Wood County reporter. [volume] (Grand Rapids [i.e. Wisconsin Rapids], Wis.) 1857-1923, 1881-02-10
AUNT MARSTON'S LEGACY.


looking at the legacy she had left me
in her will:
"To my beloved niece, Nellie Stan
nope, the faithful nurse, the loving
comforter OF my declining years, l be-
queathe my gold ball earring, with the
brooche to match, marked with my in
itials in black enamel" Thus ran the
passage referring to me.
When my cousin, Lucinda Marston,
handed me the little morocco case, she
could scarcely repress a smile of tri-
umph as she thought of the difference
a few short weeks had made in our rel
alive positions
| had been brought up by aunt Mars
ton, had lived in ease and luxury all
my life, while my cousin had been
obliged for years to earn her own liv-
lug by sewing.
[ had always looked upon Greylands
as my home, while she had never been
invited to spend even week at the de-
Iightful old country house on the Hud-
son since she was child.
And now she had come into posses
sion of the old homestead, and I, the ia
vorite, whom she had hated and envied
for so many years, was put off with this
insignificant bequest.
after all your toadying," she said,
with a sneer, ''it is too bad to be put
off with a shilling; but if Mr.. Lewis, the
other executor, knows anything about
it, they are worth a great many shill-
ings, for he says they are solid eighteen
karat gold, and that Ormulu, who had
them, would give you fifty dollars for
them to-day. However, you are vel
come to them. And now / suppose
you will see the necessity of looking
about for another home"
The bitter, insulting words, the desc
late, deserted feeling at being thus
cruelty turned out of the only home [
knew, Overcame the unnatural calm
ness with which | had hitherto borne
my irreparable loss, and | threw myself
on my bed and wept, as [ never in my
short, happy life thought it possible |
could weep.
| don't know how long it lasted, but
when [ became calm my heart still
ached, but my brain seemed clearer,
and | could look my situation in the
face
| was no sycophant; | knew that
well, for | loved my aunt dearly, and
had always given her a daughters viii
ling devotion, without one thought be-
You'd the present; [ even told Charlie
Burnett, to whom | was engaged, with
her consent, and whom [ loved with all
my heart, that "we'd better bide a
wee for l could not leave my second
mother to spend her last days alone, OF
cared for by hirelings.
Aunt Eunice had often said to me,
" You and Charlie will not have to wait
long, dear child and [ will see that
your future is provided for" l did not
care for myself, but I felt so disap-
pointed for his sake, when | found that
| was left absolutely penniless.
think now, rs / looked back, that
after she became paralyzed she wanted
to say something to me about it; for as
she lay there so white. and still, almost
like Il piece of statuary, the muscles
about her lips would twitch as if trying
to form words, and the ever restless
eyes would turn on me with an earnest,
appealing look, like the yearning, pitt
full expression of dumb animal trying
to make its suffering understood.
But she died and made no sign, and
now Charlie must plod along in the old
way, and [ must try to earn my own
living, for | had made up my mind
that would never be an additional
burden on the poor fellow.
l threw down the Jewel case with a
sigh of disappointment as l thought it
all over, and then ashamed of myself,
took it up again and kissed the we'll
known trinkets, in fact the only ones
my aunt ever wore, and put them ten
DERBY away among my other treasures
her gifts and Charlie's-in the trunk
| was packing.
Alas, for the frailty of human resolu-
tons. Charlie would not hear of my
earning my own living, and though he
did not exactly threaten to commit
suicide if | refused, he looked so
stterly miserable and forlorn that
was forced to reconsider my de-
2isiOn.