AT HOME.
It was a terrible shock to Walter,--this sudden announcement of his
father's death. When he had left home, Mr. Conrad seemed in his usual
health, and he could not realize that he was dead. The news stunned him,
and he stood, pale and motionless, looking into the house-keeper's face.
"Come in, Master Walter, come in, and have a cup of hot tea. It'll make
you feel better."
A cup of hot tea was Nancy's invariable remedy for all troubles,
physical or mental.
"Tell me about it, Nancy; I--I can't think it's true. It's so sudden."
"That's the way I feel too, Master Walter. And only yesterday morning,
too, he looked just as usual. Little did I think what was to be."
"When was he first taken sick?"
Walter had seated himself on a chair in the hall, and waited anxiously
for an answer.
"I didn't notice nothing till last night just after supper. Richard went
to the post-office and got your father's letters. When they came he took
'em into the library, and began to read them. There was three, I
remember. It was about an hour before I went into the room to tell him
the carpenter had called about repairing the carriage-house. When I came
in, there lay your poor father on the carpet, senseless. He held a
letter tight in his hand. I screamed for help. Mr. Brier, the carpenter,
and Richard came in and helped me to lift up your poor father, and we
sent right off for the doctor."
"What did the doctor say?"
"He said it was a paralytic stroke,--a very bad one,--and ordered him to
be put to bed directly. But it was of no use. He never recovered, but
breathed his last this morning at eight o'clock. The doctor told me I
must telegraph to your teacher; and so I did."
"Nancy, have you got that letter which my father was reading?"
"Yes, Master Walter, I put it in my pocket without reading. I think
there must have been bad news in it."
She drew from her pocket a letter, which she placed in Walter's hands.
He read it hastily, and it confirmed his suspicions. It was from a
lawyer Mr. Conrad had asked to make inquiries respecting the Great
Metropolitan Mining Company, and was as follows:--
"WILLIAM CONRAD, ESQ.
"Dear Sir:--I have, at your request, taken pains to inform myself
of the present management and condition of the Great Metropolitan
Mining Company. The task has been less difficult than I
anticipated, since the failure of the company has just been made
public. The management has been in the hands of dishonest and
unscrupulous men, and it is doubtful whether the stockholders will
be able to recover anything.
"Hoping you are not largely interested, I remain,
"Yours, very respectfully,
"ANDREW HOLMES."
Walter re-folded the letter, and put it into his pocket. He felt that
this letter had cost his father his life, and in the midst of his grief
he could not help thinking bitterly of the unscrupulous man who had led
his father to ruin. Had it been merely the loss of property, he could
have forgiven him, but he had been deprived of the kindest and most
indulgent of fathers.
"I should like to see my father," he said.
We will not accompany him into the dark chamber where his father lay,
unobservant, for the first time, of his presence. Such a scene is too
sacred to be described.
An hour later he came out of the chamber, pale but composed. He seemed
older and more thoughtful than when he entered. A great and sudden
sorrow often has this effect upon the young.
"Nancy," he said, "have any arrangements been made about the funeral?"
"No, Walter, we waited till you came. Mr. Edson will be here in a few
minutes, and you can speak with him about it."
Mr. Edson, though not a professional undertaker, usually acted as such
whenever there was occasion for his services. When he arrived, Walter
requested him to take entire charge of the funeral.
"Are there any directions you would like to give, Walter?" asked Mr.
Edson, who, like most of the villagers, had known Walter from his birth.
"No, Mr. Edson, I leave all to you."
"What relations are there to be invited?"
"My father had no near relatives. There is a cousin, Jacob Drummond, who
lives in Stapleton. It will be necessary to let him know."
"Would a letter reach him in time?"
"It will be best to telegraph. Stapleton is forty miles distant, and it
is doubtful if a letter would reach there in time."
"If you will write the telegram, Walter, I'll see that it's sent right
off."
"I won't trouble you, Mr. Edson; you will have enough to attend to, and
I can send Richard to the telegraph office, or go myself. I shall feel
better for the exercise."
"Very well, Walter, I will do whatever else is necessary."