A Country Idyl, and Other Stories. Sarah Knowles Bolton

no, John! But I have seen cases like that. Only the other day the Rev. Cornelius Jones married a young wife, and gave her all his property, leaving nothing to his three daughters. Now, if a minister would do that, what should we expect of others?”

      “There must have been peculiar circumstances. He could not have been in his right mind.”

      “You know, John, if you were to die I should receive a third of what I have helped you earn, and the rest would go to the children; while if I were to die nothing would go to the children. I should like to have at least the third which the law considers mine go to them at my death, as it does in some countries of the Old World, where a man cannot marry a second time till he has settled a portion on his first children.”

      “But that would be a great inconvenience,” replied Mr. Crawford. “A man has money in business, and to take out a third if his wife dies might sadly embarrass him. Or even the use of a third, set apart for them, might cripple him.”

      “Better that there be a little inconvenience than a wrong done to children,” said Mrs. Crawford. “The husband may lose every cent of what the wife has struggled and saved all her life to help him accumulate. Marriage is a partnership, and, like other partnerships, must suffer some change and inconvenience, it may be, if one of the partners dies. There must, necessarily, be a new adjustment of interests.”

      “But the law allows you to make a will and give away your property, my dear, just as it does me.”

      “Yes, what I have inherited before or since my marriage; but I have inherited none, and you have not. We have made ours together, and you have often said that you owe as much to my skill and economy as to your foresight and ability.”

      “And so I do, it is true; but the law makes no provision about our common property.”

      “But make it yourself then, John, if the law does not. Make a will so that in case of my death my two daughters shall have at least a third of all you are worth at that time, or, if you prefer, put a third—I might feel that it ought to be half—in my name, or perhaps the home, and let that go to our daughters.”

      “But if I put the home in your name, so that in case of losses something would be saved from creditors, I should want it willed back to me at your death, so that I could still have a home and do as I liked with it.”

      “And then nothing would go to the children at my death? That is not fair, John, and I have worked too hard and long to be willing.”

      “Well, Betsey, you can trust me to do the right thing. I will think it over,” and he kissed her as they closed the not altogether satisfactory conversation.

      As was to be expected, Betsey Crawford broke down from the wear and tear of life, and died, leaving her two daughters to the care of a fond and not ungenerous father. The loss was a great one to John Crawford. She had been his competent adviser, with tact and good sense to keep matters right. She had guided more than he ever suspected. He mourned her sincerely, as did her two devoted daughters.

      He was lonely, and in time married again, a woman considerably younger than himself, a member of the same church, an ambitious and not over-scrupulous woman. When her son was born she became desirous that every advantage should be placed before him, that he might attain to wealth and honor. She convinced Mr. Crawford in a thousand nameless ways that the boy would need most of the property for business, to marry well, and to carry down the family name. The girls would doubtless marry and be well provided for by their husbands. She talked with Mr. Crawford about the uncertainty of life, and, with tact, urged that other things besides a spiritual preparation for death were necessary. A man should think of the younger members of his family who would be left comparatively helpless.

      People said that the strong-willed John Crawford had become very much under the sway of his younger wife; that he had grown less dominant, more appreciative, and more thoughtful of her needs and wishes. He idolized his son, but he seemed no dearer than the daughters of Betsey. He was a more expensive child, for he needed all sorts of playthings, the best schooling, the best clothes, and a somewhat large amount of spending money. It was evident that John Crawford, Jr., would require more money than his half-sisters.

      In course of time, Mr. Crawford, having served a term in Congress through good ability and the discreet use of money in organizing his forces, and having done well for his constituency, followed Betsey to the other world. To the surprise of all save the second Mrs. Crawford the property was left to her and her son, with the merest remembrance to the unmarried daughters of hard-working Betsey Crawford.

      “I wouldn’t have thought it,” said a prominent lady in the church. “Why, John Crawford was a deacon, and professed to live according to right and justice! There must have been undue influence. His first wife worked like a slave to help earn that money. I never supposed a man would be unfair to his children.”

      “You never can tell what folks will do,” said another church member. “Youth and tact are great forces in the world. John Crawford never meant to be unjust, but he couldn’t help it. A third of that property ought to have gone to those daughters. Why didn’t his wife make him fix it before she died?”

      “Maybe she tried, who knows?” said the person addressed. “If the law didn’t make him do his duty, how could you expect his conscience to do it? We need some new laws about the property which men and women earn together.”

      Mr. Crawford’s injustice resulted in the early death of one daughter, and left bitter memories of her father in the heart of the other.

      FIFTEEN THOUSAND DOLLARS.

       Table of Contents

      JASON and Eunice Kimball had always longed for money. They had spent their fifteen years of married life on a New England farm, with all its cares and hardships, its early rising, long hours of labor, and little compensation.

      The white house, with its green blinds, roof sloping to the rear, and great fir-trees in the front yard, had grown dingy with dust and rain, and there had been no money to repair it.

      The children, Susie, James, and little Jason, fourteen, twelve, and ten years old, had worked like their thrifty parents, gaining the somewhat meagre schooling of a half-deserted New England town.

      Now a great change had come to the Kimball family. A relative had died and had left to Mrs. Kimball fifteen thousand dollars. It seemed an enormous amount in one way, but not enormous in another. The children must be better dressed and prepared for college, the father must give up the slow gains of the farm and go into business, and Mrs. Kimball must make herself ready in garb and manner for the new life. It was evident that they must move to some village where schools were good and business would be prosperous. What town and what business? These were the exciting topics that were discussed by night and by day. Jason knew how to till the soil, to harvest grain, to be an industrious and good citizen and a kind husband, but he knew little about the great world of trade.

      “I might buy out a small grocery, Eunice,” said the husband one evening. “People must eat, whether they have decent clothes or books or schools.”

      “Ah, if you once looked at Mr. Jones’s books and saw the uncollectible bills, even from so-called ‘good families,’ you would not undertake that business!”

      “I might buy a tract of land in a growing town and sell lots.”

      “But what if a panic came, and you lost all?” said the conservative wife.

      As soon as it became known that the Kimballs had fallen heir to fifteen thousand dollars, Mr. Kimball was besought on all sides to enter one kind of business or another. One applicant had invented a unique coffee-pot, which would make good coffee out of even a poor berry, and a fortune could certainly be made, if only capital were provided. Another person had a new style of wash-boiler, and experimented with it on Mrs. Kimball’s kitchen stove, breaking every lid in the operation. Fortunes seemed lying about at