The Storyteller

New Zealand Tablet, 22 June 1911, Page 1131

The Storyteller

• —— « ' AUNT LUCY’S LEGACY (Concluded from last week.) Carew whistled a tune as the front of the packingcase came loose in his hands. What a dear angel of a wife lie had 1 He would not have hurt her for worlds by saying what he thought of that selfish old woman who still kept a place in her dear heart. He pulled the heavy desk into the light of day, and began unwinding the straw’ from about it. ‘lt has some pretty carving, after all,’ he said. ‘lt will add to the appearance of our room,’ Suddenly something fell on the floor with a clink of com. He stooped and picked it up. It was a sovereign, somewhat discolored, but still a sovereign. ‘Good Heavens!’ he cried, and dived in the straw, bringing up a handful of coins. ‘Why, the bottom has come out of the desk! - Look, darling, here is money, quantities of it. It must be your Aunt’s savings. No wonder the men grumbled at the weight of the case.’ He was down on his knees, picking up the coinssovereigns, every one of them. The straw was an actual Tom Tiddler’s ground. More than that, they discovered later that Aunt Lucy’s love letters were interleaved with .Bank of England notes. When the money came to be counted they found that the old desk had given up some six thousand-pounds. 5 So Carew and Elsie and the boy went back to Rose Cottage, and the desk went with them. On its second journey it yielded a few more sovereigns, though they could not discover where they came from. Sensible people strongly advised their breaking up tho old desk. Evidently all the secret hoards had iot yet been discovered. But neither Carew nor Elsie were eager to do that. From the time the desk came into their hands Cavew's affairs began to look up. Tho very day after the finding of the treasure brought him a brief from a firm of solicitors whose name spelt fortune to any lucky young barrister who might be taken up by them. - , ‘Let it stand there!’ said Carew, looking at the desk in its dark corner of the room where they had heard Aunt Lucy’s will read. ‘We shall always feel that if we want money we have only to shake it. I wonder why she tried you like that, darlftig.’ All the roses were out in the garden. It was June, and they had been back at Rose Cottage for several months. The boy was lying asleep in his mail-cart just outside the open window—a thriving, beautiful boy, who was the light of his father’s and mother’s eyes. ‘ I don’t know why she did it,’ said Elsie, but if she meant it for a test of love it answered all right. I loved her even when we were at our saddest.’— -Katharine Tynan.