Aunt Jane's Nieces
No one minded James much, for all the inmates of Elhurst 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
realization 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.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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