Aunt Jane's Nieces

  CHAPTER XXII.

  JAMES TELLS A STRANGE STORY.

  Uncle John followed the coachman up the stairs to the little roomabove the tool-house, where the old man had managed to crawl after oldSam had given him a vicious kick in the chest.

  "Is he dead?" he asked.

  "No, sir; but mortally hurt, I'm thinkin'. It must have happened whilewe were at the funeral."

  He opened the door, outside which Susan and Oscar watched withfrightened faces, and led John Merrick into the room.

  James lay upon his bed with closed eyes. His shirt, above the breast,was reeking with blood.

  "The doctor should be sent for," said Uncle John.

  "He'll be here soon, for one of the stable boys rode to fetch him. ButI thought you ought to know at once, sir."

  "Quite right, Donald."

  As they stood there the wounded man moved and opened his eyes, lookingfrom one to the other of them wonderingly. Finally he smiled.

  "Ah, it's Donald," he said.

  "Yes, old friend," answered the coachman. "And this is Mr. John."

  "Mr. John? Mr. John? I don't quite remember you, sir," with a slightshake of the gray head. "And Donald, lad, you've grown wonderful old,somehow."

  "It's the years, Jeemes," was the reply. "The years make us all old,sooner or later."

  The gardener seemed puzzled, and examined his companions morecarefully. He did not seem to be suffering any pain. Finally hesighed.

  "The dreams confuse me," he said, as if to explain something. "I can'talways separate them, the dreams from the real. Have I been sick,Donald?"

  "Yes, lad. You're sick now."

  The gardener closed his eyes, and lay silent.

  "Do you think he's sane?" whispered Uncle John.

  "I do, sir. He's sane for the first time in years."

  James looked at them again, and slowly raised his hand to wipe thedamp from his forehead.

  "About Master Tom," he said, falteringly. "Master Tom's dead, ain'the?"

  "Yes, Jeemes."

  "That was real, then, an' no dream. I mind it all, now--the shriek ofthe whistle, the crash, and the screams of the dying. Have I told youabout it, Donald?"

  "No, lad."

  "It all happened before we knew it. I was on one side the car andMaster Tom on the other. My side was on top, when I came to myself,and Master Tom was buried in the rubbish. God knows how I got him out,but I did. Donald, the poor master's side was crushed in, and bothlegs splintered. I knew at once he was dying, when I carried him tothe grass and laid him down; and he knew it, too. Yes, the master knewhe was done; and him so young and happy, and just about to be marriedto--to--the name escapes me, lad!"

  His voice sank to a low mumble, and he closed his eyes wearily.

  The watchers at his side stood still and waited. It might be thatdeath had overtaken the poor fellow. But no; he moved again, andopened his eyes, continuing his speech in a stronger tone.

  "It was hard work to get the paper for Master Tom," he said; "but heswore he must have it before he died. I ran all the way to the stationhouse and back--a mile or more--and brought the paper and a pen andink, besides. It was but a telegraph blank--all I could find. Naughtbut a telegraph blank, lad."

  Again his voice trailed away into a mumbling whisper, but now UncleJohn and Donald looked into one another's eyes with sudden interest.

  "He mustn't die yet!" said the little man; and the coachman leanedover the wounded form and said, distinctly:

  "Yes, lad; I'm listening."

  "To be sure," said James, brightening a bit. "So I held the paper forhim, and the brakeman supported Master Tom's poor body, and he wroteout the will as clear as may be."

  "The will!"

  "Sure enough; Master Tom's last will. Isn't my name on it, too, whereI signed it? And the conductor's beside it, for the poor brakemandidn't dare let him go? Of course. Who should sign the will withMaster Tom but me--his old servant and friend? Am I right, Donald?"

  "Yes, lad."

  "'Now,' says Master Tom, 'take it to Lawyer Watson, James, and bid himcare for it. And give my love to Jane--that's the name, Donald; theone I thought I'd forgot--'and now lay me back and let me die.' Hisvery words, Donald. And we laid him back and he died. And he died.Poor Master Tom. Poor, poor young Master. And him to--be married--ina--"

  "The paper, James!" cried Uncle John, recalling the dying man to thepresent. "What became of it?"

  "Sir, I do not know you," answered James, suspiciously. "The paper'sfor Lawyer Watson. It's he alone shall have it."

  "Here I am, James," cried the lawyer, thrusting the others aside andadvancing to the bed. "Give me the paper. Where is it? I am LawyerWatson!"

  The gardener laughed--a horrible, croaking laugh that ended with agasp of pain.

  "_You_ Lawyer Watson?" he cried, a moment later, in taunting tones."Why, you old fool, Si Watson's as young as Master Tom--as young as Iam! You--_you_ Lawyer Watson! Ha, ha, ha!"

  "Where is the paper?" demanded the lawyer fiercely.

  James stared at him an instant, and then suddenly collapsed and fellback inert upon the bed.

  "Have you heard all?" asked John Merrick, laying his hand on thelawyer's shoulder.

  "Yes; I followed you here as soon as I could. Tom Bradley made anotherwill, as he lay dying. I must have it, Mr. Merrick."

  "Then you must find it yourself," said Donald gravely, "for James isdead."

  The doctor, arriving a few minutes later, verified the statement.It was evident that the old gardener, for years insane, had been soinfluenced by Miss Merrick's death that he had wandered intothe stables where he received his death blow. When he regainedconsciousness the mania had vanished, and in a shadowy way he couldremember and repeat that last scene of the tragedy that had deprivedhim of his reason. The story was logical enough, and both Mr. Watsonand John Merrick believed it.

  "Tom Bradley was a level-headed fellow until he fell in love with yoursister," said the lawyer to his companion. "But after that he wouldnot listen to reason, and perhaps he had a premonition of his ownsudden death, for he made a will bequeathing all he possessed to hissweetheart. I drew up the will myself, and argued against the folly ofit; but he had his own way. Afterward, in the face of death, I believehe became more sensible, and altered his will."

  "Yet James' story may all be the effect of a disordered mind," saidUncle John.

  "I do not think, so; but unless he has destroyed the paper in hismadness, we shall he able to find it among his possessions."

  With this idea in mind, Mr. Watson ordered the servants to remove thegardener's body to a room in the carriage-house, and as soon as thiswas done he set to work to search for the paper, assisted by JohnMerrick.

  "It was a telegraph blank, he said."

  "Yes."

  "Then we cannot mistake it, if we find any papers at all," declaredthe lawyer.

  The most likely places in James' room for anything to be hidden were asmall closet, in which were shelves loaded with odds and ends, and anold clothes-chest that was concealed underneath the bed.

  This last was first examined, but found to contain merely anassortment of old clothing. Having tossed these in a heap upon thefloor the lawyer begun an examination of the closet, the shelvespromising well because of several bundles of papers they contained.

  While busy over these, he heard Uncle John say, quietly:

  "I've got it."

  The lawyer bounded from the closet. The little man had been searchingthe pockets of the clothing taken from the chest, and from a fadedvelvet coat he drew out the telegraph blank.

  "Is it the will?" asked the lawyer, eagerly.

  "Read it yourself," said Uncle John.

  Mr. Watson put on his glasses.

  "Yes; this is Tom Bradley's handwriting, sure enough. The will isbrief, but it will hold good in law. Listen: I bequeath to JaneMerrick, my affianced bride, the possession and use of my estateduring the term of her life. On her death all such possessions, withtheir accrument, shall b
e transferred to my sister, Katherine Bradley,if she then survives, to have and to hold by her heirs and assigneesforever. But should she die without issue previous to the death ofJane Merrick, I then appoint my friend and attorney, Silas Watson, todistribute the property among such organized and worthy charities ashe may select.' That is all."

  "Quite enough," said Uncle John, nodding approval.

  "And it is properly signed and witnessed. The estate is Kenneth's,sir, after all, for he is the sole heir of his mother. KatherineBradley Forbes. Hurrah!" ended the lawyer, waving the yellow paperabove his head.

  "Hurrah!" echoed Uncle John, gleefully; and the two men shook hands.