The sea coast echo. [volume] (Bay Saint Louis, Miss.) 1892-current, 1892-09-10
AN UNUSUAL LEGACY.
Peter Horace and His Improbable
Speculation.

1t had been for some months a moot
ed question in the little village of Glen.
dale who would fall heir to Aunt Mar
tha Marvale's money when she died.
There were her two nieces, the near
est OF kin, in the first place. One, Miss
bertha Marvale, an amiable young
lady, who was immensely proper and
respectable, and had been very dutiful
In her attendance upon her invalid
aunt. The other, a wee bit of maiden,
with sunny eyes, and short dancing
curls, who taught school for her own
and her mothers support, and did not
seem to mind it at all, she was always
so bright and winsome. She had done
nothing in particular for her aunt ex-
cept to make sunshine in the prim old
rooms by occasional visits, and in a
saucy, inveigling sort of way to get
herself very much liked by the eccen.
trio old lady; it was very hard to see
upon what grounds Miss Dot May
burne based her expectation, so the
neighbors said.
And now the good, queer Miss Martha
Marvalc was dead, and buried with due
solemnity and proper gloom. Soon it
would be known who was the fortunate
possessor of her fabulous weaIth-for
fabulous" 1t had become, under the
busy tongues of interested friends and
acquaintances. To be sure, she had
never made display of riches, and no
one in Glendale had ever seen her
money except in quite meager sums.
But she was known to have been quite
miserly in her habits, and no doubt had
large amounts slowed away in odd
corners.
The lawyer sat at the head of the
room rattling the important document
omlnously. Miss Marvale sat in, the
high-backed chair, looking pale, mel
ancholy and severe in her new and
fashionable mourning dress. Mr.. Peter
Horace, a gentleman who never in his
life had evinced a liking for anything
but money until he met Miss Marvale,
sat attentively near.
Dot Mayburne, in doleful black, re-
clined in the uncompromising recesses
OF the big, stiff old sofa, with sadness
In her pretty face that appealed to
every tender heart in her presence.
Willard Hayes. a young and penniless
physician, and her most devoted ad-
nirer, supported her, fguratively
speaking, of course, on her left. The
deacops of the church sat in decorous
silence, and one or two "oldest inhab-
itants" occupied the spare corners of
the room. The reading began.
After the usual preliIninaries it was
found that all of Martha Marvale's real
estate, moneys and personal property
were left Internationally to her be-
loved niece, Dorothea May burne, ex-
cepting a few insignificant legacies to
church and friends. To Bertha Mar
vale, in consideration of affectionate
attention, she willed her favorite foot
stool. Its many dear associations, the
TACT that she had seen it for years the
support of her aunt's wearied feet.
would endear it to her, and, as she had
often expressed pious contempt for
carnal wealth, she would prize it above
all earthly dross.
The whole fortune was not munifi.
cent one, after all, and even Dot was
not a rich woman, and she could only
open her blue eyes in wonder while
Willard Hayes smiled brightly upon
her and whispered his congratulations.
Miss Marvale's face was buried in her
black-edged handkerchief, and no one
could tell how she was affected. Mr..
Horace's face was picture of blank
dismay. The deacons looked glum, and
said not word. Everybody seemed
inclined to get out Of the way with as
little ceremony as possible, and soon
the cousins were left alone.
II hope, Cousin Bertha, you will al
ways make this house your home" Dot
began, timidly. "You know this is as
great a surprise to me as to you, and,
while am glad of home and COM
forts for mamma, do not want you to
be poor or homeless. Can't we all live
together?"
mo, we can't all live together"