Capn Dans Daughter | Page 5

like a stranded porpoise, "what--WHAT do
you suppose has happened? Aunt Laviny is dead."
Serena turned. "Dead!" she repeated. "Your Aunt Lavinia Dott? The
rich one?"
"Yes, sir; she's gone. Died in Italy a fortnight ago. Naples, I think
'twas--or some such outlandish place; you know she's done nothin' but
cruise around Europe ever since Uncle Jim died. The letter says she
was taken sick on a Friday, and died Sunday, so 'twas pretty sudden.
I--"
But Mrs. Dott interrupted. "What else does it say?" she asked excitedly.
"What else does that letter say? Who is if from?"
"It's from her lawyers up to Boston. What made you think it said
anything else?"
"Because I'm not blind and I can see your face, Daniel Dott. What else
does it say? Tell me! Has she--did she--?"
Captain Dan nodded solemnly. "She didn't forget us," he said. "She
didn't forget us, Serena. The letter says her will gives us that solid
silver teapot and sugar-bowl that was presented to Uncle Jim by the
Ship Chandlers' Society, when he was president of it. She willed that to
us. She knew I always admired that tea-pot and--"
His wife interrupted once more.
"Tea-pot!" she repeated strongly. "Tea-pot! What are you talking about?
Do you mean to say that all she left us was a TEA-POT? If you do I--"

"No, no, Serena. Hush! She's left us three thousand dollars besides.
Think of it! Three thousand dollars--just now!"
His voice shook as he said it. He spoke as if three thousand dollars was
an unheard-of sum, a fortune. Mrs. Dott had no such illusion. She sat
down upon the edge of the bed.
"Three thousand dollars!" she exclaimed. "Is that all? Three thousand
dollars!"
"All! My soul, Serena! Why, ONE thousand dollars just now is like--"
"Hush! Do be still! Three thousand dollars! And she worth a hundred
thousand, if she was worth a cent. A lone woman, without a chick or a
child or a relation except you, and that precious young swell of a cousin
of hers she thought so much of. I suppose he gets the rest of it. Oh, how
can anybody be so stingy!"
"Sh-sh, sh-h, Serena. Don't speak so of the dead. Why, we ought to be
mournin' for her, really, instead of rejoicing over what she left us. It
ain't right to talk so. I'm ashamed of myself--or I ought to be. But, you
see, I thought sure the letter was from those hat folks's lawyers, sayin'
they'd started suit. When I found it wasn't, I was so glad I forgot
everything else. Ah hum!-- poor Aunt Laviny!"
He sighed. His wife shook her head.
"Daniel," she said, "I--I declare I try not to lose patience with you, but
it's awful hard work. Mourning! Mourn for her! What did she ever do
to make you sorry she was gone? Did she ever come near us when she
was alive? No, indeed, she didn't. Did she ever offer to give you, or
even lend you, a cent? I guess not. And she knew you needed it, for I
wrote her."
"You DID? Serena!"
"Yes, I did. Why shouldn't I? I wrote her six months ago, telling her
how bad your business was, and that Gertie was at school, and we were
trying to give her a good education, and how much money it took
and--oh, everything. When your Uncle Jim's business was bad, in the
hard times back in '73, who was it that helped him out and saved him
from bankruptcy? Why, his brother--your own father. And he never got
a cent of it back. I reminded her of that, too."
Daniel sprang out of his chair.
"You did!" he cried again. "Serena, how could you? You knew how
Father felt about that money. You knew how I felt. And yet, you did

that!"
"I did. Somebody in this family must be practical and worldly- minded,
and I seem to be the one. YOU wouldn't ask her for a cent. You
wouldn't ask anybody for money, even if they owed it a thousand years.
You sell everybody anything they want from the store; and trust them
for it. You know you do. You sold that good-for- nothing Lem Brackett
a whole suit of clothes only last week, and he owes you a big bill and
has owed it for a year."
Her husband looked troubled. "Well," he answered, slowly, "I suppose
likely I didn't do right there. But those Bracketts are poor, and there's a
big family of 'em, and the fall's comin' on, and--and all. So--"
"So you thought it was your duty to help support them, I suppose. Oh,
Daniel, Daniel, I don't know what to do with you sometimes."
Captain Dan looked very grave.
"I guess you're