He even spoke with tolerable civility to Mrs. Liddell when she came to see her daughter.

As the weather grew colder--and autumn that year was very wintry--he objected more and more to leave his bed, and at last came to sitting up only for a couple of hours in the chair by his bedroom fire. It was during one of these intervals that Katherine, who had been racking her brains for something to talk of that would interest him, bethought her of a transaction in old newspapers which Mrs. Knapp had brought to a satisfactory conclusion. She therefore took out "certain moneys" from her purse.

"We have sold the newspapers at last, uncle," she said. "I kept back some for our own use, so all I could get was a shilling and three half-pence." She placed the coins on a little table which stood by his arm-chair, adding, "I suppose you know the Scotch saying, 'Many mickles make a muckle'; even a few pence are better than a pile of useless papers."

"I know," said Liddell, with feeble eagerness, clutching the money and transferring it to his little old purse. "It is a good saving--a wise saying. I did not think you knew it; but--but why did you keep back any?"

"Because one always needs waste paper in a house, to light fires and cover things from dust. I shall collect more next time," she added, seeing the old man was pleased with the idea.

He made no reply, but sat gazing at the red coals, his lips moving slightly, and the purse still in his hand. Again he opened it, and took out the coins she had given him, holding them to the fire-light in the hollow of his thin hand.

"Do you know the value of money?" he said at length, looking piercingly at her. "Do you know the wonderful life it has--a life of its own?"

"If the want of can teach its value I ought to know," she returned.

"You are wrong! Poverty never teaches its worth. You never hold it and study it when, the moment you touch it, you have to exchange it for commodities. No! it is when you can spare some for a precious seed, and watch its growth, and see--see its power of self-multiplication if it is let alone--just let alone," he repeated, with a touch of pathos in his voice. "Now these few pence, thirteen and a half in all--a boy with an acc.u.mulative nature and youth, early youth, on his side, might build a fortune on these. Yes, he might, if he had not a grovelling love of food and comfort."

"Do you think he really could?" asked Kate, interested in spite of herself in the theories of the old miser.

"Would you care to know?" said her uncle, fixing his keen dark eyes upon her.

"I should indeed." Her voice proved she was in earnest.

"Then I will tell you, step by step, but not to-night. I am too weary.

You are different from the others--your father and your brother. You are--yes, you are--more like _me_."

"G.o.d forbid!" was Katherine's mental e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n.

Mr. Liddell slowly put the thirteenpence half penny back in his purse, drew forth his bunch of keys, looked at them, and restored them to his pocket; then, resting his head wearily against the chair, he said, "Give me something to take and I will go to bed."

Katherine hastened to obey, and summoned the servant to a.s.sist him, as usual.

The next morning was cold and wet, with showers of sleet, and Mr.

Liddell declared he had taken a chill, and refused to get up. He was indisposed to eat, and did not show any interest in the newspaper. About noon the doctor called. Mr. Liddell answered his questions civilly enough, but did not respond to his attempts at conversation.

"Your uncle is in a very low condition," said the doctor, when he came into the next room, where Katherine awaited him. "You must do your best to make him take nourishment, and keep him as warm as possible. I suppose Mr. Newton is always in town?"

"I think so; at least I never knew him to be absent since I came here. I rather expect him to-day or to-morrow. Do you think my uncle seriously ill?"

"He is not really ill, but he has an incurable complaint--old age. He ought not to be so weak as he is; still, he may last some time, with your good care."

Katherine took her needle-work and settled herself to keep watch by the old man. The doctor's inquiry for Mr. Newton had startled her, but his subsequent words allayed her fears. "He may last for some time,"

conveyed to her mind the notion of an indefinite lease of life.

Mr. Liddell seemed to be slumbering peacefully, when, after a long silence, during which Katherine's thoughts had traversed many a league of land and sea, he said suddenly, in stronger tones than usual, "Are you there?" He scarcely ever called her by her name.

"I am," said Katherine, coming to the bedside.

"Here, take these keys"--he drew them from under his pillows; "this one unlocks that bureau"--pointing to a large old-fashioned piece of furniture, dark and polished, which stood on one side of the fireplace; "open it, and in the top drawer left you will find a long, folded paper.

Bring it to me."

Katherine did as he directed, and could not help seeing the words, "Will of John Wilmot Liddell," and a date some seven or eight years back, inscribed upon it. She handed it to her uncle, arranging his pillows so that he might sit up more comfortably, while she rather wondered at the commonplace aspect of so potent an instrument. A will, she imagined, was something huge, of parchment, with big seals attached.

John Liddell slowly put on his spectacles, and unfolding the paper, read for some time in silence.

"This will not do," he said at last, clearly and firmly. "I was mistaken in him. The care for and of money must be born in you; it cannot be taught. No, I can make a better disposition. Could _you_ take care of money, girl?" he asked sternly.

"I should try," returned Katherine, quietly.

There was a pause. The old man lay thinking, his lean, brown hand lying on the open paper. "Write," he said at length, so suddenly and sharply that he startled his niece; get paper and write to Newton. Katherine brought the writing materials, and placed herself at the small table.

"Dear sir," he dictated--"Be so good as to come to me as soon as convenient. I wish to make a will more in accordance with my present knowledge than any executed by me formerly. I am, yours faithfully."

Katherine brought over pen and paper, and the old man affixed his signature clearly.

"Now fold it up and send it to post. No--take it yourself; then it will be safe, and so much the better for you."

Katherine called the good-natured Mrs. Knapp to take her place, and sallied forth. She was a good deal excited. Was she in a crisis of her fate? Would her grim old uncle leave her wherewithal to give the dear mother rest and peace for the remainder of her days? It would not take much; would he--oh, would he remember the poor little boys? She never dreamed of more than a substantial legacy; the bulk of his fortune he might leave to whom he liked. How dreadful it was that money should be such a grim necessity!

She felt oppressed, and made a small circuit returning, to enjoy as much fresh air as she could, and called at some of the shops where she was accustomed to deal, to save sending the servant later. She was growing a little nervous, and disliked being left alone in the house.

When she returned, her uncle was very much in the same att.i.tude; but he had folded up his will and placed his hand under his head.

"You have been very long," he said, querulously.

Katherine said she had been at one or two shops.

"Read to me," he said, "I am tired thinking; but first lock the bureau and give me the keys; you left them hanging in the lock. I have never taken my eyes from them. Now I have them," he added, putting them under his pillow, "I can rest. Here, take this"--handing her the will: "put it in the drawer of my writing-table; we may want it to morrow; and I do not wish that bureau opened again; everything is there."

Having placed the will as he desired, Katherine began to read, and the rest of the day pa.s.sed as usual.

She could not, however, prevent herself from listening for Mr. Newton's knock. She felt sure he would hasten to his client as soon as he had read his note. He would be but too glad to draw up another and a juster will.

Without a word, without the slightest profession of friendship, Newton had managed to impress Katherine with the idea that he was anxious to induce Mr. Liddell to do what was right to his brother's widow and daughter.

But night closed in, and no Mr. Newton came. Mr. Liddell was unusually wakeful and restless, and seemed on the watch himself, his last words that night being, "I am sure Newton will be here in good time to-morrow."

Instead, the morrow brought a dapper and extremely modern young man, the head of the firm in right of succession, his late father having founded the house of Stephens & Newton.

Mr. Liddell had just been made comfortable in his great invalid's chair by the fire, having risen earlier than usual in expectation of Mr.

Newton's visit. When this gentleman presented himself, Katherine observed that her uncle was in a state of tremulous impatience, and the moment she saw the stranger she felt that some unlucky accident had prevented Newton from obeying his client's behest.

"Who--what?" gasped Mr. Liddell, when a card was handed to him. "Read it," to Katherine.

"Mr. Stephens, of Stephens & Newton, Red Lion Square," she returned.

"I will not see him, I do not want him," cried her uncle, angrily.

"Where is Newton? Go ask him?"