The Columbia herald. [volume] (Columbia, Tenn.) 18??-1935, 1902-07-04
GRANDMA'S LEGACY.
BY EMMA GARRISON JONES.

grandma, and n had been my ndolt, DelOEs
my marriage, to make her visit every sum
mer-
/ But she was three-seore and ten, and quite
y in6rm, and we had been expecting her death
for months; consequently / was not very
( greatly shocked.
we must go to the funeral, Steve, by all
means" | said, when had shed few nat
ural tears, "and, oh, Steve" l added, sure
/ Is she has remembered US in her will ?
/ Cant tell, Libbie," Steve answered, az
| he buttered his toast; but I'd advise you
not to hope too strongly, lest you be dis
appointed"
i glanced across the table at his pale, tired
face, and my ewes filed with tears. He had
/ TO work so hard, my poor Steve, and ne was
weakly and ailing, and with our united Ell
forts it was almost more than We could do
! to make ends meet. The bills would run
up so fast.
I'VE must do without meat for supper,
/ Steve had said month before, and meat
was banished, and he had only toast and
| tea.
Steve's best coat was out at the elbows,
too. and my one silk was growing shabby
and threadbare. Ii Grandma St. Aubyn
had only left us somethingl
! Steve" | cried, my heart in fiutter,
''she must have remembered mey She used
to be fond of me when | went to Seaview.
Eat your supper, Lib, and don't mind
Grandma St. Aubyn's WILL y laughed Steve.
But the dry toast choked me.
Il can't help thinking of it, Steve,
said. what help to US few hundred
pounds would be-"
Steve laughed and munched his toast.
"You should have a new suit out and
out the first thing, Steve"
Don't count your chickens before they're
Matched, Libbie."
"And baby should have an embroidered
| slip and a pink cap, and we'd get wicker
carriage to ride her in the park, wouldn' t
we, Steve?"
ITO be sure, if we had the money, Lib,
but we haven't"
mo, but grandma wouldn't forget US.
''There's no telling, Lib"
"Steve," / called again, as ! cleared away
the things, I'VE could pay all the back rent,
too, and Id have nice broiled steak for
your supper every night"
"Hush, little woman, and get ready for
bed. and don't bother your brains over
Grandma St. Aubyns will. Wait till you
hear it read. Meanwhile, we are happy
| enough as we are, so let's be content" And
| Steve came around, with baby in his arms,
and kissed me.
| dreamed all night long of Grandma st.
Aubyn's legacy. AT one time it was great
heap of thinking gold, at another 1t was
ropes of shimmering pearls.
Morning came, and we made an early
start for Seaview.
| The oldfashioned house, standing on the
summit of hill that overlooked the sea,
was all closed and silent, and in the musty
| drawing room grandma lay in state.
| Poor grandma! When | saw her placid
! old face and folded hands, | wept in gen.
uine sorrow, forgetful of my own selfish in
| terests.
| The funeral over, we were gathered in the
dusky old library, and there the will was
read.
| The legacies were numerous. hundred
pounds to one and more or less to another;
Seaview to a nephew, the household effects
to a niece, and to myself, Libbie, wife OF
Stephen Holmes, the sum of 20 pounds to
buy a mourning ring, and the old harpsi-
chord which stood in the drawing room.
ooh. Steve, it is cruel" | sobbed, as we
started homeward.
"Never mind, Libbie, he said, eve shall
get along without it.
But it was hard work. Steve got weaker
| as the winter came on; and one stormy
| afternoon they sent him home in carriage.
He had tainted at his desk.
GIVE gone under, Libbie,' he said, with a
sad smile. Poor little wife, what will you
do now?'
"Never mind, Steve" | answered, as
smoothed the pillow and kissed his white
! lips. "I'll manage somehow, only don't you
| worry, dear. ] can sew, you know and the
nights are long, and baby isn't bit of
trouble"
| But, sew as | would, day and night, the
| bills accumulated, and the rent remained
unpaid, the doctors fees and the apothe-
carys bills taking every penny l could earn.
| One bitter winter afternoon, the climax
came. The landlord gave us warning to
leave. We could not occupy the cottage
| longer, unless the rent was paid. In addi'
| ton to this, the butcher and grocer both
sent in their bills.
And Steve was worse
Hell die" the doctor said, "unless you
can take him away to warm climate"
What should do? | couldn't go into the
| chamber where he lay, lest he should read
| the trouble in my face. So | went into our
little parlor, and, throwing myself on the
lounge, sobbed as if my heart would break.
Baby crept in after me, and fell to finger
ing at the old harpsichord.
We had brought it home from Seavew, or
| rather Steve had, for | insisted that we
should have nothing to do with it.
"No, no, Lib he said; cts grandma .
gift, and she's in her grave now"
1t stood in one corner of our little parlor,
gaunt and ancient as grandma herself.
1t was baby's supreme delight to finger
| the rusty wires. She fell to work now, run.
| ming her chubby hands over them.
Don't 90 kye, nanny, and Blossy pay
90 song" she lisped. But took no heed.
With the sure prospect of Stoves death be-
| fore me, my heart seemed breaking.
Blossy twanged the wires, and the win.
| ter storm howled without, and | wept in
my helpless woe.
Presently great crash and shrill shrek
from Blossy startled me to my feet. The
whole front had given way, and there stood
Blossy like a ghost.
"Please, mamma, don't scold Blossy," she
| ALTERED; "she only tried to climb up"
/ did not answer, for something caught
a,n A eanda1wood hny 1on1 nd M,