Ottumwa semi-weekly courier. [volume] (Ottumwa, Iowa) 1899-1903, 1900-03-08
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I. BY JEAMMETTE q. WA9W@RTE. :;
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s. Copyright 1895. H. wa1worth =
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BY JEANRETTE n. WAL WORTH.
COPYRIGHT 1899, BY Jeanette h. walwortA

OAohu, vain UIOW VI lut plCLuTGu lace
it held was bunch of white cosmos
flowers precariously clinging to the
frame of the portrait by twisted stem
or two. Tom touched the flowers with
q skeptc finger. Were they real or a
part OF his troubled fancy? They fell
to the floor at his touch, and from
about the green stems twisted paper
uncoiled in their descent. He stopped
and picked the paper up.
Some one of his many kindly inten-
toned friends had stolen in with fiow-
ers and more empty words of condo
lence, he told himself, and held the pa
per behind his candle. Again that low
suppressed cry of terror from the boys
startled lips!
Whoever had woven that loosely
bound wreath of white cosmos, his
mothers favorite flower, with which to
crown his fathers brow had wrapped
about 1t bit of his fathers own hand
writing, a careless, needless mistake.
Even as he pondered the mystery Of
the cosmos he was greedily reading the
contents of the paper.
1t was only page Of an unfinished
letter, but the date made it precious.
The habits of a lifetime had held good
in the hour of extremity. His father
never failed to date. Only two nights
before that letter had been begun-and
ended-when the pen had dropped
from nerveless hand. And yet, even
as he read, Tom was conscious of a
perplexing discrepancy. Els guardian
had said no letter had been written to
him.
But thoughts Of his guardian were
violently showed aside. This letter,
unfinished, but riceless-where had it
come from? He read and reread it
standing there before his fathers pic
ture, unconsciously crushing the for
gotten cosmos under his feet:
My boy, soon to be my lonely boy,
the last of the Broxtons, I have prayed
very earnestly to be permitted to stay
until you reached my bedside, but the
sands are running out of my glass too
rapidly. Let me try to write what l
may not be permitted to say.
My son, I am leaving you in
perilous condition-young, uniformed,
the possessor Of accumulating wealth,
which means accommodating tempta-
tons and responsibilities.
II have desired for you practical
rather than classical education. I
anticipated, being vigorous man and
not burdened with years, that l should
be in the flesh when you came to the
time Of life demanding a parental in
terest in your affairs have looked
forward to many years of good COM
radeship with my boy. Heaven has
decreed otherwise.
II must condense into paragraph
what had hoped to distill into your
young mind through many years of
happy and loving intercourse. Use
your wealth. Do not let it misuse you.
Remember that riches take fight often
In the most unforeseen fashion. can
at this time. foresee no contingency
that would reduce you to the estate of
poor man; but, should such a catas-
trophe befall, God grant that your
brains and your hands may prove good
substitutes for lands and stocks. Dur
ing your minority your affairs will be
managed by my lifelong friend, Hor-i
ace Matthews, in whose business ca
pacity have great confidence. But no
man should yield blindly to the guild,
ance Of another. Bear in mind that
your responsibilities are your own, to
be shouldered, not shirked, to be borne
by no one but yourself.
Il desire you on the day of your ma
jority to take the management Of your
affairs into your own hands, subject,
of course, to advice from your ex-
guardian. You will owe it to yourself
to obtain clear insight into the man.
agement Of affairs during your minori-
ty. No honest steward will object to
this accounting. AS for your guardian,
while trust him implicitly-I'-
Tom turned the paper over impa-
tiently. Surely there must be some
thing more. Not an added syllable!
Where had this unfinished letter, SO
precious and SO all important, been
found? Who had conveyed it to his
hands?
He had himself searched every draw
err and every compartment of his fa-,
theirs desk and found nothing. He had
questioned Mr.. Matthews with queru-
lous insistence, only to be assured by
him that his father had left nothing
for him personally in writing, and yet
here, twisted ruthlessly about the
stems of flowers which came no one
knew whence, were his fathers last,
most precious utterances of advice and
love.
He folded the piece Of twisted paper
into proper shape and laid it away in
nm inner pocket of his waistcoat. The
flowers which he had crushed under
his heels sent up a sickly fragrance. A
Strong gust of wind set his candle
aflare. 1t guttered and died out sud-
denly, only to add to his sense of shud-
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