The weekly register. [volume] (Point Pleasant, Va. [W. Va.]) 1862-1909, 1881-07-27
UNCLE A1ALACHrs MONEY.


1t was the third of May, a brilliant
spring day, with the jonquils and
daffodils all in blossom, the great
white peonies, bursting like balls Of
snow through their green calyxes
and the grass on the upland pastures
as soft and delieately.tinted as velvet;
and even poor Mrs. Crofton, wearied
and overworked though she was, felt
something of the sweet spring inau.
ences pass into her soul, as she stood
on the door-sill, buttering a bake.
pan for the Saturday loaf of raisin'
cake.
ats lovely dayl" said Mrs. Crof
ton. "And somehow the smell Of
them daffydowndillies reminds me Of
when l was girl. Dear, dear! how
time flies, to.be.sure! But there's q
touch of chill in the air, all the same
and I doubt if it's safe for Uncle Ma.
lachi to sit out much longer"
And she went, bake-pan and all
around the corner of the house, 10 the
paved space in front of the south
wing, where, in wooden armchair
sat little old man, yellow faced and
wrinkled, with one.sided wig pnll.
ed over his left eye, patchwork.
covered pillow at his back, and a
woolen blanket wrapped around'him,
"You'd betterl let me wheel you in,
Uncle Malachi" said she, listlessly,
cts getting sort Of chilly, as the
sun shifts round to the other side Of
the house; and you've been out here
a good hour"
81 won't goin!" said Uncle Malachi,
pettishly. "It's pleasant here, and
Pm peaceable and content. It's the
strangest thing l ever saw 'thft pe6-
pie can't be satisfied to let me alone.
Miles Larkens' son vas here not ten
minutes ago, chattering and cack-
ling about the weather. What bust.
ness of his is the weather? And why
the old cat can't he let me alone?-
Does he s'pose | don't know he's art,
er the little bit Of money may leave2
BAIL" with a movement of disgust.
81 can tell 'em all they won't get a
cent Of it''
Mrs. Crofton's dim eyes lighted up
with a gleam of excitement.
"Uncle Malachi" said she, chow
much money have you got, anyhow
The old man screwed up his with.
cred features, like an attenuated
monkey.
"Ah-h.h!" said he; "don't you wish
you knew. No, nor you WON'T Pr.
APPS it's fifty cents-p'raps it's fifty
dollars. Anyhow it's nobody's bust
ness but mine. Nettie will have it
/ shall tell Nettie where it is, some
day. But not yet-no, no, not yeti"
won't you let me wheel your
chair in, Uncle Malachi?" persisted
Mrs. Crofton.
"No," snarled the old man, ~
won't"
Mrs. Crofton was quite used to thi.
sort OF rebuff, and took no notice O
it; she only went back 10 her kitchen
with a sigh.
Ten years ago, she and her hus
band had given up their homestead
to come and take care Of Uncle Nal
achi Miller, who was supposed, then
to be dying Of old age.
"Whatever I have will be your
when I'm gone," said the old man
"and it won't be long!"
But Uncle Malachi's words provet
incorrect. The years passed by
Mrs. Crofton wore herself out in tax
ing care of him; Mr.. Crofton grew
bent and old trying to grind a livinl
outof the stony fields and melauchol,
swamps of the Miller farm; and Net
tie, the tall, blooming daughter, at
tempted to exc out the family fund
by her slender salary as a schoo
teacher; and Uncle Malachi sat o,
the old stone pavement in the sun
shine, muttering TO himself, an
: seeming to take no heed of the QUITE