two houses of Checkynshaw and
Wittleworth. Though she was never happier than when she knew no other
relation than that of the poor man's daughter, she has every reason to
be thankful, and is thankful, to God for the blessings which have come
to her as THE RICH MAN'S DAUGHTER.