Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1891-11-27
JAMES INHERITANCE.
Ry HELEN FORREST GRAVES.

"Look, Janie-a lawyers letter with
red seal!'
"It's Grandfather Holcombe, Jane.
Your grsndfather-not ours.I is jamie,
who is the heiress, Rody."
The shrill confusion of childish voices
met Jane Talford's ear as she came into
the shabbily furnished breakfast-room,
all ready for school with the solitary ex-
ception of her gloves.
The little bonnet, which she herself
had trimmed with cheap roses, was tied
under her round chin; and the serge
cloak took off something of the chilly
atmosphere of the room, where coal was
carefully economized aud the window
fronted to the north-for Jane was a
teacher in monster grammar school,
where punctuality was one OF the chief
est of virtues.
The four younger Talfords sat around
the table in different stages of bid and
tucker, eating oatmeal and drinking sky
blue milk; and Mrs. Talford-a pale,
sweet faced widow, dressed in rusty
blsck-was vainly endeavoring to keep
ND some semblance of discipline in their
midst.
"Mother," cried Jane, "what on
earth arc they talking about"
The stepmother glanced apOlogetically
UP.
"The letter was addressed to me,
Jane" said she. 81 opened it; and the
chickies are right. Your grandfather up
IN Sullivan County is dead, and has left
YOU farm of ninety acres.
"With house on it, cried Marina
duke. the oatmeal and the words striv-
ing spasmodicalIy in his small throat.
"And two COWS" piped Laura.
"And lots of real woods, with nut
trees and blackberries in 'em" bawled
Roderick.
"And a puppy dog" supplemented
little Roger, all in broad smile.
Two red spots came into James cheek.
She leaned her elbows on the table and
locked vaguely from one to the other.
ssIs it really true1" said she.
"There's the letter." said her step
mother. "Roger, keep your fingers ou t
of the sugar-bowl. Read it yourself,
dear. Laura, if you don't finish your
bread and butter quickly, you'll be late
for school"
"But l never saw my Grandfather HOl-
comb"
II know it, dear. He was very pecu-
liar and he never liked your father"
"Then, cried loyal Jane, 81 don't like
him"
"Nevertheless be has died in his bed,
at the age Of ninety, and all that be has
descends legally to you," added Mrs.
Talford.
ga stony farm and a tumble-down old
housew
"But it's something, Jane. And o
country homel I've always so coveted
it for the children. Marmaduke is grow.
ing so fast, and Laura isn't strong, you
know"
"Then, mother, you shall have it,"
cried Jane, jumping up and running
around to kiss the pale, pleading face.
"We'll go there at once and turn the
children loose in the pastures. You shall
be housekeeper, and I'll spend my sum.
mer vacations there"
"But, Jane, l can't stay there without
youi" urged Mrs. Talford. "It would
be too selfish"
"Selfsh, mother It's the very thing
you need; as for me, I've got to go
around and around in the old treadmill
to accumulate money enough to make a
doctor of Duke and lawyer of Roderick
aud parson of little Roger. Ipromised
papa, you know. The three learned pro-
fessionsl"
"You are the best and noblest girl in
che world, janet" said Mrs. Talford,
her faded eyes brimming over with tears.
How strange and beautiful the old
farmhouse looked, nantled over with
Michigan roses, with the blackbirds
whistling in the apple orchard below and
a persistent bIuejay tapping at the bark
of the old pine tree that shadowed the
porch!
Jane had obtained weeks leave of
absence to see her stepmother and the
children safely settled in their new home,
and she also fell under the spell of this
sylvan wilderness.
She-patted the old horse in the baan,
made friends with the Juno-eyed COWS,
and threw sticks into the river for Ponto
to swim after, greatly to little Rogers
delight.
"Ob, how | should like to stay here
alwaysl' said she. "The city streets
will seem dustier and dirtier than ever,
after these fields Of buttercups and
crowds Of daisiesl And, oh, it is so
lovely to be walked up by the singing OF
birds IN the morning, instead Of the