THE WILL AT LAST
The next three months passed very unsatisfactorily for Andy. In a
small country town like that in which he lived there was little
opportunity for a boy, however industrious, to earn money. The farmers
generally had sons of their own, or were already provided with
assistants, and there was no manufacturing establishment in the
village to furnish employment to those who didn't like agriculture.
Andy had some idea of learning the carpenter trade, there being a
carpenter who was willing to take an apprentice, but, unfortunately,
he was unwilling to pay any wages for the first year--only boarding
the apprentice--and our hero felt, for his mother's sake, that it
would not do to make such an engagement.
When the three months were over, the stock of money which Andy and his
mother had saved up was almost gone. In fact, he had not enough left
to pay the next quarter's rent to Dr. Townley.
Things were in this unsatisfactory state, when something happened that
had a material effect upon Andy's fortunes, and, as my readers will be
glad to know, for their improvement.
To explain what it was, I must go back to a period shortly before
Colonel's Preston's death. One day he met the doctor in the street,
and stopped to speak to him.
"Dr. Townley," he said, "I have a favor to ask of you."
"I shall be very glad to serve you, Colonel Preston," said the doctor.
Thereupon Colonel Preston drew from his inside pocket a sealed
envelope of large size.
"I want you to take charge of this for me," he said.
"Certainly," said the doctor, in some surprise.
"Please read what I have written upon the envelope."
The doctor, his attention called to the envelope, read, inscribed in
large, distinct characters:
"Not to be opened till six months after my death."
"I see you want an explanation," said the colonel. "Here it is--the
paper contained in this envelope is an important one. I won't tell you
what it is. When you come to open it, it will explain itself."
"But, colonel, you are likely to live as long as I. In that case, I
can't follow your directions."
"Of course, we can't tell the duration of our lives. Still, I think
you will outlive me. If not, I shall reclaim the paper. Meanwhile, I
shall be glad to have you take charge of it for me."
"Of course I will. It is a slight favor to ask."
"It may prove important. By the way, there is no need of telling
anyone, unless, perchance, your wife. I don't want to force you to
keep anything secret from her. Mrs. Townley, I know, may be depended
upon."
"I think she may. Well, Colonel Preston, set your mind at rest. I will
take care of the paper."
When Colonel Preston died, not long afterward, the doctor naturally
thought of the paper, and, as no will was left, it occurred to him
that this might be a will; but, in that case, he couldn't understand
why he should have been enjoined to keep it six months before opening
it. On the whole, he concluded that it was not a will.
Seated at the supper table, about this time, Mrs. Townley said,
suddenly:
"Henry, how long is it since Colonel Preston died?"
"Let me see," said the doctor, thoughtfully. "It is--yes, it is six
months to-morrow."
"Then it is time for you to open that envelope he gave into your
charge."
"So it is. My dear, your feminine curiosity inspired that thought,"
said the doctor, smiling.
"Perhaps you are right. I own I am a little inquisitive in the
matter."
"I am glad you mentioned it. I have so much on my mind that I should
have let the day pass, and I should be sorry not to fulfill to the
letter the promise I made to my friend."
"Have you any suspicion as to the nature of the document?"
"I thought it might be a will; but, if so, I can't understand why a
delay of six months should have been interposed."
"Colonel Preston may have had his reasons. Possibly he did not fully
trust his wife's attention to his requests."
"It may be so. I am afraid his married life was not altogether
harmonious. Mrs. Preston always struck me as a very selfish woman."
"No doubt of that."
"She evidently regarded herself as superior to the rest of us."
"In that respect Godfrey is like her. He is a self-conceited,
disagreeable young jackanapes. I wouldn't give much for his chances of
honorable distinction in life. I'll tell you of a boy who will, in my
opinion, beat him in the race of life."
"Who is that?"
"Andy Burke."
"Andy is a good boy, but I am afraid the family is doing poorly now."
"So I fear. The, fact is, there doesn't appear to be much opening for
a lad like Andy in this village."
"I hear that Mr. Graves, the storekeeper, who is getting old, wants to
get a boy, or young man, with a small capital to take an interest in
his business, and, eventually, succeed him."
"That would be a good chance for Andy, if he had the small capital;
but he probably hasn't ten dollars in the world."
"That's a pity."
"If I were a capitalist, I wouldn't mind starting him myself; but as
you, my dear, are my most precious property, and are not readily
convertible into cash, I don't quite see my way to do anything to
assist him."
"I didn't think of you, Henry. Country doctors are not likely to get
rich. But I thought Colonel Preston, who seemed to take an interest in
the boy, might do something for him."
"If he had lived, he might have done so--probably he would. But Mrs.
Preston and Godfrey hate the Burkes like poison, for no good reason
that I know of, and there is no chance of help from that quarter."
"I should think not."
The next day, Dr. Townley, immediately after breakfast, drew the
envelope already referred to from among his private papers, and,
breaking the seal, opened it.
To his surprise and excitement, he discovered that the inclosure was
the last will and testament of his deceased friend. Accompanying it
was the following note:
"MY DEAR FRIEND, DR. TOWNLEY: This is the duplicate of a will
executed recently, and expresses my well-considered wishes as
to the disposition of my property. The original will may have
been found and executed before you open this envelope. In
that case, of course, this will be of no value, and you can
destroy it. But I am aware that valuable papers are liable to
loss or injury, and, therefore, I deem it prudent to place
this duplicate in your possession, that, if the other be
lost, you may see it carried into execution. I have named you
my executor, and am sure, out of regard to me, you will
accept the trust, and fulfill it to the best of your ability.
I have always felt the utmost confidence in your friendship,
and this will account for my troubling you on the present
occasion.
"Your friend,
"Anthony Preston."
From this letter Dr. Townley turned to the perusal of the will. The
contents filled him with equal surprise and pleasure.
"Five thousand dollars to Andy Burke!" he repeated. "That is capital!
It will start the boy in life, and with his good habits it will make
him sure of a competence by and by. With half of it he can buy an
interest in Graves' store, and the balance will, if well invested,
give him a handsome addition to his income. Then there's the bequest
for the town library--a capital idea, that! It will do a great deal to
make the town attractive, and be a powerful agency for refining and
educating the people."
Just then Mrs. Townley, who knew what her husband was about, came into
the room.
"Well, Henry," she said, "is the paper important?"
"I should say it was. It is Colonel Preston's last will and
testatment."
"Is it possible? How does he leave his property?"
"He leaves five thousand dollars for a town library."
"Does he remember Andy Burke?"
"He leaves him five thousand dollars, and gives his mother the house
they used to live in."
"That's splendid! But what will Mrs. Preston say?"
"Well, that remains to be seen," said the doctor, laughing.