CHAPTER II
UNCLE PETER'S WILL
Tess and Dot were greatly excited. As they climbed up the long andsemi-dark flights to the little flat at the top of the house, theyclung tightly to each other's hands and stared, round-eyed, at eachother on the landings.
Behind them labored the tall, gray gentleman. They could hear himpuffing heavily on the last flight.
Dot had breath left to burst open the kitchen door and run to tellRuth of the visitor.
"Oh! oh! Ruthie!" gasped the little girl. "There's a man dead out hereand Uncle Peter's come to tell you all about it!"
"Why, Dot Kenway!" cried Tess, as the elder sister turned in amazementat the first wild announcement of the visitor's coming. "Can't you getanything straight? It isn't Uncle Peter who wants to see you, Ruth.Uncle Peter is dead."
"Uncle Peter Stower!" exclaimed Aggie, in awe.
He was the Kenway girls' single wealthy relative. He was consideredeccentric. He was--or had been--a bachelor and lived in Milton, anupstate town some distance from Bloomingsburg, and had occupied,almost alone, the old Stower homestead on the corner of Main andWillow Streets--locally known as "the Old Corner House."
"Do take the gentleman to the parlor door," said Ruth, hastily,hearing the footstep of the visitor at the top of the stairs. "Dot, gounlock that door, dear."
"Aunt Sarah's sitting in there, Ruth," whispered Aggie, hastily.
"Well, but Aunt Sarah won't bite him," said Ruth, hurriedly removingher apron and smoothing her hair.
"Just think of Uncle Peter being dead," repeated Aggie, in a daze.
"And he was Aunt Sarah's half brother, you know. Of course, neitherher father nor mother was Uncle Peter's father or mother--theirparents were all married twice. And----"
"Oh, don't!" gasped the plump sister. "We never _can_ figure out therelationship--you know we can't, Ruth. Really, Aunt Sarah isn'tblood-kin to us at all."
"Uncle Peter never would admit it," said Ruth, slowly. "He was oldenough to object, mother said, when our grandfather married a secondtime."
"Of course. I know," acknowledged Aggie. "Aunt Sarah isn't really aStower at all!"
"But Aunt Sarah's always said the property ought to come to her, whenUncle Peter died."
"I hope he _has_ left her something--I do hope so. It would help out alot," said Aggie, serious for the moment.
"Why--yes. It would be easier for us to get along, if she had her ownsupport," admitted Ruth.
"And we'd save five cents a week for peppermints!" giggled Aggiesuddenly, seeing the little white bag of candy on the table.
"How you do talk, Ag," said Ruth, admonishingly, and consideringherself presentable, she went through the bedroom into the front room,or "parlor," of the flat. Aggie had to stay to watch the cake, whichwas now turning a lovely golden brown in the oven.
The tall, gray gentleman with the sharp eyes and beak-like nose, hadbeen ushered in by the two little girls and had thankfully taken aseat. He was wiping his perspiring forehead with a checked silkhandkerchief, and had set the high hat down by his chair.
Those quick, gray eyes of his had taken in all the neat poverty of theroom. A careful and tasteful young housekeeper was Ruth Kenway.Everything was in its place; the pictures on the wall were hungstraight; there was no dust.
In one of the two rockers sat Aunt Sarah. It was the most comfortablerocker, and it was drawn to the window where the sun came in. AuntSarah had barely looked up when the visitor entered, and of course shehad not spoken. Her knitting needles continued to flash in thesunlight.
She was a withered wisp of a woman, with bright brown eyes underrather heavy brows. There were three deep wrinkles between those eyes.Otherwise, Aunt Sarah did not show in her countenance many of theravages of time.
Her hair was but slightly grayed; she wore it "crimped" on the sides,doing it up carefully in cunning little "pigtails" every night beforeshe retired. She was scrupulous in the care of her hands; her plaingingham dress was neat in every particular.
Indeed, she was as prim and "old-maidish" as any spinster ladypossibly could be. Nothing ever seemed to ruffle Aunt Sarah. She livedsort of a detached life in the Kenway family. Nothing went on that shewas not aware of, and often--as even Ruth admitted--she "had a fingerin the pie" which was not exactly needed!
"I am Mr. Howbridge," said the visitor, rising and putting out hishand to the oldest Kenway girl, and taking in her bright appearance ina single shrewd glance.
On her part, Aunt Sarah nodded, and pressed her lips together firmly,flashing him another birdlike look, as one who would say: "That iswhat I expected. You could not hide your identity from me."
"I am--or was," said the gentleman, clearing his throat and sittingdown again, but still addressing himself directly to Ruth, "Mr. PeterStower's attorney and confidant in business--if he could be said to beconfidential with anybody. Mr. Stower was a very secretive man, younglady."
Aunt Sarah pursed her lips and tossed her head, as though mentallysaying: "You can't tell me anything about _that_."
Ruth said: "I have heard he was peculiar, sir. But I do not rememberof ever seeing him."
"You did see him, however," said Mr. Howbridge. "That was when youwere a very little girl. If I am not mistaken, it was when this lady,"and he bowed to the silent, knitting figure in the rocking-chair, "whois known as your Aunt Sarah, came to live with your mother andfather."
"Possibly," said Ruth, hastily. "I do not know."
"It was one of few events of his life, connected in any way with hisrelatives, of which Mr. Stower spoke to me," Mr. Howbridge said. "Thislady expressed a wish to live with your mother, and your Uncle Peterbrought her. I believe he never contributed to her support?" he added,slowly.
Aunt Sarah might have been a graven image, as far as expressingherself upon _this_ point went. Her needles merely flashed in thesunlight. Ruth felt troubled and somewhat diffident in speaking of thematter.
"I do not think either father or mother ever minded _that_," she said.
"Ah?" returned Mr. Howbridge. "And your mother has been dead how long,my dear?" Ruth told him, and he nodded. "Your income was not increasedby her death? There was no insurance?"
"Oh, no, sir."
He looked at her for a moment with some embarrassment, and cleared histhroat again before asking his next question.
"Do you realize, my dear, that you and your sisters are the onlyliving, and direct, relatives of Mr. Peter Stower?"
Ruth stared at him. She felt that her throat was dry, and she couldnot bring her tongue into play. She merely shook her head slowly.
"Through your mother, my dear, you and your sisters will inherit yourGreat Uncle Peter's property. It is considerable. With the old CornerHouse and the tenement property in Milton, bonds and cash in bank, itamounts to--approximately--a hundred thousand dollars."
"But--but----Aunt Sarah!" gasped Ruth, in surprise.
"Ahem! your Aunt Sarah was really no relative of the deceased."
Here Aunt Sarah spoke up for the first time, her knitting needlesclicking. "I thank goodness I was not," she said. "My father was aMaltby, but Mr. Stower, Peter's father, always wished me to be calledby his name. He always told my mother he should provide for me. Ihave, therefore, looked to the Stower family for my support. It wasand is my right."
She tossed her head and pursed her lips again.
"Yes," said Mr. Howbridge. "I understand that the elder Mr. Stowerdied intestate--without making a will, my dear," he added, speakingagain to Ruth. "If he ever expressed his intention of remembering yourAunt Sarah with a legacy, Mr. Peter Stower did not consider itmandatory upon him."
"But of course Uncle Peter has remembered Aunt Sarah in _his_ will?"questioned the dazed Ruth.
"He most certainly did," said Mr. Howbridge, more briskly. "His willwas fully and completely drawn. I drew it myself, and I still have thenotes in the old man's handwriting, relating to the bequests.Unfortunately," added the lawyer, with a return to a grave manner,"the actual wil
l of Mr. Peter Stower cannot be found."
Aunt Sarah's needles clicked sharply, but she did not look up. Ruthstared, wide-eyed, at Mr. Howbridge.
"As was his custom with important papers, Mr. Stower would not trusteven a safety deposit box with the custody of his will. He wassecretive, as I have said," began the lawyer again.
Then Aunt Sarah interrupted: "Just like a magpie," she snapped. "Iknow 'em--the Stowers. Peter was always doing it when he was a youngman--hidin' things away--'fraid a body would see something, or knowsomething. That's why he wanted to get _me_ out of the house. Oh, Iknew his doin's and his goin's-on!"
"Miss Maltby has stated the case," said Mr. Howbridge, bowingpolitely. "Somewhere in the old house, of course, Mr. Stower hid thewill--and probably other papers of value. They will be found in time,we hope. Meanwhile----"
"Yes, sir?" queried Ruth, breathlessly, as the lawyer stopped.
"Mr. Stower has been dead a fortnight," explained the lawyer, quietly."Nobody knew as much about his affairs as myself. I have presented thenotes of his last will and testament--made quite a year ago--to theProbate Court, and although they have no legal significance, the Courtagrees with me that the natural heirs of the deceased should enterupon possession of the property and hold it until the complicationsarising from the circumstances can be made straight."
"Oh, Aunt Sarah! I am so glad for you!" cried Ruth, clasping her handsand smiling one of her wonderful smiles at the little old lady.
Aunt Sarah tossed her head and pursed her lips, just as though shesaid, "I have always told you so."
Mr. Howbridge cleared his throat again and spoke hastily: "You do notunderstand, Miss Kenway. You and your sisters are the heirs at law. Atthe best, Miss Maltby would receive only a small legacy under Mr.Stower's will. The residue of the estate reverts to you through yourmother, and I am nominally your guardian and the executor."
Ruth stared at him, open mouthed. The two little girls had listenedwithout clearly understanding all the particulars. Aggie had crept tothe doorway (the cake now being on the table and off her mind), andshe was the only one who uttered a sound. She said "Oh!"
"You children--you four girls--are the heirs in question. I want youto get ready to go to Milton as soon as possible. You will live in theold Corner House and I shall see, with the Probate Court, that allyour rights are guarded," Mr. Howbridge said.
It was Dorothy, the youngest, who seemed first to appreciate thesignificance of this great piece of news. She said, quite composedly:
"Then we _can_ buy some candy 'sides those pep'mint drops for AuntSarah, on Saturdays."
The Corner House Girls Page 2
