Crawford avalanche. (Grayling, Mich.) 1879-19??, 1891-03-26

friends, and at last he took to his bed.
nursed him tenderly.
one day. as sat beside him, be said,
more gently than usual
ssBessy. YOU will be rich woman very
soon. Ali l have is left TO you. have
heard OF my son. The unfilial and un-
natural boy has not prospered. He is In
need, / believe. am sorry"
sunk on my knees and implored him
to send for Kenneth, to forgive him, to
embrace him once more.
she is your natural heir, said. 81
hope you may live many years. But pray
alter your will. Give him your blessing,
and forgiveness, and his portion. You
will be glad when you have done it,
glad whether you live or die"
He shook his head.
"Neither will give him." he said.
"And have made my last testament so
carefully that you cannot help him, as
no doubt you would. Anything you at
tempt to bestow on him you will only
lose yourself. He shall live to regret his
disobediencc and ingratitude to good
father"
Then no fell into rage that was, 1
believe, his death warrant, for he died
that night. / was alone with him. /
had sent for the doctor, but he had not
come.
When all was over 1 kissed him, and
said aloud:
IF your spirit is aware Of what do,
il will thank me for it. / cannot take
my cousin KeLneth's fortune"
Then opened the desk where private
| ha xuilI
| glanced over it and saw that it indeed
gave everything to me, with the proviso
that should, under no circumstances,
aid my cousin, and folding it again
thrust it deep into the heart of the CRATE
| fire, and watched the flames consume
| il.
"You will be glad, dear uncle" 1
said, 'when soul has triumphed over the
body, and you know how anger warped
| your mind"
At that instant feet flew up the stairs,
and the doctor, followed by the servant
1 had sent for him, entered the room.
After the funeral packed my small
belongings, put into my purse the money
which my uncle's generosity aud my
natural economy had made my own, and
left the house.
l had seen my cousin in the great
drawing-room in which we assembled.
He was thin and wan, and did not look
toward me. In common with everybody
else, he still believed himself disinher-
tied, and l resolved that he should al
ways believe that his father had relented
and destroyed the will.
had made all my plans for leaving
tho fOuvu and o0nn found oifnofinn oo
teacher of a country school many miles
away.
Through friend heard that Kenneth
had come into the property, and that
everyone felt that my uncle had done
well in forgiving his son, and the popular
opinion was that he would have left me
something had not death come to him so
suddenly.
was not happy in my new position.
did not fill the place well. / had no
proclivity for teaching, and I had been
too long used to being petted and cared
for to take kindly to the hard life of a
country school-teacher, but never once
did regret what had done.
Shame would have been mine il had
taken Kenneth's fortune-grief if he had
been in need, and / unable to help him !;
for though he had forgotten me so easily
/ still loved him fondly. and always
should, knew. Even though / should
one day hear that he had chosen another
for his wife, could still give him a
sisters tenderness while life lasted.
The winter passed, spring came. The
grass that grew about the rustic school
house was fecked with golden dande-
lions, when one day, just as my last
scholar passed out at the door, shadow
fell across the floor, and looking up L
saw my cousin Kenneth.
"Cousin Bessy," he said, advancing
and holding out his hand, 81 have had
long search for you. Why did you
hide yourself away? / am sure my
father did not mean to forget you.
know he would be anxious to see that
you had a share of what he left. You
were daughter to him. / have come
to talk to you of that" he said politely,
but coldly; no trace of the lover re-
manned in his manner.
The man I had promised to marry,
whose betrothal ring ! yet wore, spoke
to me of money and money only in this
our first hour of meeting.
My pride arose, l drew myself to my
full height-not Il great one to be sure.
cousin Kenneth, said, "thank you
very much. know my uncle intended
to remember me, but since fate inter-
fered, the matter is settled"
1T is my duty to protest." he said.
81 am merely acting as my fathers sub
stitute. Paying his debts, remember,
not mine, and his fortune was very large"
His manner was as cold as ice as he
stood there measuring his words, and
looking away from the woman who
loved him so, who longed to cast herself
into his arms and cry:
"Oh, thank Heaven, we meet once
morew
My heart ached, my brain throbbed.
twill not accept charity" cried in
my grief and wrath, Il will accept it
from no one, least of all from goa. 1
can earn my bread"
And Irejoiced that, though he did not
dream il and never shall. he owed all
that large fortune" of which he spoke
to me.
Now suddenly his face changed.
"Bessy," he said, "how strange that
I once thought you had tender heart!
/ was disabuscd of that when you sent
me back my letters and told me through
the pen of another that you despised
me too much to wish to hear from me
again.
| stared at him astonished.
~ never received n lettcrw ! cried.
81 wondered that you did not care to
| write but t"