The Wheeling daily intelligencer. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1865-1903, 1879-08-30
MY AUNT's WILL.

finishing touches to her toilet, while 1 i'm
patiently awaited her.
Ten minutes afterward there Is a crasl
and a Shrek overhead. l fly up, four step
at a time, to find Nell lying on the foo
beneath the ruins OF a wardrobe, which
she has somehow managed to pull owe
upon herself. The wardrobe is in such
state Of universal smash that 1t Is yer,
easy to clear away the wreck and raist
Nell in my arms. She opens her eyes al
l lay her upon her bed, and asks, family:
what is 1t? Has the world come to al
end?"
"Not just YETI reply; "but what have
you been doing?"
Then her senses come back to her, and
she raises herself upon her right elbow.
81 remember now. The door stuck, and
was in a hurry, and tried to Jerk It open,
Then the whole thing seemed to Jump al
me, and l was so frightened that l
screamed, and, l suppose, tainted. I'm
all right now, though, and there's moth.
ing to hinder our starting"
Look at your dress" Is my only reply.
Nell looks and nearly faints again: for
the lovely dress is soiled and torn beyond
all hope Of restoration.
sit Is better for your dress 10 be torn
than for your bones to be broken" l say,
consolingly, but Nell shakes her head In
dubious dissent.
"Bones will grow together again but
clothes WON'T" she says, r~uef1lly. III
you only knew the time and thought
have spent on that dress, Cyril. It was
made out of three old ones, and cost abso.
lutely nothing, except time and pains; vet
1t was fresh, and pretty, and becoming,
And my hat matched It precisely-straw-
color and blue, you see; and 0hn cries
Nell, as she catches sight Of herself in The
in the glass.
at is hopeless signs Nell; and lust
then the whistle sounds, and we realize
that the last chance OF the picnic is over,
THE end Of an unlucky day" says Nell,
as the sun touches the horizon.
1t is not quite the end, though, for the
evening mail is still to come in. It brings
a paper for me and q letter for Nell, both
Of which bear the same postmark. open
the paper, while Nell is still studying The
direction OF her letter, after the n Of
all OF US. The first thing upon which nv
eye falls is q paragraph around which
some careful hand has drawn broad black
lines.
Aunt Jane is dead!' l exclaim: and
then, as l look at the date OF the paper, l
add, Buried too, by this time
Nell looks up with a start.
Aunt Jane! she cries. tAnd nv letter
is fromsFanny Blatchford, who lives next
door to her.
She studies the directions no longer, but
tears the letter hastily open.
Just what we might expect, coming on
this day. she says at last. Say what you
will, Cyril, it Is an unlucky day.
More than unlucky if your letter o n
tains the news that | suppose it does,' l
say, gloomily.
How the dim years stretch away before
me as I speak-the years that it will take
Dr.. CASTOR to build up his practice and
the years that it will take me to build M
minei and all the time the dear little giri.
OF whom Nell knows nothing, waiting
patiently in the shadows of the old New
England hills! | wrench myself away
from such thoughts with an effort, and
listen to what Nell has to say.
Isn't it a shame?' she is saying, when |
come to myself. If We never loved Aunt
Jane, 1t was becoming she never'paye us
q chance; and If she Meyer cared anything
for us, at least we were her only living
relations. We could hardly have expect.
ed her to remember us in her will, I sup
posei but the least she could have done.
for the credit Of the family, was to die
without one. Then we should have had
it in the course OF nature and law. But
10 go and leave it all to this man.
what MANI" | ask, for, as 1 have said.
my, thoughts have been wandering while
Nell talked.
II don't know" Nell says, consulting
her letter again. Fanny does not men.
ton his name; perhaps she did not know
it. They say that your aunt, Miss Rum.
sey, has left all her money to the son Of q
man whom she fitted when she wa Young.
No doubt she flattered herself that It was
q touch Of poetic justice but l must say
think the plain prosaic Justice OF leayingit
to her relations would have been nearer the
right thing OF course tits all left TO some
CrGsus, 10 whom 1t will be but a dropi in
the bucket" says Nellie bitterly. "Thafa
the way things always go in this world,
while we Oh, Cyril, why don't O say
something. Int It too bad, and tnn'tthis
an qnlucky dayT
u suppose it is" I say, modify. ~
confess | cannot see how we are to find
any good in this"
|. We spend our evening gloomily enough
in spite Of our efforts To cheer up and for.
get. I read a little to Nell from dear old
Elta, and we try a game OF cribbage, O
which Nell soon tires. Anime o'clock We
bid each other goodnight in sheer despair
We are q little more cheerful over the
breakfast table. Things cannot look quite
so bad by the mornings light as they did
in the evenings shadows.
Bridget Is bringing in the hot cakes in
installments, and as she sets the plate con,
tanning the third batch upon the table
we notice that she is looking at US curl
ously. Evidently she would iain speak
but respect restraints her tongue"
What Is it, Bridget?" Nell asks, kind
Then-the Irish tongue breaks bounds
"sure, miss" she cries, ''an' haven't vel
heardP An wasn't 1t a blessid thing in
tirely that ye tore yer dress an cudn't II
to this picntc-bad cess to it and It's like
The milkman was Just after tellin' me al
about It. livery wan O. thim!-niyer !,
wan saved thepurty dears! Och, wirra
wirra."
Bridget is on the point of breaking int,
a genuine Irish howl, but Nell's words
quick and eager, nip tin the bud: "Wha
do you mean, BridgetP-what have yol
heardW =
Budgets tale is not easy to understand
diversified as II is by comments, and en-
bellished with i%nterjections. BY dint q
painful and skillful questionings, however
we elicit the truth at last. That trutl
concerns the picnic to which but for Nell
accident We should have gone. This pit
mic was gotten up by a small marty {