Democratic Northwest. [volume] (Napoleon, Ohio) 1869-1894, 1881-08-18

remember that n is better TO know the people
10 whom you give your money, but that is not
always feasible. Think kindly Of me, and To
please me keep things ~ much as pn's bic In
order In which I leave them. | shall like 20 pic
ture you living in the dear old places, and 20
know that all is lpoking as Il used to do. l do
not know that this power is granted 10 us after
death but Il may be. Especially remember me
on the day we mct-the 18th Of June. And now
farewell Always act up TO what you think Is
right. This is the last letter shall ever write.
God bless you. child, and grant this be for your
happincss-if II be not, IL is Ut any rate the last
mistake made by your friend
"HUGH KESRICK."
Lucy and Aunt Esther were reading
this letter for the hundredth time during
the last four or FIVE weeks. Lucy's eyes
were full of tears. Aunt Esther did not
see them.
She said as she always said when she
read it "what very odd ideas the poor
dear gentleman had" and then, as Lucy
did not make any reply, she added. "But
then, you see, if he had been like all the
rest of the world he would not have left
what he had to you."
"What kind ideas he hadw said Lucy,
never thought of it before; but do you see
why he. tells me to take lessons and read
so much2"
ITO improve your mind, my love-" re-
piled Aunt Esther, sententiously.
partly, no doubt, but more for the sake
of preventing my wasting time in useless
thoughts. Don't you see that he had
heard of what was likely to happen
at Litchfeld. and that he wanted me to
work hard that might forget it the soon
err He tells me TO think kindly on him
the 18th of June. think most kindly of
him every hour of my life"
sand Lucy" said Aunt Esther, coming
nearer to her and watching her very close
ly, "what about Mr.. Merivalel l hope
you are forgetting him."
Lucy shook her head.
"Are you happy, dear!"
Mot about that yet. Don't let us talk
of it."
Aunt Esther had known that she could
receive no other answer. She saw how
very unhappy the poor child was and
how bravely she struggled to be herself
again.
Lucy had seen her future home, and
many IL time she fingered her own little
collection of books, and hoped the books
in Chester Square would not treat them
with too great contempt. She had seen
Mr.. Kenrick's books. They were in a
great big library, in stately bookcases
which hid every bit of the walls, and shut
in the wire-latticed doors. They were
bound in Russian leather, or materials
which the most alarming housekeeper
told her were known as mottled calf and
tree calf or velum-very stiff, solid, and
untakedownahle they looked. "Never
mind," said Lucy, when she thought
of them, "1'll read you most faithfully
two hours daily, and III try to buy you
some companions likely to be agreeable to
YOU"
So much for the books; but when she
thought of Mrs. Lishman, the house.
keeper, and Mr.. Sargill, the butler, she
was terrified, for she did not see how by
any effort of mind or will she could make
herself acceptable to them. Both were
old, dressed as stiffiy and as handsomely
as the books; both were full of old fash
ioned observances, and both evidently had
their opinions fully formed on every sub
ject, t,-
Then. came the departure from High
gate, and the last walk around the little
garden, three times as big as the drawing
room, where the flowers would not grow
properly. Lucy had a conservatory in
Chester Square, which the gardener filled
weekly with flowers, whose bright BIOS
SONS were crushed against the glass that
the passers-by might see what blaze of
flowers there was in that house-a wealth
OF which those living within were for the
most part unaware-for he only treated
them to back prospect.