The $30,000 Bequest, and Other Stories Read online

  CHAPTER V

  After a little, both aunts were laboring upon a difficult and bafflingwork in Helen's chamber. Patiently and earnestly, with their stiff oldfingers, they were trying to forge the required note. They made failureafter failure, but they improved little by little all the time. Thepity of it all, the pathetic humor of it, there was none to see; theythemselves were unconscious of it. Often their tears fell upon the notesand spoiled them; sometimes a single misformed word made a note riskywhich could have been ventured but for that; but at last Hannah producedone whose script was a good enough imitation of Helen's to pass any buta suspicious eye, and bountifully enriched it with the petting phrasesand loving nicknames that had been familiar on the child's lips from hernursery days. She carried it to the mother, who took it with avidity,and kissed it, and fondled it, reading its precious words over and overagain, and dwelling with deep contentment upon its closing paragraph:

  "Mousie darling, if I could only see you, and kiss your eyes, and feelyour arms about me! I am so glad my practicing does not disturb you. Getwell soon. Everybody is good to me, but I am so lonesome without you,dear mamma."

  "The poor child, I know just how she feels. She cannot be quite happywithout me; and I--oh, I live in the light of her eyes! Tell her shemust practice all she pleases; and, Aunt Hannah--tell her I can't hearthe piano this far, nor her dear voice when she sings: God knows I wishI could. No one knows how sweet that voice is to me; and to think--someday it will be silent! What are you crying for?"

  "Only because--because--it was just a memory. When I came away she wassinging, 'Loch Lomond.' The pathos of it! It always moves me so when shesings that."

  "And me, too. How heartbreakingly beautiful it is when some youthfulsorrow is brooding in her breast and she sings it for the mystic healingit brings.... Aunt Hannah?"

  "Dear Margaret?"

  "I am very ill. Sometimes it comes over me that I shall never hear thatdear voice again."

  "Oh, don't--don't, Margaret! I can't bear it!"

  Margaret was moved and distressed, and said, gently:

  "There--there--let me put my arms around you. Don't cry. There--put yourcheek to mine. Be comforted. I wish to live. I will live if I can. Ah,what could she do without me!... Does she often speak of me?--but I knowshe does."

  "Oh, all the time--all the time!"

  "My sweet child! She wrote the note the moment she came home?"

  "Yes--the first moment. She would not wait to take off her things."

  "I knew it. It is her dear, impulsive, affectionate way. I knew itwithout asking, but I wanted to hear you say it. The petted wife knowsshe is loved, but she makes her husband tell her so every day, just forthe joy of hearing it.... She used the pen this time. That is better;the pencil-marks could rub out, and I should grieve for that. Did yousuggest that she use the pen?"

  "Y--no--she--it was her own idea."

  The mother looked her pleasure, and said:

  "I was hoping you would say that. There was never such a dear andthoughtful child!... Aunt Hannah?"

  "Dear Margaret?"

  "Go and tell her I think of her all the time, and worship her. Why--youare crying again. Don't be so worried about me, dear; I think there isnothing to fear, yet."

  The grieving messenger carried her message, and piously delivered itto unheeding ears. The girl babbled on unaware; looking up at her withwondering and startled eyes flaming with fever, eyes in which was nolight of recognition:

  "Are you--no, you are not my mother. I want her--oh, I want her! She washere a minute ago--I did not see her go. Will she come? will she comequickly? will she come now?... There are so many houses ... and theyoppress me so... and everything whirls and turns and whirls... oh, myhead, my head!"--and so she wandered on and on, in her pain, flittingfrom one torturing fancy to another, and tossing her arms about in aweary and ceaseless persecution of unrest.

  Poor old Hannah wetted the parched lips and softly stroked the hot brow,murmuring endearing and pitying words, and thanking the Father of allthat the mother was happy and did not know.