Chapter I: The Legacy

I was so sorry not to find you at the Rectory when I called this afternoon. And, what is worse, I fear we may not see you for a long time, if, as your housekeeper says, you are to be in California for a month. For before you return we shall be gone! "Gone?" you will ask. "Where?" Well, I do not quite know. The fact is I am in such a whirl that I hardly know what I am writing! Perhaps it would be better if I began at the beginning.

You know how overworked John has been for some time. He has not been sleeping well, and at times has been--well, almost cross!--which means he is tired out. The culmination came on Good Friday. I left church before the conclusion of the three-hour service that I might reach home in time to have a cup of tea ready for him when he returned. You remember what a hot day it was. Well, I was standing by the open window in the study waiting to see him come round the corner, and Rex--the beautiful Irish setter which Mr. Dennis gave John--was with me. When John appeared he waved his hand to me and called out "Hello, Rex!" and the poor dog, no doubt thinking he had called him to come, sprang from the window and fell the two flights, striking his head on the steps, and was instantly killed. I rushed down-stairs and found John looking as if he were about to faint. We carried the body into the laundry, and John, gazing upon it, groaned: "I wish it were I." You may imagine how frightened I was, but fortunately I had self-control enough to keep silence and led him away and induced him to drink a cup of strong tea. Then I brought out his pipe, and, though he murmured, "I have given it up for Lent," I said firmly, "You have not given it up for to-day." When he was resting I ran round the corner and asked Mr. Hathaway, the carpenter, to make a box for poor Rex, which he said he would do at once, for every one on the block loved him. Then I telephoned to Mabel Wheelock and asked her if she would be willing to have the dear creature buried on her place at Pelham. She was as sympathetic as if we had lost a member of the family--as indeed we have. But how to get the body there I did not know! I called up the hotel garage and learned that it would cost seven dollars to hire a taxi. It seemed more than we could pay, but I decided we must risk it. How I wished I had not bought that new hat for Easter!

When all was ready I called John and we started for Pelham, where we left the body of a creature of whom it could be said more truly than of many humans, that "he was faithful unto death." When we reached home I induced John to go to bed, and was soon thankful to find that he had fallen asleep.

The next morning I went to the store where I had bought the hat and asked the woman to take it back. She was none too well pleased. But, as she had known me forever, she insisted upon knowing the reason, and when I told her the kind-hearted creature said: "Why, you poor thing, you keep that hat, and I'll take the price of the taxi off the bill. It will be good business, anyhow, for when that hat is seen on you there will be a run on them." You may think less of me, but I was so glad to keep it!

Then I went to see Dr. Webster. He listened to my story and then said: "Your husband is as sound as a dollar. I went all over him when he had that touch of bronchitis in January. But he has exhausted his nervous energy and must have a rest." "But," I said, "we cannot afford to go away." He answered gruffly: "You can't afford to keep on."

We got through Easter somehow, and John did his part better than I supposed would be possible. But when one of those "gushy" females, who are found in every church, said to me: "How wonderful Mr. Dobson was to-day! I don't see how he does it! However, it cannot be a strain on him because he speaks so easily. If he had to _prepare_ his sermons I don't suppose he could do it, with all the parish work he has to do!" That woman is called by some people "The salt of the earth." She may be, but it is salt in lumps, and I don't like it that way!

John slept the clock round on Easter night and it was nearly noon when he came down for a cup of coffee. There were not many letters, fortunately, but I had noticed one with the name of a well-known firm of lawyers on the envelope, and rather wondered what they could have to say.

When John had read it he exclaimed: "Well, I'll be jiggered!"

"What is it?" I asked.

"Why, Aunt Susan is dead."

"Is that the aunt who lived in California?"

"Yes, she went out there nearly twenty years ago, and I do not suppose I have thought of her twice since."

"Well, what has happened?"

"Why, she has left me some money."

"Oh, John!" I cried, thinking of what Dr. Webster had said. "It can't be true."

"I guess it is," he replied. "Weeks & Burke are pretty responsible people, and they write: 'By the will of the late Miss Susan B. Melchor,' etc."

I know this sounds like the "long arm of coincidence," at which you mock, and you will say that such things do not happen outside of romances. Well, wait a moment and you will see that this is connected with a romance and a rather pathetic one too. When I asked John about his aunt Susan, he could not tell me much. He said there was a tradition among his sisters--but he had nothing else to go upon--that when his father became engaged to his mother poor Aunt Susan was greatly shocked, for she had gotten it into her head that he had been attracted by her. For a long time there had been little intercourse between the sisters, but after the death of his father Aunt Susan had paid a visit to his mother, and taken a fancy to the little boy, who was supposed to resemble his father. She had only money enough to enable her to live in genteel poverty until she went to California, and there met a man whom she had known when she was a girl, and, following his advice, had invested her little all in a land speculation which, for a wonder, turned out well and brought her a modest fortune, which she now, or at least a part of it, bequeathed to the son of the man to whom she had given her heart in her girlhood. Certainly if the "long arm of coincidence" is ever to be stretched out, this is a time when it might be expected to show its power!

When we learned the amount of the legacy it was evident that we should not be able to live on the income of it, though it would be a great help in supplementing a modest salary. But when I told John that I thought we should now be justified in taking a month off at Lakewood or somewhere like that, he vulgarly replied: "Lakewood be blowed! We are going to Europe to see some of the things we have dreamed about."

"But that means we shall have to break into the capital."

"Well," said he, "so long as we do not break into another's man's capital, I do not see how the law can interfere!"

I was so glad to feel his buoyant spirits again that I had not the heart to make further objections. But I did add, as a final caution, that we must not forget that we ought to lay up for a rainy day. But he scorned this and said: "That is the way money poisons us. We hoard because we are afraid. At any rate it is far better for us at this time, instead of laying up for a rainy day, to lay down for a sunny day!"

So that is what we are going to do.