"STAR" TALES.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 9222, 29 April 1908, Page 4

"STAR" TALES.

UNCLE DAVE^S LEGACY. (fly CHARLES RICHARD DODGE.) For nearly thirty years. David Powers had driven the .stage coach between Mills Junction and tho pretty Tillage of Brookland in the New Hampshire hills. Everybody loveo. " Uncle Dave." Ho was as big-heart-ed aa lie was broad shouldered, and his sunny disposition made him hosts of friehos everywhere. As a townsman he had lived his life honestly and simply; endeavouring always to follow the precept, of the Golden Rule, and he Aad prospered. Having reached the age of sixty , years, he wae now contemplating selling out the stage line^ which included the express business and tho freight teaming of the town of Brookland, and retiring to spend the remainder of his days in peace and tranquillity on a little farm that he owned at the edge of tne village. Returning from the lower end of the town one day, after the mail had been distributed, the postmaster placed in his hands a. long white envelope Glancing at the superscription suspiciously, and noting tlie name of .a New York law firm in the comer — for the receipt of such a letter was unusual — the smile of good nature vanished from his features; he thrust it into his pockets, and mounting to the box, drove rapidly home. Then, after caring for the four houses, and backing the 6tage into the shed, he entered the kitchen and sat down by the window that he might quietly acquaint himself with its contents. It was a lengthy communication. Reading slowly down the firet page, he suddenly caught his breath, and when be had gone carefully over the two sheets he laid the letter aside, and cased dreamily out of the window. " "What's the matter. David?" Mrs Powers asked, noting his abstraction. "I hope you haven't had any bad news. At the sound of the woman's voice the man turned his head, and for an instant stared at her helplessly ; then coming to himself lie said, " I felt so fcind o 5 dazed, Ellen, I forgot you wae in the room. It took my breath away complete for a minit." "What is it, David?" the wife asked in alarm. "Is anybody dead? You frightened me." "Yes, Ellen, Cyrus King is dead, though I don't believe you remember him; but that ain't what upsot_ me. The letter cays he's left me a million dollars.". "Da-vid Powers! Have you lost your _ensee?" She seized the paper with .trembling fingers, and with straining eyes j>erused the typewritten page, while the man drummed idly upon the window sill and gazed at the line of purple hills cutting against" the distant horizon. The information contained in the letter may be briefly stated as follows: — • An item in the will of Cyrus King, lately deceased, bequeath- to David Powers,, of BrooHand, N.H., as a token of love and esteem 'for ..the friend of his, youth, specified real estate, located in New York City, to the value »i one million dollars. By the proviso tii the will, however, it is made obligatory upon, the recipient of the legacy to take up a residenj.e in the city of New York, and to identify himself with the property interest involved, in order that his example of integrity and worth may be of benefit to his fellowjnen." It is also provided that in {Case ( the said David Powers haa not Burvived the testator ; or, if living, he does not accept the legacy, the bequest shall be employed for certain charitable objects duly set forth in another Bection of the instrument. _ It was stated that the late Cyrus King had left * fortune of ten millions of dollars. Before Ellen Powers had finished the first page, she found it necessary to drop into the little sewing-rocker, and to rub her spectacles with the corner of her apron, although the glasses deemed quite clean. "The Lord bless my soul!" she exclaimed, when she had finished the reading. "What does it mean?" As she folded the sheets and carefully returned them, to the envelope, an idea oociirred' to her. "Is there any trick about it, Dave? D'you s'pose it's a new way to get money out of country folks?" The old man turned from the window, resting his blue eyes upon his companion. "I guess it's all true, Ellen, b'cause it's just like Cyrus King. We were same as two brothers when we were boys; he was allers tellin' me what he was goin' ter do when he become a. man; 'n' how he was goin' down t' New York to make his fortin'. It's ten years sence I last heard f'm him, 'n' then he wanted me t' sell out th' stage line 'n' come t' th' city, 'n' he said he cd start me in a payin' business that'd make me independent. , But I knew he had a college edication, fer he went 't Dartmouth when be left the 'cademy, 'n' I didn't, 'n' that made all th' difference. So I refused his offer, j "But jest think of it, mother! Think of a man makin' ten million dollars in forty years! When I was a boy, anybody that had ten thousand was a rich, man. An' to think that Cyrus King's died, 'n' left me a million ! The -deers so big it staggers me. A million dollars! A million dollars !" he exclaimed excitedly. " Why, a million I dollars'd buy the whole town o' Brook- ; land 'n' everybody in it two or three times over." The old man from his chair, and with hands' clasped behind him, nervously paced the kitchen floor. "A body oould do a power o' good in the world with a million dollars." the woman reflected. " They say charity begins at home." " What ye thinkin' about, mother?" " I was thinkin' you can give Jed Crocker the stage line now. Jed's been mighty faithful th 6 ten years, hes worked fer you; he knows all about the business, and people like him." " Easy cum, easy go," Uncle Dave replied, pausing in his walk and meeting hie wife's gaze. " It'd be the sp ilin' of him. Better sell it to him on easy terms, 'n' let him keep his selfrespect. Ye don't git somethin' fer nothin* in this world." , "Then there's th' town li-bra-ry," Mrs Powers went on. "That little back room in the town hall's no place for it, and' lots o' folks won't go there to get books in cold weather. You could buy that piece o' ground o' Nick Hart's next the post office, Dave, an' you oould afford to put as much as ten thousand dollars into a nice buildin', an' have your name in gold letters over the front door. Penelope Ridgway only gets fifty cents a night, two nights in the week,- as librarian, but you could give her five dollars a week and have it open every evenin'." "I'd like t' do soniethin' fer religion fust," the stage driver remarked as he resumed hie/ walk. " The meetin' bonne needs new carpets, V the pew cushions are thinner 'n' the piety of some folks Icd name. Then it 'd be a real object of charity ter build a new line o' hoss sheds back o' th' meetin' house. Them old sheds ha' been there as long's I've been drivin' stage, 'n' they're a disgrace t' th' town. But, Good txwd ! Ellen, what fools we be a-spendin' money b'fore we get it; 'n' here. I'm a-wastin' time in th' house when there's work t' be done, 'n' the afternoon half gone." Uncle Dave put on his hat and started for the barn. There were two sets of carriage , harness to be cleaned and oiled, but he. found it up-hill work.

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and when Jed drove in a little later, lie turned the job over to the hostler. He fussed around the barn for half an hour or so, but his heart was not in his work, and presently he returned to the kitchen. " David, I'vo been thinking about that part o' the will that says we'll have to go down t' New York t' live," Mrs Powers remarked as he entered. '•' If you go t' New York, you'll have t' dress up ; you'll have to wear your Sunday clo's every day." " Yes, mother, I've been a-thinkin' about that, V you'll haf t' hey a lot o' new close tew — as much as two hundred dollars' wuth, mebby. But ye won't, hey' t' work so hard,V that'll be ono comfort. I've been a thinkin', p'raps, if we c'n git a little place nigh t' town, where there's a barn, we c'n take Ruby V Old Billy along with us. I j b'lie'x. I'd die if I couldn't hey' hosses t' fuss over." " When you goin' to write 'em about the money, David? I s'pose they'll be expectin' t' hear f'm you soon, an' mebby you'll have t' go down to New York to sign the papers. There'll be papers t' sign, won't they?" Uncle Dave passed a sleepless night. As he had remarked, it was a " big idee "- ; so big with the possibilities and obligations pointing in so many directions, that the more he pondered it, the bigger it grew. When, towards morning, he fell asleep, his slumber was so disturbed by unpleasant dreams that he awoke at dawn more tired than when he went to bed. " I guess Jed' ll hey' to drive the stage t'day," he remarked to "Mrs Powers while dressing. " Somehow er nuther I feel all tuckered out, a-layin' awake an' a-thinkin' about that pesky will matter." " You'll write them lawyers to-day, David?" "Mebby. P'raps I'll feel a leetle smarter when I've had m' coffee. I wisht ye'd make some flap-jacks this mornin', "Ellen. We won't git any more o' them good flap-jack 3 when we go t' New York to live ; 'n' there won't be no more biled dinners, ncr fried salt pork 'n' apples. I, tell ye, we'll miss the good things you c'n cook, Ellen." " Land sakes I Dave Powers I Can't I fuss in my own kitchen if I want to? I'd like to know what's to bender. There ain't no law 'gainst a woman "cookin' for herself in New York, is they ? You forget that when city folk come up here they're forever a-talkin' about fresh eggs, an' vegetables, an' the healthy cookin' they get 'n th' country, an' if they can eat it up here, we can eat it down there." "But they're only common city folks," the stage driver explained. "Them that's wuth a million dollars live different." " Heavens an' earth ! What do millionaires eat, anyhow, Dave, I'd like to know." " Durned if I c'n tell ye, mother. I seen a list once't. but it was all in French lingo, 'n' it didn't look hearty." After breakfast the stage driver took old Billy to the blacksmith to have a • loose shoe set. Lem. Jewett glance:! at the burly figure as it darkened the < doorway, and he perceived that something was wrong. " 'Mornin', Uncle Dave ! You look 1 kind o' tuckered. Ain't ye feelin' good to-day?" \ • , " Oh, I'm managin' ter crawl about, 1 Lem, but I ain't s' young as you be. I'm thinkin' o' retirih' soon's I c'n sell - out the stage line." i "Waal, I'd do it all-fired soon, if I was you. What you want's a good ' long rest, 'n' ye've earnt it, if any man ] in Brookland has, yqu've got enough ( to live on the balance o' your days, and ' there won't be nothin' to worry about. D'ye ever stop to think, Uncle Davej : what a devil of a lot o' worry them " high finance fellers down t' New York must hev 3 ? By Gorry! they ain't in '• it with you." It seemed to Uncle David that the day would never draw to a close. He had been like a fish out of water since day light, and when it came to light i the lamps, he simply gave up and went ■ to bed. He passed another restless ; night, and in the morning felt so much worse that he decided to lie until after breakfast. About the middle of the forenoon, as he was no better, Mrs Powers sent for old Doctor Besset. The stage driver was considerably put out when he learned that the doctor was coming, and calling his wife to his bedside, he cautioned her to say nothing about the legacy. " If Doc. Besset knew we had all that money," he explained, "he'd be sure ter charge ten dollars a visit, 'n' he ain't wuth it." . The doctor came, and was puzzled. There was no indication of fever — the pulse was perhaps a little lower than normal — but the man was evidently ill. " Got any pains, anywhere, Dave? Stick out your tongue! By George; clean as a whistle. Been lifting any heavy trunks? Lost any money latelyP" "Doc, I tell ye, they ain't nothin' the matter. It's only insomny — I believe that's what city folks call it when they're off their feed, 'n' lay awake nights. I'll be all right 'n' the mornin', 'n' ye needn't even bother 'bout leavin' any medicine." Later in the day, when Ellen Powers was sitting at the bedroom window, mending, Uncle Dave called to her. " Lem. Jewett said a dummed queer thing yesterday. He wanted t' know, did Lem., if I ever stopped to think what a devil of a lot o' worry millionaires had." " Well, you needn't say ' devil ' if he did, David Powers. Come to think on't, I s'pose they do worry some about thieves, an' houses ketchin' a-fire an' burnin' up ; an' then, taxes down t' New York must be something terrible." " I've been thinkin' about it, Ellen, a-layin' here, 'n' I don't believe that's what he meant. I've been thinkin' that about all a feller c'n git out o' life anyhow, 'ceptin' his livin', is a little happiness. Certain sure, ye can't take any money with ye when ye quit, 'n' I've been a puzzlin' my head ter make out when a man's got enough to be comf'table on, how he's goin' ter be any more comf'table with fo^ty times as much. I guess Lem. meant that they hev'. a tarnel lot o' worry tryin' t' get their moneys wuth 6' happiness out o' their riches." The next day Uncle Dave was decidedly worse. He refused the tempting things that Aunt Ellen prepared for him; he was very weak, and, in fact, appeared to be on the verge of collapse. Dr Besset thought it looked like fever, now, and he prescribed accordingly. On the following day, however, he found his patient out of his head, and talking incessantly about money matters. He was more puzzled than ever, and later questioned the wife. Ellen Powers was very noncommital, howevor, and all the physician could learn was that Dave had '•v<_en much affected by the recent news of the death of an old friend in New York, who was a man of means. The doctor let it go at that, although the case was causing him deep anxiety. But in spite of his efforts, day by day the sick man grew worse; and one evening the doctor suddenly realised that there was only a ghost of a chance that he would pull through. He sent, in haste, for the physician of the neighbouring village, to meet him in consultation. The man rode over at once, and for thirty-six hours they fought death at close range. During those anxious ■birrs, when the crisis was not far off, Ellen Powers , forgot all about the legacy. She was a

devout woman, and in her fervent prayers for her husband's recovery, [ she thought only of the precious life which was worth more to her than ; aught else in the world. This good man was her ail in her declining years, , and she could not give him up. Then she thought of her children : the boy who had been taken from them so many years before : and of the daughter who was living with her husband in a distant State, and who had children of her own. Dr' Besset tried to speak hopefully. Two things, he said, were in her husband's favour; he had lived a simple, wholesome life, and he had been blessed with a rugged constitution. They could only hope for tho best. So the hours dragged wearily by ; but one morning he told her. joyfully, that the crisis was passed, and that Uncle Dave was fairly out of danger. One day, when the stage-driver was on the road to recovery, and he was feeling 60 much better that he was permitted to converse a little, he called Aunt Ellen to his bed-side. " Mother, I've been thinkin' it all over, quiet like, an' it's jest cum to me that ye can't make a race hoss out of a scrub. I've been a-thinkin' about that durned million dollars, an' tryin' t' figger out how much real happiness we cd buy with it. We've got 'nough saved up, with the little farm, ter give U6 every reasonable comfort as long as God spares our lives. Dorothy's husband's prosperous, an' we hain't got her futur' to consider. Now, what'n th' name o' common sense do we want with a million dollars? D'ye think 'twould make you any happier, mother?" A look of seriousness passed over the wife's face. She was thinking, and presently she said: " It'd be too bad not to build the library, Dave; an' Penelope Ridgway ' needs that five dollars a week " "I'd be sorry fer Peneiope," the old man broke in, " an' I'd like ter put up them hoss-sheds back o' th' meetin house, but we got to think of ourselves fust. There's no use a-talkin', mother,, a man can't eat but jest so much dinner; he can't wear but one suit o clo's at a time, an' if his heart is full o' sunshine and happiness, he can't be any happier b'cause he ain't got room fer it. If a man tries t' eat two dinners, one on top o' t'other, he gits the stummick-ache t' pay fer his foolishness, an' that's misery; an' half the misery 'n' th' world comes f'm people wantin' what they don't need, 'n' what they hadn't orter hey, an' what most on 'em hevn't the sense ter 'predate after they get it." 1 "That may be true, Dave," Mrs Powers answered reflectively. " An' I'm mighty 'fraid we'd be like two cats in a strange barn down to New York. But moneys a good thing to have, you must admit." " Yes, that's so, Ellen, when it ain't a care. It was good of Cyrus King t* think o' me in his will, but what if the money sh'd bring us more misery than happiness? If it goes to that charity object they wrote about, mebby it'd make some poor critters happy that's -ufferin' now " " WeVe been very happy, Dave." " It'd pretty nigh break my heart to hey' t' leave Brookland " < " P'raps Jed'll take the stage line off your hands, anyway, an' we could i go to live on the farm right away." « "By George ! he's got ter take it. ■ I'll make th' terms so he can't git out'n ■ it." "If Jed had the stage line, p'raps i he'd spunk up an' perpose to Penelope; he's been foolin' round her long < enough." Aunt Ellen's black eyes 1 snapped wickedly, at the suggestion. "That's the idee, exactly! Why, j mother, I hain't been so happy sence ■ that pesky letter come. It's all clear ' now. Th' good Lord jest sent this sickness ter show us what poor, weak, sinful critters we be, a-wantin' what He never intended us to hey', 'n' ; wouldn't know what ter do wjth it if we had it. It's all settled, Ellen Pow- : ers ! I've been a-wonderin' for a long time what it felt like t 7 be a million- '• aire. I've been a millionaire fer nigh '• two weeks, 'n' this ends it. We'll write : them lawyers t'morrer." / _