Connecticut western news., 1881-08-03
the estate being ehargeable, of course, with the widows support.

the estate being chargeable, of course, with the widows support.
 Soon it became necessary that Anson should leave home to pursue his educa- tion, and the widow improved the op- portunity to go among her own friends. So, for a season, the old house had a rest.
 When 8 house is shut up, you know how quickly it takes on look of neglect and decay, and so the Henderson house, which had seemed cheerful enough residence when the family were in it, soon began to look goggle-eyed and high-shouldered and mysterious, and l Aunt Sabrina's ghost was reported to | be frequently seen looking out the tall, narrow windows.
 When the heir was twenty-one, he came back to claim his own, bringing with him an article which his guardians and other discreet persons deemed su. perfuous; namely, a wife.
 But Anson was free now-free in law and in fact; he had done with books and teachers, guardians and advisers ; he shook them all off as Samson did the bands of the Philistines. *.
 His course now was plain before him | to find the lost treasure and live like Q gentleman.
 His wife-Mary Flaxham had been her name-was blooming, merry hearted young creature, who fitted about the house like butterfly, and who seemingly took as little thought for the morrow.
 Why should she take thought when she had husband to think for her? A husband whom she revered and trusted as every good wife should, unless she can show reason to the contrary.
 Meanwhile, the place was running down, and Anson did nothing to reclaim it. He neither sowed nor reaped.
 So several years went by; then, one day, as Mary was sitting in her cham Der holding the little Anson third in her lap, her husband came in and sat down beside her with the air of one who has something to disclose, as indeed he had. He did not even speak to the boy as usual, but struck into the midst oi things at once.
 1 s'Mary," said he, 'I can't stand il any longer. I've been thinking of it a good while, and now I've made up my mind"
 s'To what ?" asked Mary.
 ''To find Aunt Sabrina's money"
 ''There's nothing very new in that, J said Mary, laughing gaily; ''at least, in trying to find it.''
 ''No, but there is in the way of doing it," said he.
 l els there? What can it be?" asked she. ..,.-
 ''To pull the house down." said he.
 70 Anson P cried Mary, ''you're jok ing-of course you're joking.' ssNot bit of it-never was more il earnest in my life. You see that cabi net is somewhere in the house; there Ii
 no doubt about that. Aunt Sabrina wal seen to have it the day before she hat her stroke, and she never left the hous, afterwards, till she was carried out" ''So have always heard," said Mary ssThen the cabinet must be here-un
 less she took it into the next world witt her-as no doubt she would if sh could," said Anson.
 "But is it certain that it contained ] treasure ?' asked Mary. } "Certain? As certain as anything is ) You're the first person that ever ques ) tioned it. My father believed it-every
 body believed it; if there was proc } enough to satisfy her contemporaries there's proof enough to satisfy us. Blu , what's the use of arguing question that was settled before you and I wer born ?"
 ) ''Not much, to be sure," said Mary. } 'I should say so. There's nothing s t very strange, either, in a miserly ol woman hiding her money - they'r
 always doing it-and nothing so strang 3 in my looking for it, that you shoul 3 make such ado about it. Think of tn t folks that have been hunting after Capt Kidd's treasure ever s1nce he tucked
 away somewhere hundred years ago c r more."
 , "Has anybody ever found it ?" aske 3 Mary.
 , "No; but they would if there WE ! nothing but one old house in the way.
 "Oh, Anson, spare the old house eo4L 4o | 1. 0 Henderson name-he meant it as hom a for you, and for mother Henderson, an D for this dear child-though he neve @ saw him"-and she kissed the boy o }, her knee. ''He thought you would loy l. it for his sake, as I do, Anson. And s love it for itself, too. There isn't e nook nor 8 corner in it that I don q love. These quaint old window seat n these great chimneys, this oak wail
 scoting, how charming they all scene ,. to me when came here as your wifi g and how charming they are still An ,t such stories as they tell of the colone d your grandfather, and the old Revol1 l. tionary days, and of all the people wi l. have lived and died here I would I to more disturb one brick, or one cla]
 board, than I would disturb the a graves l"
 v. Never in all his married life had Al le son heard his wife make so long speed is before. Never had he heard her in al le way question or oppose his judgmen a and now it seemed to him much as at would if Mary's canary had undertake or to advise the barn. yard fowls about the