MRS. PRESTON'S INTENTIONS
Godfrey returned home on the day after his father's death. He had
never witnessed death before, and it frightened him, for the time,
into propriety. He exhibited none of the stormy and impetuous grief
which a warm-hearted and affectionate boy would have been likely to
exhibit. It was not in his nature.
When he and his mother were left alone, he showed his resemblance to
her, by asking:
"Do you know how much property father left?"
"I don't know. He never told me about his affairs as he ought. I think
he must have left near a hundred thousand dollars."
Godfrey's eyes sparkled.
"That's a pile of money," he said. "It goes to me, don't it?"
"To us," said Mrs. Preston.
"A woman doesn't need so much money as a man," said Godfrey,
selfishly.
"You are not a man yet," said his mother, dryly. "Your father may have
left a will. In that case, he may have left a part of his property to
others."
"Do you think he has?" inquired Godfrey, in alarm.
"I don't think any will will be found," said his mother, quietly. "He
never spoke to me of making one."
"Of course not. That wouldn't be fair, would it?"
"It is fitting that the property should all go to us."
"When shall I get mine?"
"When you are twenty-one."
"That's a long time to wait," said Godfrey, grumblingly.
"You are only a boy yet. I shall probably be your guardian."
"I hope you'll give me a larger allowance than father did."
"I will."
"Must I go back to boarding school? I don't want to."
"If I go to Boston to live, as I think I shall, I will take you with
me, and you can go to school there."
"That'll be jolly," said Godfrey, his eyes sparkling with
anticipation. "I've got tired of this miserable town."
"So have I," said his mother. "We shall have more privileges in
Boston."
"I can go to the theater as often as I please there, can't I?"
"We will see about that."
"How soon shall we move to the city?"
"As soon as business will allow. I must settle up your father's
affairs here."
"Can't I go beforehand?"
"Would you leave me alone?" asked his mother, with a little touch of
wounded affection, for she did feel attached to her son. He was the
only one, indeed, for whom she felt any affection.
"You won't miss me, mother. It'll be awfully stupid here, and you know
you'll be coming to the city as soon as you get through with the
business."
Mrs. Preston was disappointed, but she should not have been surprised.
Her only son reflected her own selfishness.
"It would not look well for you to go to the theater just at the
present," she said.
"Why not?"
"So soon after your father's death."
Godfrey said nothing, but looked discontented. It was early to think
of amusement, while his father lay yet unburied in the next room. He
left the room, whistling. He could not gainsay his mother's
objections, but he thought it hard luck.
A funeral in a country village is a public occasion. Friends and
neighbors are expected to be present without invitation. Among those
who assembled at the house were Mrs. Burke and Andy. They felt truly
sorry for the death of Colonel Preston, who had been a friend to both.
Mrs. Preston saw them enter, and, notwithstanding the solemnity of the
occasion, the thought intruded: "They're after the legacy, but they
will be disappointed. I've taken good care of that."
Godfrey saw them, also, and his thought was a characteristic one:
"What business has that Irish boy at my father's funeral? He ought to
know better than to poke himself in where he is not wanted."
Even Godfrey, however, had the decency to let this thought remain
unspoken. The services proceeded, and among those who followed on foot
in the funeral procession were Andy and his mother. It never occurred
to them that they were intruding. They wanted to show respect for the
memory of one who had been a friend to them.
On the day after the funeral Squire Tisdale called at the house,
invited by Mrs. Preston. The squire had a smattering of law, and often
acted as executor in settling estates.
"I invited you to come here, Squire Tisdale," said Mrs. Preston, "to
speak about my affairs. Of course, it is very trying to me to think of
business so soon after the death of my dear husband"--here she
pressed her handkerchief to her tearless eyes--"but I feel it to be my
duty to myself and my boy."
"Of course," said the squire, soothingly. "We can't give way to our
feelings, however much we want to."
"That is my feeling," said Mrs. Preston, whose manner was wonderfully
cool and collected, considering the grief which she desired to have it
thought she experienced for her husband.
"Did Colonel Preston leave a will?" asked the squire.
"I don't think he did. He never mentioned making one to me. Did you
ever hear of his making any?"
"I can't say that I ever did. I suppose it will be best to search."
"Won't it be more proper for you to make the search, Squire Tisdale?"
said the widow. "I am an interested party."
"Suppose we search together. You can tell me where your husband kept
his private papers."
"Certainly. He kept them in his desk. I locked it as soon as he died;
but here is the key. If there is a will, it is probably there."
"Very probably. We shall soon ascertain, then."
Squire Tisdale took the key, and Mrs. Preston led the way to her late
husband's desk. A momentary fear seized her.
"What if there was an earlier will, or two copies of the last?" she
thought. "I ought to have made sure by looking over the other papers."
But it was too late now. Besides, it seemed very improbable that there
should be another will. Had there been an earlier one, it would,
doubtless, have been destroyed on the drafting of the one she had
found. She reassured herself, therefore, and awaited with tranquillity
the result of the search.
The search was careful and thorough. Mrs. Preston desired that it
should be so. Knowing the wrong she had done to Andy and his mother,
as well as the town, she was unnecessarily anxious to appear perfectly
fair, and assured Squire Tisdale that, had there been a will, its
provisions should have been carried out to the letter.
"There is no will here," said the squire, after a careful search.
"I did not expect you would find one," said the widow; "but it was
necessary to make sure."
"Is there any other place where your husband kept papers?"
"We will look in the drawers and trunks," said Mrs. Preston; "but I
don't think any will be found."
None was found.
"Can I do anything more for you, Mrs. Preston?" asked the squire.
"I should like your advice, Squire Tisdale. I am not used to business,
and I would like the aid of your experience."
"Willingly," said the squire, who felt flattered.
"As my husband left no will, I suppose the estate goes to my son and
myself?"
"Undoubtedly."
"How ought I to proceed?"
"You should apply for letters of administration, which will enable you
to settle up the property."
"Will you help me to take the necessary steps?"
"Certainly."
"I should like to settle the estate as rapidly as possible, as I
intend to remove to Boston."
"Indeed? We shall be sorry to lose you. Can you not content yourself
here?"
"Everything will remind me of my poor husband," said Mrs. Preston,
with another application of the handkerchief to her still tearless
eyes.
Squire Tisdale was impressed with the idea that she had more feeling
than he had thought.
"I didn't think of that," he said, sympathetically. "No doubt you are
right."
Mrs. Preston lost no time in applying for letters of administration.
"As soon as I get them," she said to herself, "I will lose no time in
ejecting that Irishwoman from the house my husband bought for her.
I'll make her pay rent, too, for the time she has been in it."