Catoctin clarion. [volume] (Mechanicstown, Md.) 1871-1940, 1917-05-10
GID NICK'S LEGACY
BY MABEL S. MERRILL.

Because he is total failure and a
blot on the fair name of q hardwOrk.
ing family, l give and bequeath to my
great-nephew, Nicholas Wye, nothing
but the shop in the orchard and the
contents of the same
Nicholas Wye, better known as Ole
Nick, though he was neither old nor
malicious, sat on the orchard wall and
looked thoughtfully at the little wealth.
er-blackened building which was his
sole share in the goOdly estates be-
longing to the Wye homestead on the
hill. Then he looked down at the
newspaper in his hand with it's black
headline. The editor of the Bowen.
vile Herald had thought old man
Wye's will such humorous document
that he had made front-page story
about Old Nick and his legacy.
Nick crumpled the paper and tried
to cram it into his pocket as light
step came down the road. He knew 1t
was FlOris Hanson coming home from
her labors at the little old schOOlhOuse
down the late. Somehow Nick always
happened to be around somewhere
when Floris came along, although he
seldom ventured to speak to her.
To Nick's surprise, Floris stopped
today and spoke to him. She had
copy of the Herald in her hand and
her eyes were sparkling Indignantly.
"It's shame, Mr.. Wye" she de-
clared. "That editor ought to be pros
ecuted and so had your uncle-oh, no,
I forgot he is dead. Well, anyway, I
-we-all know you're not blot and
a total failure"
"Well, you see, that was Uncle Zeb's
way O. looking at it," explained Nick
worked like time and saved every cent
till l came along. I've had to hunt and
fish and loaf enough to make up for
all they missed"
When Floris had gone on her way,
he got off the wall and gravely in
spected the shop, the only piece OF
property he had ever owned. 1t was
a rough, solid little building, its two
rooms well lighted by big windows,
for Uncle Zeb had used it for paint
shop. 1t was empty save for heap
Of rubbish in one corner.
"NOw, if he'd left me little some
thing to begin the world on, how'd he
know but I'd reform?" unused Mich
olas, pulling over the heap. "HellO,
what's this?"
1t was a substantial key Of white
paint, with smaller one of green
resting atop of it. Old Nick was
humOrist in his way, and his eyes be-
gan to twinkle as he examined this
find.
The next afternoon when Floris
passed she stared in amazement. In
this shady orchard corner, the little
building, painted clean white with a
small stripe of dark green for finish,
looked like the fairy house she had
sometimes seen in her dreams when
her boarding place in the village was
worse than usual. Nick was inside
painting the woodwork. With a wom-
ans interest in beauty and cleanli-
ness, Floris stepped along to the door
and looked in.
"Oh, Mr.. Nicholas" she exclaimed,
you're making it just lovely! Don't
have thing, will you, but the clean
white and green? Why you are an
artist, and you've never let us find it
out"
1t was not long before the fairy
house in the orchard attracted the at
tention of others beside the school
mistress. He built little piazza and
u tiny paint shop out by the wall In
which to keep his pals and brushes
aud other litter. For it was plain now
that the old shop was shop no longer.
Through the clean front window Curl
GUS passers-by could see papered wall
blossoming with half-opened rosebuds
in mist of green leaves.
Every afternoon Nick was waiting to
ask the advice Of the school mistress
about this or that. One day he took
her into his confidence about his plans
for the future--for it developed that
Old Nick had plans for the future at