 12 Uncle John gets acquainted. Beth went out to find Louise, and discovered her standing near the stables, where a boy was rubbing down the sides of a sorrel mare with wisps of straw. Something has happened, she said to Louise in a troubled voice. What? A man has arrived who says he is Aunt Jane's brother. Impossible! Have you seen him? No. He says he's Aunt Jane's brother, John. Oh, I know, the peddler or tinker, or something or other, who disappeared years ago. But it doesn't matter. It may matter a good deal, said practical Beth. Aunt Jane may leave him her money. Why, he's older than she is. I've heard mothers say he was the eldest of the family. Aunt Jane won't leave her money to an old man, you may be sure. Beth felt a little reassured at this, and stood for a moment beside Louise watching the boy. Presently Oscar came to him, and after touching his hat respectfully, took the mare and led her into the stable. The boy turned away, with his hands in his pockets, and strolled up a path unaware that the two dreaded girls had been observing him. I wonder who that is, said Beth. We'll find out, returned Louise. I took him for a stable boy at first, but Oscar seemed to treat him as a superior. She walked into the stable, followed by her cousin, and found the groom tying the mare. Who was that young man, she asked? Which young man, miss? The one who just arrived with the horse. Oh, that's Master Kenneth, miss, answered Oscar with a grin. Where did he come from? Master Kenneth, why he lives here? At the house? Yes, miss. Who is he? Master Tom's nephew. He is used to own Elmhurst, you know. Mr. Thomas Bradley? The same, miss. Ah, how long has Master Kenneth lived here? A good many years. I can't just remember how long. Thank you, Oscar. The girls walked away, and when they were alone, Louise remarked. Here is a more surprising discovery than Uncle John, Beth. The boy has a better right than any of us to inherit Elmhurst. Then why did Aunt Jane send for us? It's a mystery, dear. Let us try to solve it. Come, we'll ask the housekeeper, said Beth. I'm sure old misery will tell us all we want to know. So they returned to the house, and with little difficulty found the old housekeeper. Master Kenneth, she exclaimed. Why, he's just Master Tom's nephew, that's all. Is this his home? Asked Beth. All the home he's got, my dear. His father and mother are both dead, and Miss Jane took him to care for just because she thought Master Tom would have liked it. Is she fond of him? Enquired Louise. Fond of the boy? Why, Miss Jane just hates him for a fact. She won't even see him, or have him near her, so he keeps to his little room in the left wing and eats and sleeps there. It's strange, remarked Beth thoughtfully. Isn't he a nice boy? We're all very fond of Master Kenneth, replied the housekeeper simply, but I'll admit he's a queer lad and has a bad temper. It may be due to his lack of bringing up, you know, for he just runs wild, and old Mr. Chase, who comes from the village to tutor him, is a poor lot and lets the boy do as he pleases. For that reason he won't study and he won't work, and I'm sure I don't know whatever will become of him when Miss Jane dies. Thank you, said Beth, much relieved, and the girls walked away with lighter hearts. There's no danger in that quarter after all, said Louise Gailey. The boy is a mere hanger on. You see, Aunt Jane's old sweetheart, Thomas Bradley, left everything to her when he died, and she can do as she likes with it. After luncheon, which they ate alone and unattended saved by the maid Susan, who was old Misery's daughter, the girls walked away to the Rose Arbor, where Beth declared they could read or so quite undisturbed. But sitting on the bench, they found a little old man, his legs extended, his hands thrust deep into his pockets, and a look of calm meditation upon his round and placid face. Between his teeth was a black briar pipe, which he puffed lazily. Beth was for drawing back, but Louise took her arm and drew her forward. Isn't this Uncle John? She asked. The little man turned his eyes upon them, withdrew his hands from his pockets and his pipe from his mouth, and then bowed profoundly. If you are my nieces, then I am Uncle John, he said affably. Sit down, my dears, and let us get acquainted. Louise smiled, and her rapid survey took in the man's crumpled and somewhat soiled shirt front, the frayed black necktie that seemed to have done years of faithful service, and the thick and dusty cow-hide boots. His clothing was old and much worn, and the thought crossed her mind that Oscar the Groom was far neater in appearance than this newly found relative. Beth merely noticed that Uncle John was neither dignified nor imposing in appearance. She sat down beside him, leaving a wide space between them with a feeling of disappointment that he was like all the rest of the Merricks. You have just arrived, we hear, remarked Louise. Yes, walked up from the station this four noon, said Uncle John. Come to see Jane, you know, but hadn't any idea I'd find two nieces, hadn't any idea I possessed two nieces to be honest about it. I believe you have three, said Louise, in an amused tone. Three, who's the other? Why, Patricia Doyle. Doyle, Doyle, don't remember the name. I believe your sister Violet married a man named Doyle. So she did, Captain Doyle or Major Doyle or some such fellow, but what is your name? I am Louise Merrick, your brother Will's daughter. Oh, and you, turning to Beth. My mother was Julia Merrick, said Beth, not very graciously. She married Professor DeGraft. I am Elizabeth DeGraft. Yes, yes, observed Uncle John, nodding his head. I remember Julia very well as a girl. She used to put on a lot of heirs and jaw father because he wouldn't have the old top buggy painted every spring, same now as ever, I suppose. Beth did not reply. And Will's dead, and out of his troubles, I hope, continued Uncle John reflectively. He wrote me once that his wife had nearly driven him crazy. Perhaps she murdered him in his sleep, eh, Louise? Sir, said Louise, much offended. You are speaking of my mother. Ah, yes, it's the same one your father spoke of, he answered unmoved. But that's neither here nor there. The fact is I found two nieces, licking shrewdly from one face into the other. And I seem to be in luck, for you're quite pretty and lady-like, my dears. Thank you, said Louise rather coldly. You're a competent judge, sir, I suppose. Tolerable, he responded with a chuckle, so good a judge that I've kept single all my life. Where did you come from, asked the girl. From out on the coast, tossing his grizzled head toward the west. What brought you back here after all these years? Family affection, I guess, wanted to find out what folks yet belonged to me. An awkward silence followed this, during which Uncle John relighted his pipe and Beth sat in moody silence. Louise drew a pattern in the gravel with the end of her parasol. This new uncle, she reflected, might become an intolerable bore, if she encouraged his frank familiarity. Now that you are here, she said presently, what are you going to do? Nothing, my dear. Have you any money? He looked at her with a droll expression. Might have expected that question, my dear, said he, but it's rather hard to answer. If I say no, you'll be afraid I'll want to borrow a little spendin' money now and then, and if I say yes, you'll take me for a Rockefeller. Not exactly, smiled Louise. Well then, if I figure close, I won't have to borrow, he responded gravely. And here's Jane, my sister, is rolling in welt that she don't know what to do with, and she's invited me to stay awhile, so let's call the money questions settled, my dear. Another silence ensued. Louise had satisfied her curiosity concerning her uncle, and Beth had never had any. There was nothing more to say, and as Uncle John showed no intention of abandoning the arbor'd seat, it was evident they must go themselves. Louise was just about to rise when the man remarked, he won't last long. You think not? She asked. She says she's half-dead already, and I believe it. It's about time, you know. She's let her temper and restless disposition wear her out. Pretty soon she'll blow out like a candle. All that worries her is to keep alive until she can decide who to leave her money to. That's why you're here, I suppose, my dears. How do you like being on exhibition and going through your paces? Like a bunch of trotting hausses, to see which is worth the most. Uncle John, said Beth, I had hoped I would like you, but if you are going to be so very disagreeable I'll have nothing more to do with you. With this she arose and marched up the path, vastly indignant, and Louise marched beside her. At the bend in the walk they glanced back and saw Uncle John sitting upon the bench all doubled up and shaking with silent laughter. He's a queer old man, said Beth, flushing, but he's impudent and half a fool. Don't judge hastily, Beth, replied Louise reflectively. I can't make up my mind just yet whether Uncle John is a fool or not. Anyhow, snapped Beth, he's laughing at us. And that, said her cousin softly, is the strongest evidence of his sanity. Beth, my love, Aunt Jane has placed us in a most ridiculous position. That evening at dinner they met Uncle John again, seated opposite Aunt Jane in the great dining-hall. The mistress of Elmhurst always dressed for this meal, and tonight she wore a rich, black silk, and had her invalid chair willed to her place at the head of the table. Uncle John had simply changed his old black necktie for a soiled white one. Otherwise his apparel was the same as before, and his stubby gray hair was in a sad state of disarray. But his round face wore a cheerful smile nevertheless, and Aunt Jane seemed not to observe anything outre in her brother's appearance, and so the meal passed pleasantly enough. After it was finished Uncle John strolled into the garden to smoke his pipe under the stars, and Louise sang a few songs for Aunt Jane in the dimly lit drawing-room. Beth, who was a music teacher's daughter, could not sing at all. It was some time later when John Merritt came to his sister's room to bid her good-night. Well, she asked him, What do you think of the girls? My nieces? Yes. During my lifetime, said the old man, I've always noticed that girls are just girls, and nothing more. Jane, you're sex is a puzzle that ain't worth the trouble-solving. You're all alike, and what little I've seen of my nieces convinces me they're regulation females, no better nor worse than their kind. Louise seems a capable girl, declared Aunt Jane musingly. I didn't care much for her at first, but she improves on acquaintance. She has been well-trained by her mother, and is very ladylike and agreeable. She's smarter than the other one, but not so honest, said Uncle John. Beth has no tact at all, replied Aunt Jane. But then she's younger than Louise. If you're trying to figure out what they are and what they are not, return the man. You've got a hard job on your hands, Jane, and like is not you'll make a mistake in the end. Where's the other niece? Aren't there three of them? Yes, the other's coming. Silas Watson, my lawyer, has just telegraphed from New York that he's bringing Patricia back with him. Had to send for her, eh? Yes, she's Irish, and if I remember rightly, her father is a disgraceful old reprobate who caused poor violet no end of worry. The girl may be like him, for she wrote a dreadful letter scolding me because I hadn't kept her parents supplied with money and refusing to become my guest. But she's changed her mind. I sent Watson after her, and he's bringing her. I wanted to see what the girl was like. Uncle John whistled a few bars of an ancient tune. My advice is, he said finally, to let him draw cuts for Elmhurst. If you want to leave your money to the best of the lot, you're as sure of striking it right that way as any other. Nonsense, said Jane Merrick sharply. I don't want to leave my money to the best of the lot. No? By no means. I want to leave it to the one I prefer, whether she's the best or not. I see. Jane, I'll repeat my former observation. Former sex is a puzzle that isn't worth solving. Good night, old girl. Good night, John. Aunt Jane's Nieces by L. Frank Baum. CHAPTER XIII. THE OTHER NIECE. Patricia sat down opposite her Aunt Jane. She still wore her hat and a grey wrap. Well, here I am. She exclaimed with a laugh. But whether I ought to be here or not, I have my doubts. Aunt Jane surveyed her critically. You are a queer little thing, she said bluntly. I wonder why I took so much trouble to get you. So do I, returned Patsy, her eyes twinkling. You'll probably be sorry for it. Loya Watson, who had remained standing, now broke in nervously. I explained to Miss Doyle, said he, that you were ill and wanted to see her, and she kindly consented to come to Elmhurst for a few days. You see, said Patsy, I just got Daddy away on his vacation to visit an old colonel. I wanted him to go this three years back, but he couldn't afford it until I got to raise this spring. He'll have a glorious old time with the colonel, and they'll fish and haunt and drink whiskey all day, and fight the war all over again every evening. So I was quiet by myself when Mr. Watson came to me, and wouldn't take no for his answer. Why did you object to come here? asked Aunt Jane. Well, I didn't know you, and I didn't especially want to know you. Not that I bear grudges, understand, although you've been a little of a friend to my folks these past years. But you are rich and proud, and I suspect you're a little cross, Aunt Jane. While we are poor and proud, and like to live our lives in our own way. Are you a working girl? inquired Miss Merrick. Surely, said Patsy, and drawing a big lump of celery every Saturday night, I'm a hairdresser, you know, and by the way, Aunt Jane, it puzzles me to find a certain kink in your hair that I thought I'd invented myself. Louise dressed my hair this way, said Miss Merrick, a bit stiffly. Your maid? My niece, Louise Merrick. Patsy whistled, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, and looked grave. Is she here? She asked a moment later. Yes, and your other cousin, Elizabeth the Graph, is here also. That's just the trouble, cried Patsy, energetically. That's why I didn't want to come, you know. I don't understand you, Patricia. Why, it's as plain as your nose on your face, even if I hadn't pumped Mr. Watson until I got the true thought of him. You want us girls here just to compare us with each other, and pick out the one you like best. Well, the others you will throw away, and the favourites will get your money. You have entire right to do that, asked the invalid, in an amazed tone. Perhaps you have, but we may as well understand each other right now, Aunt Jane. I won't touch a penny of your money, under any circumstances. I don't think you will, Patricia. The girl laughed with a joyous, infectious merriment that was hard to resist. Stick to that, Aunt, and there's no reason we shouldn't be friends, she said pleasantly. I don't mind coming to see you, for it will give me a bit of a rest, and the country is beautiful just now. More than that, I believe I should like you. You have had your own way a long time, and you've grown crockety and harsh and disagreeable, but there are good lines around your mouth and eyes, and your natures liable to soften and get sunny again. I'm sure I hope so. So if you'd like me to stay a few days, I'll take off my things, and make myself a tone. But I'm out of the race for your money, and I'll pay my way from now on, just as I have always done. Silas Watson watched Aunt Jane's face during this speech with an anxious and half-rightened expression upon his own. No one but himself had ever dared to talk to Jane Merrick as plainly as this before, and he wondered how she would accept this frankness from a young girl. But Patricia's manner was not at all offensive. Her big eyes were as frank as her words, but they glistened with kindness and good nature, and it was evident that the girl had no doubt that all of her own's reply, for she straight away began to take off her hat. The invalid had kept her eyes tonally fastened upon her young niece ever since the beginning of the interview. Now she reached out the hand and touched her bell. Misery, she said to the old housekeeper, show my niece, Miss Patricia, to the rose-chamber, and see that she is made comfortable. Thank you, said Bette, jumping up to go. Make yourself perfectly free of the place, continued Aunt Jane in an even tone turning to Patricia, and have as good a time as you can. I'm afraid it's rather stupid here for girls, but that can't be helped. Stay as long as you please, and go home whenever you like. But while you are here, if you ever feel like chatting with a harsh and disagreeable old woman, come to me at any time and you will be welcome. Patsy, standing before her, looked down into her warm face with a pitting expression. Ah, I've been cruel to you, she exclaimed, impulsively, and I didn't mean to hurt you at all, Aunt Jane. You must forgive me. It's just my blunt Irish way, you see, but if I hadn't been drawn to you from the first, I wouldn't have said a word, good or bad. Go now, replied Aunt Jane, turning in her chair rather warily, but come to me again whenever you like. Patsy nodded and followed the housekeeper to the rose-chamber, the prettiest room old Elmhurst possessed, with broad windows opening directly upon the finest part of the garden. Mary Watson sat opposite his old friend for some moment in thoughtful silence. The child is impossible, he said at last. He thinks so. She inquired, moodily. Absolutely. Either of the others would make a better lady of Elmhurst, yet I liked the little thing I confess. She quiet won my old heart after I had known her for five minutes, but money would ruin her. She is a child of the people, and ought not to be raised from her proper level. Jane, Jane, you are making a grave mistake in all this. Why don't you do the only right thing in your power, and leave Elmhurst to Kenneth? You bore me, Silas, she answered coldly. The boy is the most impossible of all. It was the old protest and the old reply. He had hardly expected anything different. After a period of thought, he asked, what is this I hear about John Merrick having returned from the West? He came yesterday. It was a great surprise to me. I never knew this brother, I believe. No, he had gone away before I became acquainted with either you or Tom. What sort of man is he? Honest and simple, hard-headed and experienced. Is he independent? I believe so. He has never mentioned his affairs to me. But he has worked hard all his life, he says, and now means to end his days peacefully. John is not especially refined in his manner, nor did he have much of an education. But he seems to be a good deal of man for all that. I am very glad he appeared at Elmhurst, just at this time. You had believed him dead? Yes, he had passed out of my life completely, and I never knew what became of him. He must be an eccentric person, said Mr. Watson with a smile. He is, she acknowledged, but blood is thicker than water siloes, and I am glad brother John is here at last. A little later the lawyer left her and picked his way through the gardens until he came to Kenneth Swing and the stair that led him to his room. Here he posed a moment, finding himself surrounded by a profound stillness, broken only by the chirping of the birds in the shrubbery. Perhaps Kenneth was not in. He half decided to retrace his steps, but finally mounted the stair softly and stood within the doorway of the room. The boy and the little stout man were playing chess at the table, and both were in a deep study of the game. The boy's back was toward him, but the man observed a newcomer and gave a nod. Then he dropped his eyes again to the table. Kenneth was frowning sullenly. You are bound to lose the pawn, whichever way you play, said the little man quietly. The boy gave an angry cry, and thrust the table from him, sending the chess man clattering into a corner. Suddenly the little man leaned over and grasped the boy by the color, and with a sudden jerk landed him across his own fat knees. Then, while the prisoner screamed and struggled, the man brought his hand down with a slap that echoed throughout the room and continued the operation until Master Kenneth had received a sound spanking. Then he let the boy slip to the floor, from whence he roused slowly, and back toward the door, scowling and muttering angrily. You broke the bargain, and I kept my word, said Uncle John, calmly taking his pipe from his pocket and filling it. The compact was that if you raised a rough house, like you did yesterday, and got unruly, that I'd give you a good trashing. Now, wasn't it? Yes, acknowledged the boy. Well, that blamed temper o' yarn got away with you again, and you are well spankled for not heading it off. Pick up the board. Can, my lad, and let's try it again. The boy hesitated. Then he looked around and saw lawyer Watson, who had stood motionless by the doorway, and with a cry that was half a sob, Kenneth threw himself into his old friend's arms and burst into a flood of tears. Uncle John struck a match, and lighted his pipe. A bargain is a bargain. He observed composately. He whipped me, sobbed the boy. He whipped me like a child. Your own fault, said Uncle John. You wanted me to play a game with you, and I agreed, providing you behaved yourself, and you didn't. Now look here. Do you blame me any? No, said the boy. No harm's done, is there? No. Then stop blubbering and introduce me to your friend. Uncle John. Name's Watson, ain't it? Silas Watson, sir, at your service, said the lawyer, smiling. And this must be John Merrick, who I understand has arrived at Almhurst during my absence. Exactly, said Uncle John, and the two men shook hands cordially. Glad to welcome you at Almhurst, sir, continued the lawyer. I've known it ever since I was a boy. And it belonged to my dear friend Thomas Bradley, and I hope you'll love it as much as I do, when you know it better. Bradley must have been a fool to give this place to Jane, said Uncle John, reflectively. He was in love, sir, observed the other, and they both smiled. Then the lawyer turned to Kenneth. How are things going, he asked. Have the girls bothered you much as yet? No, said the boy. I keep out of their way. That's a good idea. Bye-bye, sir, turning to John Merrick. I've just brought you a new niece. Patricia. She prefers to be called Patsy. A queer little thing, half Irish, you know. And half Merrick. That's an odd combination, but the Irish may be able to stand it, said Uncle John. These nieces are more than I bargained for. I came to see one relative, and find three more, and all women. I think you'll like Patsy anyhow, and so will you, Kenneth. The boy gave an indignant roar. I hate all girls, he said. You won't hate this one. She is as wild and impulsive as you are, but better natured. She'll make a good comrade, although she may box your ears once in a while. The boy turned away suckly, and began picking up the scattered chessman. The two men walked down the stair, and strolled together through the garden. A strange boy, said Uncle John presently. I'm glad to see you've made friends with him, replied the lawyer earnestly. Until now he has had no one to befriend him but me, and at times he's so imaginable, that it worries me dreadfully. There's considerable character about the lad, said John Merrick, but he's been spoiled and allowed to grow up wild, like a weed. He's gutted in him to make a criminal or a gentleman, whichever way his nature happens to develop. He ought to go to a military school, replied lawyer Watson. Proper training would make a man of Kenneth, but I can't induce Jane to spend the money on him. She gives him food and clothing and lodging, all of the simplest description, but there her generosity ends. With thousands of dollars lying idle, she won't assist the only nephew of Tom Bradley to secure a proper education. Jane's queer too, said the lady's brother with a sigh. In fact, Mr. Watson, it's a queer world, and the longer I live in it, the queerer I find it. Once I thought it would be a good idea to regulate things myself, and round the world as it ought to be run, but I gave it up long ago. The words a stage, they say, but the show ain't always amusing by a long chulk, and sometimes I wish I didn't have a reserved seat. CHAPTER 14 Kenneth is frightened. Lawyer Watson, unable to direct events at Elmhurst, became a silent spectator of the little comedy being enacted there, and never regretted that, as Uncle John expressed it, he had a reserved seat at the show. Jane Merrick, formerly the most imperious and irascible of women, had become wonderfully reserved since the arrival of her nieces, and was evidently making a sincere effort to study their diverse characters. Day by day the in-blood's health was failing visibly. She had no more strokes of paralysis, but her left limb did not recover, and the numbness was gradually creeping upward toward her heart. Perhaps the old woman appreciated this more fully than anyone else. At any event, she became more gentle toward fibs and misery, who mostly attended her, and showed as much consideration as possible for her nieces and her brother. Silas Watson, she kept constantly by her side. He was her oldest and most trusted friend, and the only differences they had ever had were over the boy Kenneth, whom she stubbornly refused to favor. Uncle John speedily became an established fixture at the place. The servants grew accustomed to seeing him wander aimlessly about the grounds, his pipe always in his mouth, his hands usually in his pockets. He had a pleasant word always for Donald or Oscar or James, but was not prone to long conversations. Every evening, when he appeared at dinner, he wore his soiled white tie. At other times the black one was always in evidence, but other than this his dress underwent no change. Even Kenneth came to wonder what the bundle had contained that Uncle John brought under his arm to Elmhurst. The little man seemed from the first much attracted by his three nieces. Notwithstanding Louise's constant snobs and best, haughty silence, he was sure to meet them when they strolled out and tried to engage them in conversation. It was hard to resist his simple good nature, and the girls came in time to accept him as an inevitable companion, and Louise mischievously poked fun at him while Beth conscientiously corrected him in his speech and endeavored to improve his manners. All this seemed very gratifying to Uncle John. He thanked Beth very humbly for her kind attention, and laughed with Louise when she ridiculed his pudgy around form and wondered if his bristly gray hair wouldn't make a good scrubbing brush. Patsy didn't get along very well with her cousins. From the first, when Louise recognized her with well-assumed surprise as the girl who had been sent to dress her hair, Patricia declared that their stations in life were entirely different. There is no use of our getting mixed up just because we're cousins and all visiting Aunt Jane, she said. One of you will get her money, for I've told her I wouldn't touch a penny of it, and she has told me I wouldn't get the chance. So one of you will be a great lady while I shall always earn my own living. I'll not stay long anyhow, so just forget I'm here, and I'll amuse myself and try not to bother you. Both Beth and Louise considered this very sensible and took Patricia at her word. Moreover, Phibbs had related to Beth, who's devoted an adherent she was, all of the conversation between Aunt Jane and Patricia, in which the girls learned they had nothing to fear from their cousins' interference. So they let her go her way, and the three only met at the state dinners, which Aunt Jane still attended in spite of her growing weakness. All Silas Watson, interested as he was in the result, found it hard to decide, after ten days, which of her nieces Jane Merrick most favored. Personally he preferred that Beth should inherit and frankly told his old friend that the girl would make the best mistress of Elmhurst. Moreover, all the servants sang best praises from Misery and Phibbs down to Oscar and Susan. Of course James the Gardener favored no one, as the numerous strangers at Elmhurst kept him in a constant state of irritation, and his malady seemed even worse than usual. He avoided everyone but his mistress, and although his work was now often neglected, Miss Merrick made no complaint. His peculiarities were well understood and aroused nothing but sympathy. Louise, however, had played her card so well that all best friends were powerless to eject the elder girl from Aunt Jane's esteem. Louise had not only returned the check to her aunt, but she came often to sit beside her and cheer her with the budget of new social gossip, and no one could arrange the pillow so comfortably or stroke the tired head so gently as Louise. And then she was observing and called Aunt Jane's attention to several ways of curtailing the household expenditures which the woman's illness had forced her to neglect. So Miss Merrick asked Louise to look over the weekly accounts, and in this way came to depend on her almost as much as she did upon lawyer Watson. As for Patsy she made no attempt whatever to conciliate her aunt, who seldom mentioned her name to the others, but always brightened visibly when the girl came into her presence with her cheery speeches and merry laughter. She never stayed long but came and went like a streak of sunshine whenever the fancy seized her, and Silas Watson, shrewdly looking on, saw a new light in Jane's eyes as she looked after her wayward irresponsible niece, and wondered if the bargain between them regarding the money would really hold good. It was all an incomprehensible problem, this matter of the inheritance, and although lawyer expected daily to be asked to draw up Jane Merrick's will and had indeed prepared several forms to be used in case of emergency, no word had yet passed her lips regarding her intentions. Kenna's life during this period was one of genuine misery. It seemed, to his morbid fancy, that whatever path he might take, he was sure of running upon one or more of those detestable girls who were visiting at Elmhurst. Even in Donald's harness room he was not secure from interruption, for little Patsy was frequently perched upon the bench there, watching with serious eyes old Donald's motions, and laughing joyously when, in his embarrassment, he overturned a can of oil, or buckled the wrong straps together. Worse than all, this trying creature would saddle Nora the sorrel mare, and dash away through the lanes like a tomboy, leaving him only old Sam to ride, for Donald would allow no one to use the coach horses. Sam was tall and bony and had an unpleasant gait, so that the boy felt he was thoroughly justified in hating the girl, who so frequently interfered with his whims. Louise was, at first, quite interested in Kenneth, and resolved to force him to talk and become more sociable. She caught him in a little summer-house one morning, from whence there being but one entrance he could not escape, and at once entered into conversation. Ah! you are Kenneth Forbes, I suppose, she began pleasantly. I am very glad to make your acquaintance. I am Louise Merrick, Miss Merrick's niece, and have come to visit her. The boy shrank back as far as possible, staring her full in the face, but made no reply. You needn't be afraid of me, continued Louise. I'm very fond of boys, and you must be nearly my own age. Still no reply. I suppose you don't know much girls, and are rather shy, she persisted. But I want to be friendly, and I hope you'll let me. There's so much about this interesting old place that you can tell me, having lived here so many years. Come, I'll sit beside you on this bench, and we'll have a good talk together. Go away, cried the boy, hoarsely raising his hands as if toward off her approach. Louise looked surprised and pained. Why, we were almost cousins, she said. But we be friends and comrades. With a sudden bound he dashed her aside so rudely that she almost fell, and an instant later he had left the summer house and disappear among the hedges. Louise laughed at her own discomforture and gave up the attempt to make the boy's acquaintance. He's a regular savage, he told Beth afterward, and a little crazy too, I suspect. Never mind, said Beth philosophically. He's only a boy and doesn't amount to anything anyway. After Aunt Jane dies he will probably go somewhere else to live. Don't let us bother about him. Kenneth's one persistent friend was Uncle John. He came every day to the boy's room to play chess with him, and after that one day's punishment, which singularly enough Kenneth in no way resented, they got along very nicely together. Uncle John was a shrewd player of the difficult game, but the boy was quick as a flash to see an advantage and use it against his opponent, so neither was ever sure of winning and the interest in the game was constantly maintained. At the evening also the little man often came to sit on the stair outside the boy's room and smoke his pipe, and frequently they would sit beneath the stairs absorbed in thought and without exchanging a single word. Unfortunately Louise and Beth soon discovered the boy's secluded retreat and loved to torment him by entering his own bit of garden and even ascending the stairs to his little room. He could easily escape them by running through the numerous upper halls of the mansion, but here he was liable to meet others and his special dread was encountering old Miss Merrick, so he conceived a plan for avoiding the girls in another way. In the hallway of the left wing near his door was a small ladder leading to the second-story roof and a dozen feet from the edge of the roof stood an old oak tree on the further side of a tall hedge. Kenneth managed to carry a plank to the roof where, after several attempts, he succeeded in dropping one end into a crotch of the oak, thus connecting the edge of the roof with the tree by means of the narrow plank. After this, at first side of the girls, in his end of the garden, he fled to the roof, ran across the improvised bridge, shinny down the tree, and, hidden by the hedge, made good his escape. The girls discovered this plan and were wicked enough to surprise the boy often and force him to cross the dizzy plank to the tree. Having frightened him away, they would laugh and stroll on, highly amused at the evident fear they aroused in the only boy about the place. Anna, who was not in the other girl's secret, knew nothing of this little comedy, and really disturbed Kenneth least of the three, but he seemed to avoid her as much as he did the others. She soon learned from Oscar that the boy loved to ride as well as she did, and once or twice she met him on a lonely road perched on top of Big Sam. This led her to suspect she had thoughtlessly deprived him of his regular amount. So one morning she said to the groom, Doesn't Kenneth usually ride Nora? Yes, Miss, answered the man. Then I'd better take Sam this morning, she decided. But the groom demurred. You won't like Sam, Miss, he said, and he gets ugly at times and acts bad. Master Kenneth won't use Nora today, I'm sure. She hesitated. I think I'll ask him, said she, after a moment, and turned away into the garden, anxious to have this plausible opportunity to speak to the lonely boy. Chapter 15 of Aunt Jane's nieces. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Aunt Jane's nieces by L. Frank Baum. Chapter 15. Patsy meets with an accident. Get out of here, shouted the boy angrily as Patsy appeared at the foot of his stair. I won't, she answered indignantly. I've come to speak to you about the mare, and you'll just treat me decently, or I'll know the reason why. But he didn't wait to hear this explanation. He saw her advancing up the stairs and fled in his usual hasty manner to the hall and up the ladder to the roof. Patsy stepped back into the garden, vexed at his flight, and the next instant she saw him appear upon the sloping roof and start to run down the plank. Even as she looked, the boy slipped, fell headlong and slid swiftly downward. In a moment he was over the edge, clutching wildly at the plank, which was a foot or more beyond his reach. Head foremost he dove into space, but the clutching hand found something at last, the projecting hook of an old eaves truck that had long since been removed, and to this he clung fast in spite of the jerk of his rested body, which threatened to tear away his grip. But his plight was desperate, nevertheless. He was dangling in space the hard pavement 30 feet below him, with no possible way of pulling himself up to the roof again, and the hook was so small that there was no place for his other hand. The only way he could cling to it at all was to grasp his wrist, with the free hand as a partial relief from the strain upon his arm. Hold fast, called Patsy. I'm coming. She sprang up the steps through the boy's room and into the hallway. There she quickly perceived the ladder and mounted it to the roof. Taking in the situation at a glance, she ran with steady steps down the sloping roof to where the plank lay, and stepped out upon it far enough to see the boy dangling beside her. Then she decided instantly what to do. Hang on, she called, and returning to the roof, dragged the end of the plank to a position directly over the hook. Then she lay flat upon it, an arm on either side of the plank, and, reaching down, seized one of the boy's wrists firmly in each hand. Now, then, she said, let go of the hook. If I do answer the boy his face white, upturned to his ears, I'll drag you down with me. No, you won't. I'm very strong, and I'm sure I can save you. Let go, she said, imperatively. I'm not afraid to die, replied the boy his voice full of bitterness. Take away your hands, and I'll drop. But Patsy gripped him more firmly than ever. Don't be a fool, she cried. There is no danger whatever, if you do just what I tell you. His eyes met hers in a mute appeal, but suddenly he gained confidence and resolved to trust her. In any event he could not cling to the hook much longer. He released his hold and swung in mid-air just beneath the plank where the girl lay holding him by his wrists. Now, then, she said quietly, when I lift you up, grab the edges of the plank. Patricia's strength was equal to her courage and under the excitement of that desperate moment she did what few other girls of her size could ever have accomplished. She drew the boy up until his eager hands caught the edge of the plank and gripped it firmly. Then she released him and crept a little back towards the roof. Now, swing your legs up, and you're safe, she cried. He tried to obey, but his strength was failing him, and he could do no more than touch the plank with his toes. Once more called the girl. This time she caught his feet as they swung upward and drew his legs around the plank. Can you climb up now, she asked anxiously? I'll try, he panted. The plank upon which this little tragedy was being enacted was in full view of the small garden where Aunt Jane loved to sit in her chair and enjoy the flowers and the sunshine. She could not see Kenneth's swing at all, but she could see the elevated plank leading from the roof to the oak tree, and for several days had been puzzled by its appearance and wondered for what purpose it was there. Today, as she set talking with John Merrick and Silas Watson, she suddenly gave a cry of surprise, and following her eyes the two men saw Kenneth step out upon the roof, fall, and slide over the edge. For a moment all three remained motionless, seized with fear and consternation, and then they saw Patsy appear and run down to the plank. This they watched her move and saw her lie down upon it. She's trying to save him. He must be caught somewhere, cried the lawyer, and both men started at full speed to reach the spot by the roundabout pass through the garden. Aunt Jane sat still and watched. Only the form of the boy swung into view beneath the plank, dangling from the girl's outstretched arms. The woman caught her breath, wondering what would happen next. Patricia drew him up until he seized the plank with his hands. Then the girl crept back a little, and as the boy swung his feet upward she caught him and twined his legs over the plank. And now came the supreme struggle. The girl could do little more to help him. He must manage to clamor upon the top of the plank himself. Ordinarily Kenneth might have done this easily, but now his nerves were all unstrung, and he was half exhausted by the strain of the past few minutes. Almost he did it, but not quite. The next effort would be even weaker. But now Patricia walked out upon the plank, and Aunt Jane saw her lean down, grasped the boy's collar, and dragged him into a position of safety. Bravely done, she murmured, but even as the sound came from her lips the girl upon the bridge seemed in the exertion of the struggle to lose her balance. She threw out her arms, leaned sideways, and then fell headlong into the chasm and disappeared from view. Aunt Jane's agonized scream brought Phipps running to her side. At a glance she saw that her mistress had fainted and looking hastily around to discover the cause. She observed the boy crawl slowly across the plank, reach the tree, and slide down its trunk to pass out of view behind the high hedge. Drat the boy grovels, serve it angrily, he'll be the death of Ms. Jane yet. Uncle John could not run so swiftly as the lawyer, but he broke through the gap in the hedge and arrived at a point just beneath the plank at the same time that Silas Watson did. One glance showed them the boy safely perched on top of the plank, but the girl was bending backward. She threw out her arms in a vain endeavor to save herself, and with a low cry toppled and plunged swiftly toward the ground. There was little time for the men to consider their actions. Suddenly they tried to catch Patricia, whose body struck them sharply, felling them to the ground, and then bounded against the hedge and back to the pavement. When, half dazed, they scrambled to their feet, the girl lay motionless before them, a stream of red blood welling from a deep cut in her forehead, her eyes closed as if in sleep. A moment more and the boy was kneeling beside her, striving to stay the bleeding with his handkerchief. Do something, for God's sake, try to do something, he wailed piteously. Can't you see she's killed herself to save me? Uncle John knelt down and took the still form in his arms. Quiet, my lad, he said. She isn't dead. Get Nora and fetch the doctor as soon as you can. The boy was gone instantly, his agony relieved by the chance of action, and followed by the lawyer, Uncle John carried his knees to the rose chamber and laid her upon her white bed. Misery met them then, and following her came Louise and Beth, full of horror and pity for the victim of the dreadful accident. Jane Merrick had promptly recovered consciousness, for fainting spells were foreign to her. Her first word to Phibbs, who was bending over her, were, is she dead? Who, Miss Jane? Patricia. I don't know, Miss Jane, why should she be dead? Run, you idiot, run at once and find out. Ask my brother, ask anyone, if Patricia is dead. And so Phibbs came to the rose chamber and found the little group bending over the girl's unconscious form. Is she dead, sir? Miss Jane wants to know, said the old servant in awestruck tones. No, answered Uncle John gravely, she isn't dead, I'm sure, but I can't tell how badly she has hurt. One of her legs, the right one, is broken, I know, for I felt it as I carried the child in my arms, but we must wait until the doctor comes before I can tell more. Misery was something of a nurse, it seemed, and with the assistance of Louise, who proved most helpful in the emergency, she bathed the wound in the girl's forehead and bandaged it as well as she was able. Between them the women also removed Patricia's clothing and got her into bed, where she lay white and still unconscious, but breathing so softly that they knew she was yet alive. The doctor was not long and arriving, for Kenneth forced him to leap upon Noor's back and race away to Elmhurst while the boy followed as swiftly as he could on the doctor's sober cob. Dr. Allil was only a country practitioner, but his varied experiences through many years had given him a practical knowledge of surgery, and after a careful examination of Patricia's injuries he was able to declare that she would make a fine recovery. Her leg is fractured and she's badly bruised, he reported to Aunt Jane, who sent for him as soon as he could leave the sick room. But I do not think she has suffered any internal injuries, and the wound on her forehead is a mere nothing, so with good care I expect the young lady to get along nicely. Do everything you can for her, said the woman earnestly. You shall be well paid, Dr. Allil. Before Patricia recovered her senses the doctor had sewn up her forehead and set the fractured limb so that she suffered little pain from the first. Louise and Beth hovered around her constantly, ministering to every possible wand and filled with a tender sympathy for their injured cousin. The accident seemed to draw them out of their selfishness and petty intrigues, and discovered in them the true womanly qualities that had lurked beneath the surface. Patsy was not allowed to talk, but she smiled gratefully at her cousins, and the three girls seemed suddenly drawn nearer together than any of them would have thought possible a few hours before. The boy paced constantly up and down outside Patricia's door, begging everyone who left the room for news of the girl's condition. All his reserve and fear of women seemed to have melted away as if by magic. Even Beth and Louise were questioned eagerly, and they, having learned the story of Patricia's brave rescue of the boy, were very gentle with him and took pains not to frighten or offend him. Toward evening Louise asked Patricia if she would like to see Kenneth for a moment, and the girl nodded already ascent. He came in awkward and trembling, glancing fearfully at the bandaged forehead in the still white face, but Patricia managed to smile reassuringly and held out a little hand for him to take. The boy grasped it in both his own and held it for some minutes while he stood motionless beside her, his wide eyes fixed intently upon her own. Then Louise sent him away, and he went to his room and wept profusely, and then quieted down into a sort of dull stupor. The next morning Uncle John dragged him away from Patricia's door and forced him to play chess. The boy lost every game, being inattentive and absorbed in thought, until finally Uncle John gave up the attempt to amuse him and settled himself on the top stair for a quiet smoke. The boy turned to the table and took a sheet of paper from the drawer. For an hour perhaps neither of these curious friends spoke a word, but at the end of that time Uncle John arose and knocked the ashes from his pipe. Kenneth did not notice him. The man approached the table and looked over the boy's shoulder, uttering an exclamation of surprise. Upon the paper appeared a cleverly drawn pencil sketch of Patricia, lying on her bed. A faint smile upon her face and her big blue eyes turned pleasantly upon a shadowy form that stood beside her, holding her hand. The likeness was admirable, and if there were faults in the perspective and composition Uncle John did not recognize them. He gave a low whistle and turned thoughtfully away, and the young artist was so absorbed that he did not even look up. Strolling away to the stables Uncle John met old Donald, who inquired, How was Miss Petsy this morning, sir? It was the name she had given and preferred to be called by. She's doing finally, said Uncle John. A brave girl, sir. Yes, Donald. And the boy? Why, he seems changed in some way, Donald. Not so nervous and wild as usual, you know. I've just left him drawing a picture. Curious. A good picture, too. Aye, he can do that, sir, as well as a real artist. Have you known him to draw before this? Why, he's always at it, sir, in his quieter moods. I've got a rare good likeness of myself as he did long ago in the harness room. May I see it? With pleasure, sir. Donald led the way to the harness room and took from the cupboard the precious board he had so carefully preserved. Uncle John glanced at it and laughed aloud. He could well appreciate the humor of the sketch which Donald had never understood, and the caricature was as clever as it was amusing. He handed the treasure back to Donald and went away even more thoughtful than before. A few days later a large package arrived at Elmhurst, addressed to Kenneth Forbes, and Oscar carried it at once to the boy's room, who sat for an hour looking at it in silent amazement. Then he carefully unwrapped it and found it to contain a portable easel, a quantity of canvas and drawing paper, paints and oils of every description, mostly all unknown to him, and pencils, brushes, and watercolors in perfusion. Kenneth's heart bounded with joy. Here was wealth indeed greater than he had ever hoped for. He puzzled his brain for weeks to discover how this very gift had ever come to him, but he was happier in its possession than he had ever been before in all his life. Patricia improved rapidly. Had it not been for the broken leg she would have been out of the house in a week as good as ever, but broken limbs take time to heal, and Dr. Aleel would not permit the girl to leave her bed until ten days had passed. Meantime everyone delighted to attend her. Louise and Beth sat with her for hours, reading or working, for the rose chamber was cheery and pleasant and its big windows opened upon the prettiest part of the gardens. The two girls were even yet suspicious of one another, each striving to win an advantage with Aunt Jane, but neither had the slightest fear that Patricia would ever interfere with their plans, so they allowed their natural inclinations to pet and admire the heroine of the hour full sway. And Patsy responded so sweetly and frankly to their advances that they came to love her dearly, and wondered why they had not discovered from the first how lovable their Irish cousin could be. Kenneth also came daily to the sick room for a visit, and Patsy had a way of drawing the boy out and making him talk that was really irresistible. After his very gift arrived he could not help telling the girls all about it, and then he brought the things down and displayed them, and promised Patsy he would make a picture of the garden for her. Then after the girl got better he brought the easel down to her room, where she could watch him work, and began upon the picture while the cousins joined him in speculations as to who the mysterious donor could be. At first, said Kenneth, I thought it was Mr. Watson, for he's always been very good to me, but he says he knows nothing about it. Then I thought it might be Uncle John, but Uncle John is too poor to afford such an expensive present. I don't believe he has a penny in the world, said Louise, who sat by with some needlework. All he owns, remarked Beth with a laugh, is an extra necktie slightly damaged. But he's a dear old man, said Patsy loyally, and I'm sure he would have given all those things to Kenneth had he been able. Then who was it, asked the boy? Why, Aunt Jane, to be sure, declared Patsy. The boy scowled and shook his head. She wouldn't do anything to please me, even to save her life, he growled. She hates me. I know that well enough. Oh, I'm sure she doesn't, said Patsy. Aunt Jane has a heap of good in her. But you've got to dig for it, like you do for gold. It would be just like her to make you this present and keep it a secret. If she really did it, replied the boy slowly. And it seems as if she is the only one I know who could afford such a gift. It stands to reason that either Uncle John or Mr. Watson asked her to, and she did it to please them. I've lived here for years, and she has never spoken a kindly word to me or done me a kindly act. It isn't likely she'd begin now, is it? Unable to make a reassuring reply, Patsy remained silent, and the boy went on with his work. He first outlined the picture in pencil, and then filled it in with watercolor. They all expressed admiration for the drawing, but the color effect was so horrible that even Patsy found no words to praise it, and the boy in a fit of sudden anger tore the thing to shreds and so destroyed it. But I must have my picture anyhow, said the girl. Make it in pen and ink or pencil, Ken. I'm sure it will be beautiful. You need instruction to do watercolor properly, suggested Louise. Then I can never do it, he replied bitterly. But he adopted Patsy's suggestion and sketched the garden very prettily in pen and ink. By the time the second picture was completed, Patsy had received permission to leave her room, which she did in Aunt Jane's second-best wheelchair. Her first trip was to Aunt Jane's own private garden, where the invalid, who had not seen her niece since the accident, had asked her to come. Patsy wanted Kenneth to wheel her, but the boy, with a touch of his old, surly demeanor, promptly refused to meet Jane Merrick face to face. So Beth wheeled the chair, and Louise walked by Patsy's side, and soon the three nieces reached their aunt's retreat. Aunt Jane was not in an especially amiable mood. Well, girl, how do you like being a fool, she demanded, as Patsy's chair came to a stand just opposite of her own. It feels so natural that I don't mind it, replied Patsy, laughing. You might have killed yourself and all for nothing, continued the old woman, querilously. Patsy looked at her pittingly. Her aunt's face had aged greatly in the two weeks, and the thin, gray hair seemed almost white. Are you feeling better, dear? asked the girl. I shall never be better, said Jane Merrick, sternly. The end is not far off now. Oh, I'm sorry to hear you say that, said Patsy. But I hope it is not true. Why, here are we four newly found relations, all beginning to get acquainted and to love one another, and we can't have our little party broken up, Auntie, dear. Five of us, five relations, cried Uncle John, coming around the corner of the hedge. Don't I count, Patsy, you rogue? Why, you're looking as bright and bony as can be. I wouldn't be surprised if you could toddle. Not yet, she answered cheerfully. But I'm doing finally, Uncle John, and it won't be long before I can get about as well as ever. And to think, said Aunt Jane bitterly, that all this trouble was caused by that miserable boy. If I knew where to send him, he'd not stay at Elmhurst a day longer. Why, he's my best friend, aunt, announced Patsy quietly. I don't think I could be happy at Elmhurst without Kenneth. He is quite reformed, said Louise, and seems like a very nice boy. He's a little queer yet at times, at a bath, but not a bit rude, as he used to be. Aunt Jane looked from one to another in amazement. No one had spoken so kindly of the boy before in years. And Uncle John, with a thoughtful look on his face, said slowly, the fact is, Jane, you've never given the boy a chance. On the contrary, you nearly ruined him by making a hermit of him and giving him no schooling to speak of and no society except that of servants. He was as wild as a hawk when I first came. But these girls are just the sort of companions he needs to soften him and make him a man. I've no doubt he'll come out of it all right in the end. Perhaps you'd like to adopt him yourself, John, sneered the woman, furious at this praise of the one person she so greatly disliked. Her brother drew his hands from his pockets, looked around in a helpless and embarrassed way, and then tried fumblingly to fill his pipe. I ain't in the adopting business, Jane, he answered meekly. And if I was, with a quaint smile, I'd adopt one or two of these nieces of mine instead of Tom Bradley's nephew. If Bradley hadn't seen you, Jane, and loved your pretty face when you were young, Kenneth Forbes would now be the owner of Elmhurst. Did you ever think of that? Did she ever think of it? Why, it was this very fact that made the boy odious to her. The woman grew white with rage. John, Merrick, leave my presence. All right, Jane. He stopped to light his pipe and then slowly walked away, leaving an embarrassed group behind him. Patsy, however, was equal to the occasion. She began at once to chatter about Dr. Eliele, and the scar that would always show on her forehead. And how surprised the major, her father, would be when he returned from his visit to the Colonel and found his daughter had been through the wars herself and bore the evidence of honourable wounds. Louise gracefully assisted her cousin to draw Aunt Jane into a more genial mood, and between them they presently succeeded. The interview that had begun so unfortunately ended quite pleasantly, and when Patricia returned to her room her aunt bade her adieu almost tenderly. In fact, said Louise to Beth, in the privacy of the letter's chamber, I'm getting rather worried over Aunt Jane's evident weakness for our cousin Patsy. Once or twice a day I caught a look in her eye when she looked at Patsy that she has never given either you or me. The Irish girl may get the money yet. Nonsense, said Beth. She said she wouldn't accept a penny of it, and I'm positive she'll keep her word. End of CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII of Aunt Jane's nieces. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Marianne. Aunt Jane's nieces by L. Frank Baum. CHAPTER XVII. Aunt Jane's heiress. Silas, said Aunt Jane to her lawyer the next morning after her interview with Patsy, I'm ready to have you draw up my will. Mr. Watson gave a start of astonishment. In his own mind he had arrived at the conclusion that the will would never be executed, and to have Miss Merrick thus suddenly declare her decision was enough to startle even the lawyer's natural reserve. Very well, Jane, he said briefly. They were alone in the invalid's morning room, fibs having been asked to retire. There is no use disguising the fact, Silas, that I grow weaker every day, and the numbness is creeping near and near to my heart, said Miss Merrick, in her usual even tones. It is folly for me to trifle with these few days of gray she had allowed to me, and I have fully made up my mind as to the disposition of my property. Yes, he said inquiringly, and drew from his pocket a pencil and paper. I shall leave to my niece, Louise, $5,000. Yes, Jane, jotting down the memorandum. And to Elizabeth, alike some. The lawyer seemed disappointed. He tapped the pencil against his teeth, musingly, for a moment, and then wrote down the amount. Also to my brother, John Merrick, the sum of $5,000, she resumed. To your brother? Yes, that should be enough to take care of him as long as he lives. He seems quite simple in his taste, and he is an old man. The lawyer wrote it down. All my other remaining property, both real and personal, I shall leave to my niece, Patricia Doyle. Jane, did you hear me? Yes. Then do as I bid you, Silas Watson. He leaned back in his chair and looked at her thoughtfully. I'm not only your lawyer, Jane. I'm also your friend and counselor. Do you realize what this bequest means, he asked gently. It means that Patricia will inherit Elmhurst and a fortune besides. Why not, Silas? I like the child from the first. She's frank and open and brave, and will do credit to my judgment. She is very young and unsophisticated, said the lawyer, and of all of your nieces, she will least appreciate your generosity. You are to be my executor and manage the estate until the girl comes of age. You will see that she is properly educated and fitted for her station in life. As for appreciation or gratitude, I don't care a snap of my finger for such full the role, the lawyer sighed. But the boy, Jane, you seem to have forgotten him, he said. Drat the boy, I've done enough for him already. Wouldn't Tom like for you to provide for Kenneth in some way however humbly? She glared at him angrily. How do you know what Tom would like after all these years, she asked, sternly. And how should I know, either? The money is mine, and the boy is nothing to me. Let him shift for himself. There is a great deal of money, Jane, declared the lawyer impressively. We have been fortunate in our investments, and you have used but little of your ample income. To spare fifty thousand dollars to Kenneth, who is Tom's sole remaining relative, would be no hardship to Patricia. Indeed she would scarcely miss it. You remind me of something, Silas, she said, looking at him with friendly eyes. Make a memorandum of twenty thousand dollars to Silas Watson. You have been very faithful to my interests and have helped materially to increase my fortune. Thank you, Jane. He wrote down the amount as calmly as he had done the others. And the boy, he asked persistently. Aunt Jane sighed wearily and leaned against her pillows. Give the boy two thousand, she said. Make it ten, Jane. I'll make it five and not a penny more, she rejoined. Now leave me and prepare the paper at once. I want to sign it today, if possible. He bowed gravely and left the room. Toward evening the lawyer came again bringing with him a notary from the village. Dr. Aleel, who had come to visit Patricia, was also called into Jane Merrick's room, and after she had carefully read the paper in their presence the mistress of Elmhurst affixed her signature to the document which transferred the great estate to the little Irish girl, and the notary and the doctor solemnly witnessed it and retired. Now, Silas, said the old woman, with a sigh of intense relief, I can die in peace. Singularly enough the signing of the will seemed not to be the end of Jane Merrick but the beginning of an era of unusual comfort. On the following morning she awakened brighter than usual, having passed a good night, freed from the worries and anxieties that had beset her for weeks. She felt more like her old self than at any time since the paralysis had overtaken her and passed the morning most joyably in her sun-shiny garden. Here Patricia was also brought in her wheelchair by Beth, who then left the two embolids together. They conversed genially enough for a time until an unfortunate remark of Aunt Jane's which seemed to espouse her father's character aroused Patricia's ire. Then she loosed her tongue and in her voluble Irish way berated her aunt until poor fibs stood aghast at such temerity, and even Mr. Watson, who arrived to inquire after his client and friend, was filled with amazement. He cast a significant look at Miss Merrick, who answered it in her usual emphatic way. Patricia is quite right, Silas, she declared, and I deserve all that she has said. If the girl were fond enough of me to defend me as heartily as she does her father I would be very proud indeed. Patricia cooled at once and regarded her aunt with a sunny smile. Forgive me, she begged. I know you did not mean it, and I was wrong to talk to you in such a way. So Harmony was restored, and Mr. Watson wondered more and more at the strange perversion of the old woman's character. Here to fore any opposition had aroused in her intense rage and fierce antagonism. But now she seemed delighted to have Patsey fly at her and excuse the girl's temper instead of resenting it. But Patsey was a little ashamed of herself this morning, realizing perhaps that Aunt Jane had been trying to vex her just to enjoy her indignant speeches. And she also realized the fact that her aunt was old and suffering and not wholly responsible for her aggravating and somewhat malicious observations. So she firmly resolved not to be so readily entrapped again and was so bright and cheery during the next hour that Aunt Jane smiled more than once and at one time actually laughed at her niece's witty repartee. After that it became the daily program for Patsey to spend her mornings in Aunt Jane's little garden. And although they sometimes clashed and, as Phibbs told Beth, had dreadful fights, they both enjoyed these hours very much. The two girls became rather uneasy during the days their cousin spent in the society of Aunt Jane. Even the dreadful accounts they received from Phibbs failed wholly to reassure them. And the wheeze redoubled her solicitous attentions to her aunt in order to offset the influence Patricia seemed to be gaining over her. The wheeze had also become, by this time, the managing housekeeper of the establishment. And it was certain that Aunt Jane looked upon her eldest and most competent niece with much favor. Beth, with all her friends to sing her praises, seemed to make less headway with her aunt than either of the others, and gradually she sank into a state of real despondency. I've done the best I could, she wrote her mother. But I'm not as clever as the wheeze, nor as amusing as Patricia, so Aunt Jane pays little attention to me. She's a dreadful old woman, and I can't bring myself to appear to like her. That probably accounts for my failure, but I may as well stay here until something happens. In a fortnight more, Patricia abandoned her chair and took to crutches, on which she hobbled everywhere as actively as the others walked. She affected her cousin's society more, from this time, and Aunt Jane's society less, for she had come to be fond of the two girls who had nursed her so tenderly, and it was natural that a young girl would prefer to be with those of her own age, rather than a craved old woman like Aunt Jane. Kenneth also now became Patsy's faithful companion, for the boy had lost his former bashfulness and fear of girls, and had grown to feel at ease, even in the society of Beth and Louise. The four had many excursions and picnics into the country together, but Kenneth and Patsy were recognized as a special chums, and the other girls did not interfere in their friendship except to tease them, occasionally, in a good-natured way. The boy's old acquaintances could hardly recognize him as the same person they had known before Patricia's adventure on the plank. His fits of gloomy abstraction and violent bursts of temper had alike vanished, or only prevailed at brief intervals, nor was he longer rude and unmanly to those with whom he came in contact. Awkward he still was, and lacking in many graces that education and good society could alone confer, but he was trying hard to be, as he confided to old Uncle John, like other people, and succeeded in adapting himself very well to his new circumstances. Although he had no teacher as yet, he had begun to understand color a little, and succeeded in finishing one or two water-color sketches, which Patsy, who knew nothing at all of such things, pronounced wonderfully fine. Of course the boy bludged with pleasure and was encouraged to still great her effort. The girl was also responsible for Kenneth's sudden advancement in the household at Elmhurst. One day she said calmly to Aunt Jane, I've invited Kenneth to dinner this evening. The woman flew angry in an instant. Who gave you such authority, she demanded. No one, I just took it, said Patsy, sozzily. He shall not come, declared Aunt Jane sternly. I'll have no interference from you, Miss, with my household arrangements. Thibs, call Louise. Patsy's brow grew dark. Presently Louise appeared. Instruct the servants to forbid that boy to enter my dining room this evening, she said to Louise. Also Louise, said Patsy, tell them not to lay a plate for me and ask Oscar to be ready with the wagon at five o'clock. I'm going home. Louise hesitated and looked for Miss Jane to Patsy and back again. They were glaring upon each other like two gorgons. Then she burst into laughter. She could not help it, the sight was too ridiculous. A moment later Patsy was laughing too, and then Aunt Jane allowed a grim smile to cross her features. Never mind Louise, she said with remarkable cheerfulness, all compromise matters. How? asked Patsy. By putting a plate for Kenneth, her aunt said coolly. I imagine I can stand his society for one evening. So the matter was arranged to Patricia's satisfaction, and the boy came to dinner, trembling and unhappy at first, but soon placed at ease by the encouragements of the three girls. Indeed he behaved so well in the main, and was so gentle and unobtrusive, that Aunt Jane looked at him with surprise, and favored him with one or two speeches which he answered modestly and well. Patsy was radiant with delight, and the next day Aunt Jane remarked casually that she did not object to the boy's presence at dinner, at all, and he could come whenever he liked. This arrangement gave great pleasure to both Uncle John and Mr. Watson, the latter of whom was often present at the state dinner, and both men congratulated Patsy upon the distinct victory she had won. No more was said about her leaving Elmhurst. The major wrote that he was having a splendid time with the Colonel, and begged for an extension of his vacation, to which Patsy readily agreed she being still unable on account of her limb to return to her work at Madame Bourne's. And so the days glided pleasantly by, and August came to find a happy company of young folks at Old Elmhurst, with Aunt Jane wonderfully improved in health, and Uncle John beaming complacently upon every one he had chanced to meet. Chapter 18 of Aunt Jane's Nieces This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Abigail Bartels. Aunt Jane's Nieces by L. Frank Baum, Chapter 18. Patricia Speaks Frankly It was lawyer Watson's suggestion that she was being unjust to Beth and Louise, and encouraging them to hope they might inherit Elmhurst, that finally decided Aunt Jane to end all misunderstandings, and inform her nieces of the fact that she had made a final disposition of her property. So one morning she sent word asking them all into her room, and when the nieces appeared they found Uncle John and the lawyer already in their aunt's presence. There was an air of impressive formality pervading the room, although Miss Merrick's brother, at least, was as ignorant as her nieces of the reason why they had been summoned. Patsey came in last, hobbling actively on her crutches, although the leg was now nearly recovered, and seated herself somewhat in the rear of the apartment. Aunt Jane looked into one expectant face after another, with curious interest, and then broke the silence by saying, gravely, but in more gentle tones than she was accustomed to use. I believe, young ladies, that you have understood from the first my strongest reason for inviting you to Elmhurst this summer. I am old and must soon pass away, and instead of leaving you and your parents, who would be my legitimate heirs, to squabble over my property when I am gone, I decided to execute a will, bequeathing my estate to someone who would take proper care of it and maintain it in a creditable manner. I had no personal acquaintance with any of you, but judged that one out of the three might serve my purpose, and therefore invited you all here. By this time the hearts of Louise and Beth were fluttering with excitement, and even Patsey looked interested. Old John sat a little apart, watching them with an amused smile on his face, and the lawyer sat silent, with his eyes fixed upon a pattern in the rug. In arriving at my decision, which I may say I have succeeded in doing, continued Aunt Jane calmly, I do not claim to have acted with either wisdom or discernment. I have simply followed my own whim, as I have the right to do, and selected the niece I prefer to become my heiress. You cannot accuse of injustice, because none of you had a right to expect anything of me. But I will say this, that I am well pleased with all three of you, and now wish that I had taken pains to form your acquaintance earlier in life. You might have cheered my old age, and rendered it less lonely and dull. Well said Jane, remarked Uncle John, nodding his head approvingly. She did not notice the interruption, but presently continued. Some days ago I asked my lawyer, Mr. Watson, to draw up my will. It was at once prepared and signed, and now stands as my last will and testament. I have given to you, Louise, the sum of five thousand dollars. Louise laughed nervously, and threw out her hands with an indifferent gesture. Many thanks, Aunt, she said lightly. To you, Beth, continued Miss Merrick, I have given the same sum. Beth's heart sank, and tears forced themselves into her eyes, in spite of her efforts to restrain them. She said nothing. Aunt Jane turned to her brother. I have also provided for you, John, in the sum of five thousand dollars. Me, he exclaimed, astounded, why, sugaration Jane, I don't—silence! She cried sternly, I expect neither thanks nor protests. If you take care of the money, John, it will last you as long as you live. Uncle John laughed. He doubled up his chair and rocked back and forth, shaking his little round body as if he had met with the most amusing thing that had ever happened in his life. Aunt Jane stared at him, while Louise and Beth looked their astonishment. But Patsy's clear laughter rang above Uncle John's gasping chuckles. I hope, dear uncle, said she mischievously, that when poor Aunt Jane is gone you'll be able to buy a new necktie. He looked at her whimsically, and wiped the tears from his eyes. Thank you, Jane, said the little man to his sister. It's a lot of money, and I'll be proud to own it. Why did you laugh? demanded Aunt Jane. I just happened to think that her old dad once said, I never be worth a dollar in all my life. What would he say now, Jane, if he knew I stood good to have five thousand if I could manage to outlive you? She turned from him with an expression of scorn. In addition to these bequests, said she, I have left five thousand to the boy and twenty thousand to Mr. Watson. The remainder of the property will go to Patricia. For a moment the room was intensely still. And Patricia said, with a quiet determination, you may as well make another will, Aunt. I'll not touch a penny of your money. Why not? asked the woman, almost fiercely. You've been too kind to me, and you mean well, said Patricia. I would rather not tell you my reasons. I demand to know them! Ah, Aunt, can't you understand without my speaking? No, said the other, but a flush crossed her pale cheek nevertheless. Patsy arose and stumped to a position, directly in front of Jane Merrick, where she rested on her crutches. Her eyes were bright and full of indignation, and her plain little face was so white that every freckle showed distinctly. There was a time, years ago, she began, in a low voice, when you were very rich, and your sister, Violet, my mother, was very poor. Her health was bad, and she had me to care for, while my father was very ill with a fever. She was proud too, and for herself she never would have begged a penny of anyone. But for my sake, she asked her rich sister to loan her a little money to tide her over her period of want. What did you do, Jane Merrick? You who lived in a beautiful mansion and had more money than you could use? You insulted her, telling her that she belonged to a family of beggars, and that none of them could weedle your money away from you. It was true, retorted the elder woman stubbornly. They were after me like a drove of wolves, every Merrick of them all, and they would have ruined me if I had let them bleed me as they wished. So far as my mother is concerned, that's a lie, said Patsy quietly. She never appealed to you but that once, and worked as bravely as she could to earn money in her own poor way. The result was that she died, and I was left to the care of strangers until my father was well enough to support me. She paused, and again the room seemed unnaturally still. I'm sorry, girl, said Aunt Jane at last in trembling tones. I was wrong. I see it now, and I am sorry I refused violet. Then I forgive you, said Patsy, impulsively. I forgive you all, Aunt Jane. For through your own selfishness you caught yourself off from all your family, from all who might have loved you, and you have lived all these years a solitary and loveless life. There will be no grudge of mine to follow you to the grave, Aunt Jane. But, her voice hardening, I'll never touch a penny of the money that was denying my poor dead mother. Thank God the old dad and I are independent, and can earn our own living. Uncle John came to where Patsy stood, and put both arms around her. Pressing her, crutches in awe, close to his breast. Then he released her, and without a word, stalked from the room. Leave me now, said Aunt Jane in a husky voice. I want time to think. Patricia hobbled forward, placed one hand caressingly upon the gray head, and then bent and kissed Aunt Jane's withered cheek. There now, she whispered, think it over, dear. It's all passed and done, and I'm sorry I had to hurt you. But not a penny, Aunt, remember, not a penny will I take. Then she left the room, followed by Louise and Beth, both of whom were glad to be alone, that they might conquer their bitter disappointment. Louise, however, managed to accept the matter philosophically, as following extract from her letter to her mother will prove. After all, it isn't so bad as it might be, maître-deer, she wrote, I'll get five thousand at the very worst, and that will help us on our way considerably. But I am quite sure that Patsy means just what she says, and that she will yet induce Aunt Jane to alter her will. In that case, I believe the estate will either be divided between Beth and me, or I will get it all. Anyway, I shall stay here and play my best cards until the game is finished. End of Chapter 18. Recording by Abigail Bartels, Hamlake, Minnesota. Chapter 19 of Aunt Jane's Nieces. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Aunt Jane's Nieces by L. Frank Baum, Chapter 19, Duplicity. Aunt Jane had a bad night, as might have been expected after her trials of the previous day. She sent for Patricia early in the forenoon, and when the girl arrived she was almost shocked by the change in her aunt's appearance. The envelope's face seemed drawn and gray, and she lay upon her cushions, breathing heavily, and without any appearance of vitality or strength. Even the sharpness and piercing quality of her hard gray eyes was lacking, and the glance she cast at her niece was rather pleading than defiant. I want you to reconsider your decision of yesterday, Patricia, as she began. Don't ask me to do that, Aunt, replayed the girl firmly. My mind is fully made up. I have made mistakes I know, continued the woman feebly, but I want to do the right thing at last. Then I will show you how, said Patricia quickly. You mustn't think me impertinent, Aunt, for I don't mean to be so at all. But tell me, why did you wish to leave me your money? Because your nature is quite like my own child, and I admire your independence and spirit. But my cousins are much more deserving, said she thoughtfully. Louise is very sweet and amiable, and loves you more than I do, while Beth is the most sensible and practical girl I have ever known. It may be so, returned Aunt Jane impatiently, but I have left each a legacy. Patricia and you alone are my choice for the mistress of Elmhurst. I told you yesterday I should not try to be just. I mean to leave my property according to my personal desire, and no one shall hinder me. This last was a spark of her old vigor. But that is quite wrong, Aunt, and if you desire me to inherit your wealth, you will be disappointed. A moment ago you said you wished to do the right thing at last. Don't you know what that is? Perhaps you will tell me, said Aunt Jane curiously. With pleasure, returned Patsy, Mr. Bradley left you this property. Because he loved you, and love blinded him to all sense of justice, such an estate should not have passed into the hands of aliens because of a lover's whim. He should have considered his own flesh and blood. There was no one but his sister, who at that time was not married and had no son explained at Jane Comley, but he did not forget her and asked me to look after Catherine Bradley in case she or her heirs ever needed help. I have done so. When his mother died, I had the boy bride here, and he has lived here ever since. But the property ought to be his that Patricia earnestly. It would please me beyond measure to have you make your will in his favor, and you would be doing the right thing at last. I won't, said Aunt Jane angrily. It would also be considerate and just to the memory of Mr. Bradley, continued the girl. What's going to become of Kenneth? I have left him five thousand, said the woman. Not enough to educate him properly, replied Patsy with a shake of her head. Why? He might become a famous artist if he had good masters, and a person with an artistic temperament such as his should have enough money to be independent of his art. Aunt Jane coughed unsympathetically. The boy is nothing to me, she said. But he ought to have elmhurst at least pleaded the girl. Won't you leave it to him, Aunt Jane? No. Then do as you please, cried Patsy, flying angrily in her turn. As a matter of justice, the place should never have been yours, and I won't accept a dollar of the money if I starve to death. Think of your father, suggested Aunt Jane cunningly. Ah, I have done that, said the girl. And I know how many comforts I could buy for the dear major. Also I'd like to go to a girl's college like Smith or Wesley and get a proper education, but not with your money, Aunt Jane. It would burn my fingers. Always, I would think that if you had not been hard and miserly, this same money would have saved my mother's life. No, I loathe your money. Keep it or throw it to the dogs, if you won't give it to the boy it belongs to. But don't you dare to will your selfish horde to me. Let us change the subject, Patricia. Will you change your will? No. Then I won't talk to you. I'm angry and hurt, and if I stay here, I'll say things I shall be sorry for. With these words she marched out of the room, her cheeks flaming, and Aunt Jane looked after her with admiring eyes. She's right, she whispered to herself. It's just as I do under the same circumstances. This interview was but the beginning of a series that lasted during the next fortnight during which time the invalid persisted in sending for Patricia and fighting the same fight over and over again. Always the girl pleaded for Kenneth to inherit and declared she would not accept the money and elmhurst, and always Aunt Jane stubbornly refused to consider the boy and tried to tempt the girl with pictures of the luxury and pleasure that riches would bring her. The interviews were generally short and spirited, however, and during the intervals Patsy associated more than ever with her cousins, both of whom grew really fond of her. They fully believed Patricia when she declared that she would never accept the inheritance, and although neither Beth nor Louise could understand such foolish sentimentality, they were equally overjoyed at the girl's stand and the firmness with which she maintained it. With Patsy out of the field, it was quite possible the estate would be divided between her cousins, or even go entire to one or the other of them, and this hope constantly buoyed their spirits and filled their days with interest as they watched the fight between their aunt and their cousin. Patricia never told them she was pleading so hard for the boy. It would only pain her cousins and make them think she was disloyal to their interests, but she lost no opportunity with her Aunt Jane of praising Kenneth and proving his ability, and finally she seemed to win her point. Aunt Jane was really worn out with the constant squabbling with her favorite niece. She had taken a turn for the worse, too, and began to decline rapidly. So her natural cunning and determination to have her own way enhanced by her illness the woman decided to deceive Patricia and enjoy her few remaining days in peace. Suppose, she said to Mr. Watson, my present will stands, and after my death the estate becomes the property of Patricia. Can she refuse it? Not legally return the lawyer. It would remain in her name, but under my control during her minority. When she becomes of age, however, she could transfer it as she might choose. By that time she will have gained more sense, declared Aunt Jane, much pleased with this aspect of the case, and it isn't reasonable that having enjoyed a fortune for a time any girl would throw it away. I'll stick to my point, Silas, but I'll try to make Patricia believe she has won me over. Therefore, the very next time that the girl pleaded with her to make Kenneth her heir, she has said with a clever assumption of resignation. Very well, Patricia, you shall have your way. My only desired child is to please you, as you well know, and if you long to see Kenneth the owner of Elmhurst, I will have a new will drawn in his favor. Patricia could scarcely believe her ears. Do you really mean it, Aunt? She asked, fleshing red with pleasure. I mean exactly what I say, and now let us cease all bickering. My dear, and my few remaining days will be peaceful and happy. Patricia thanked her aunt with eager words and said, as indeed she felt, that she could almost love Aunt Jane, for her final, if dilatory, act of justice. Mr. Watson chanced to enter the room at that moment, and the girl cried out, Tell him, Aunt, let him get the paper ready at once. There is no reason for haste, said Aunt Jane, meeting the lawyer's questioning gaze with some embarrassment. Silas Watson was an honorable and upright man, and his client's frequent doubtful methods had, in past years, met his severe censure. Yet he had once promised his dead friend, Tom Bradley, that he would serve Jane Merrick faithfully. He had striven to do so, bearing with her faults of character when he found that he could not correct them. His influence over her had never been very strong, however, and he had learned that it was the most easy as well a satisfactory method to bow to her iron will. Her recent questionings had prepared him for some act of duplicity, but he had by no means understood her present object, nor did she mean that he should. So she answered his questioning look by saying, I have promised Patricia that you shall draw a new will, leaving all my estate to Kenneth Forbes, except for the bequests that are mentioned in the present paper. The lawyer regarded her with amazement, then his brow darkened, before he thought she was playing with the girl, and was not sincere. Tell him to draw up the paper right away, Aunt, begged Patricia with sparkling eyes. As soon as you can, Silas, said the invalid. And Aunt, can't you spare a little more to Louise and Beth? It would make them so happy. Doubly amount I had allowed to each of them the woman commanded her lawyer. Can it all be ready to sign to-night, asked Patsy excitedly? I'll try my dare, replied the old lawyer gravely. Then he turned to Jane Merrick. Are you an earnest, he asked? Patsy's heart suddenly sank. Yes, was the reply. I am tired of opposing this child's wishes. What do I care what becomes of my money when I am gone? All that I desire is to have my remaining days peaceful. The girls sprang forward and kissed her rapturously. They shall be Aunt, she cried. I promise it. End of CHAPTER XIX At this hour Patsy devoted herself untiringly to Aunt Jane, and filled her days with as much sunshine as her merry ways and happy nature could confer. Yet there was one thing that rendered her uneasy. The paper that lawyer Watson had so promptly drawn had never yet been signed and witnessed. Her aunt had allowed her to read it, saying she wished the girl to know she had acted in good faith, and Patsy had no fault at all to find with the document. When Aunt Jane was tired, and deferred signing it that evening, the next day no witnesses could be secured, and so another postponement followed, and upon one pretext or another the matter was put off until Patricia became suspicious. Noting this, Aunt Jane decided to complete her act of deception. She signed the will in the girl's presence, with Oscar and Susan to witness her signature. Mr. Watson was not present on this occasion, and as soon as Patsy had left her, Miss Merrick tore off the signatures and burned them, wrote void in bold letters across the face of the paper, and then, it being rendered of no value, she enclosed it in a large yellow envelope, sealed it, and that evening handed the envelope to Mr. Watson with the request that it not be opened until after her death. Patricia, in her delight, whispered to the lawyer that the paper was really signed, and he was well pleased, and guarded the supposed treasure carefully. The girl also took occasion to inform both Beth and Louise that a new will had been made, in which they both profited largely, but she kept the secret of who the real heir was, and both her cousins grew to believe they would share equally in the entire property. So now an air of harmony settled upon Elmhurst, and Uncle John joined the others in admiration of the girl who had conquered the stubbornness of her stern old aunt, and proved herself so unselfish and true. One morning Aunt Jane had fibs wheel her into her little garden as usual, and busied herself examining the flowers and plants of which she had always been so fond. James has been neglecting his work lately, she said sharply to her attendant. He is very queer, ma'am," replied old Martha, ever since the young ladies and Master John came to Elmhurst. Strangers he never could abide, as you know, and he runs and hides himself as soon as he sees any of them about. Poor James, said Miss Merrick, recalling her old gardener's infirmity, but he must not neglect my flowers in this way, or they will be ruined. He isn't so afraid of Master John, when on fibs reflectively, as he is of the young ladies. Sometimes Master John talks to James, in his quiet way, and I've noticed he listens to him quite respectively, like he always does to you, Miss Jane. Go and find James and ask him to step here, commanded the mistress, and then guard the opening in the hedge, and see that none of my nieces appear to bother him. Fibs obediently started upon her errand, and came upon James in the tool-house at the end of the big garden. He was working among his flower-pots, and seemed in a quieter mood than usual. Fibs delivered her message, and the gardener at once started to obey. He crossed the garden, unobserved, and entered the little enclosure where Miss Jane's chair stood. The invalid was leaning back on her cushions, but her eyes were wide open and staring. I've come, Miss, said James, and then getting no reply he looked into her face. A gleam of sunlight filtered through the bushes and fell a slant Jane Merrick's eyes, but not a lash quivered. James gave a scream that rang through the air and silenced even the birds. Then shrieking like the madman he was, he bounded away through the hedge, sending old Martha whirling into a rose-bush, and fled as if a thousand fiends were at his heels. John Merrick and Mr. Watson, who were not far off, aroused by the blood-curdling screams, ran toward Aunt Jane's garden, and saw in a glance what had happened. Poor Jane, whispered the brother, bending over to tenderly close the staring eyes. Her fate has overtaken her unawares. Better so, said the lawyer gently, she has found peace at last. Together they wheeled her back into her chamber, and called the women to care for their dead mistress. CHAPTER XXI of ANT JANE'S NEESES Aunt Jane's funeral was extremely simple and quiet. The woman had made no friends during her long residence in the neighborhood, having isolated herself at the big house, and refused to communicate in any way with the family's living nearby. Therefore, although her death undoubtedly aroused much interest and comment, no one cared to be present at the obsequies. So the minister came from Elmwood, and being unable to say much that was good or bad of the woman who had departed from this veil of tears, he confined his remarks to generalities, and made them as brief as possible. Then the body was borne to the little graveyard a mile away, followed by the state carriage, containing the three nieces and Kenneth, the drag with Silas Watson and Uncle John, the former driving, and then came the Elmhurst carry-all with the servants. James did not join these last, nor did he appear at the house after that dreadful scene in the garden. He had a little room over the tool-house, which Jane Merrick had had prepared for him years ago, and here he locked himself in day and night, stealthily emerging but to secure the food Susan carried in place before his door. No one minded James much, for all the inmates of Elmhurst were under severe and exciting strain in the days preceding the funeral. The girls wept a little, but it was more on account of the solemnity following the shadow of death than for any great affection they bore their aunt. Patsy, indeed, tried to deliver a tribute to Aunt Jane's memory, but it was not an emphatic success. I'm sure she had a good heart, said the girl, and if she had lived more with her own family and cultivated her friends, she would have been much less hard and selfish. At the last you know she was quite gentle. I hadn't noticed it, remarked Beth. Oh, I did! And she made a new will, after that awful one she told us of, and tried to be just and fair to all. I'm glad to hear that, said Louise. Tell us, Patsy, what does the will say? You must know all about it. Mr. Watson is going to read it after the funeral, replied the girl, and then you will know as much about it as I do. I mustn't tell secrets, my dear. So Louise and Beth waited in much nervous excitement for the final realizations of their hopes or fears, and during the drive to the cemetery there was little conversation in the state carriage. Kenneth's sensitive nature was greatly affected by the death of the woman who had played so important a part in the brief story of his life, and the awe it inspired rendered him gloomy and silent. Lawyer Watson had once warned him that Miss Merrick's death might make him an outcast, and he felt the insecurity of his present position. But Patsy, believing he would soon know of his good fortune, watched him curiously during the ride, and beamed upon him as frequently as her own low spirits would permit. You know, Ken, she reminded him, that whatever happens we are always to remain friends. Of course, replied the boy briefly. The girl had thrown aside her crutches by this time, and planned to return to her work immediately after the funeral. The brief services at the cemetery being concluded, the little cavalcade returned to Elmhurst, where luncheon was awaiting them. Then Mr. Watson brought into the drawing-room the tin box containing the important Elmhurst papers in his possession, and having requested all present to be seated, he said, In order to clear up the uncertainty that at present exists concerning Miss Merrick's last will and testament, I will now proceed to read to you the document which will afterward be properly probated according to law. There was no need to request their attention, and intense stillness pervaded the room. The lawyer calmly unlocked the tin box and drew out the sealed yellow envelope, which Miss Merrick had recently given him. Patsy's heart was beating with eager expectancy. She watched the lawyer break the seal, draw out the paper, and then turn red and angry. He hesitated a moment, and then thrust the useless document into its enclosure and cast it aside. Is anything wrong? Asked the girl, in a low whisper, which was yet distinctly heard by all. Mr. Watson seemed amazed. Miss Merrick's deceitful trickery, discovered so soon after her death, was almost horrible for him to contemplate. He had borne much from this erratic woman, but had never believed her capable of such an act. So he said, in irritable tones, Miss Merrick gave me this document a few days ago, leading me to believe it was her last will. I had prepared it under her instruction, and understood that it was properly signed. But she has herself, torn off and destroyed the signature, and marked the paper void, so that the will previously made is the only one that is valid. What do you mean?" cried Patsy in amazement. Isn't Kenneth to inherit Elmhurst after all? Me? Me, inherit? exclaimed the boy. That is what she promised me, declared Patsy, while tears of indignation stood in her eyes. I saw her sign it myself, and if she has fooled me and destroyed the signature, she's nothing but an old fraud, and I'm glad she's dead. With this she threw herself sobbing upon a sofa, and Louise and Beth shocked to learn that after all their cousin had conspired against them for bore any attempt to comfort her. But Uncle John, fully as indignant as Patricia, came to her side and laid a hand tenderly on the girl's head. Never mind, little one, he said. Jane was always cruel and treacherous by nature, and we might have expected she'd deceive her friends even in death, but you did the best you could, Patsy dear, and it can't be helped now. Meantime the lawyer had been fumbling in the box, and now drew out the genuine will. Give me your attention, please," said he. Patsy set up and glared at him. I won't take a cent of it, she exclaimed. Be silent, demanded the lawyer sternly. You have all, I believe, been told by Miss Merrick of the terms of this will, which is properly signed and attested, but it is my duty to read it again, from beginning to end, and I will do so. Little John smiled when his bequest was mentioned, and Beth frowned. Louise, however, showed no sign of disappointment. There had been a miserable scramble for this inheritance, she reflected, and she was glad the struggle was over. The five thousand dollars would come in handy, after all, and it was that much more than she had expected to have before she received Aunt Jane's invitation. Perhaps she and her mother would use part of it for a European trip, if their future plans seemed to warrant it. As far as I am concerned, said Patsy defiantly, you may as well tear up this will, too. I won't have that shameful old woman's money. That is a matter the law does not allow you to decide, returned the lawyer calmly. You will note the fact that I am the sole executor of the estate, and must care for it in your interests until you are of age. Then it will be turned over to you, to do as you please with. Can I give it away if I want to? Certainly. It is now yours without recourse, and although you cannot dispose of it until you are of legal age, there will be nothing then to prevent your transferring it, to whom so ever you please. I called Miss Merrick's attention to this fact when you refused to accept the legacy. What did she say? That you would be more wise then, and would probably decide to keep it. Patsy turned impulsively to the boy. Kenneth, she said, I faithfully promise in the presence of these witnesses, to give you Elmhurst and all Aunt Jane's money as soon as I am of age. Good for you, Patsy, said Uncle John. The boy seemed bewildered. I don't want the money. Really I don't, he protested. The five thousand she left me will be enough, but I'd like to live here at Elmhurst for a time, until it's sold, or someone else comes to live in the house. It's yours, said Patsy, with a grand air. You can live here forever. Mr. Watson seemed puzzled. If that is your wish, Miss Patricia, bowing gravely in her direction, I will see that it is carried out. Although I am, in this matter, your executor, I shall defer to your wishes as much as possible. Thank you, she said. And then, after a moment's reflection, she added, Can't you give to Louise and Beth the ten thousand dollars they were to have under the other will, instead of the five thousand each that this one gives them? I will consider that matter, he replied. Perhaps it can be arranged. Patsy's cousins opened their eyes at this, and began to regard her with more friendly glances. To have ten thousand each instead of five would be a very nice thing indeed, and Miss Patricia Doyle had evidently become a young lady whose friendship it would pay to cultivate. If she intended to throw away the inheritance, a portion of it might fall to their share. They were expressing to Patsy their gratitude, when old Donald suddenly appeared in the doorway and beckoned to Uncle John. Will you please come to see James, sir? he asked, the poor fellow's dying. End of Chapter XXI, Recording by Patty Cunningham.