At length she said: “I wish to say that that is a very unjust will, Mr. Spencer.”

“I am not responsible for it, Mrs. Pinkerton,” answered the lawyer, quietly.

“I don't know what the rest of you think,” said the angry lady, with a general glance around the office, “but I think the will ought to be broken.”

“On what grounds?” asked Mr. Spencer.

“He had no right to put off his own flesh and blood with a beggarly pittance¹, and leave all his money to the town.”

“Pardon me; whatever you may think of Mr. Carter's will, there is no doubt that he had a perfect legal right to dispose of it as he did.”

“Then the laws ought to be altered,” said Mrs. Pinkerton, angrily. “I don't believe he was sane² when he made the will.”

“If you can prove that,” said the lawyer, “you can set aside the will; but not otherwise.”

“My brother was in his right mind,” here interposed Miss Nancy. “He always meant to give the town money for a school.”

“No doubt you think he was sane,” sneered³ Mrs. Pinkerton, turning upon the old lady. “You have fared better than any of us.”

“Miss Nancy was most nearly related to the deceased,” said the lawyer, “and she needed help most.”

“It's all very well to talk,” said the lady, tossing her head, “but me and mine have been badly used. I have hard work enough to support the family, and little help I get from him,” she added, pointing to her unhappy husband.

“I'm workin' all the time,” remonstrated⁴ Josiah. “You are unkind, Maria.”

“I could hire a boy to do all your work for three dollars a week,” she retorted. “That's all you help me. I've worried along for years, expectin' Mr. Carter would do something handsome for us; and now he's put us off with four hundred dollars.”

“I get only one hundred,” said the farmer.

“And I, too. It's a beastly shame,” remarked Cornelius.

“Really,” said the lawyer, “it appears to me unseemly to speak so bitterly so soon after the funeral.”

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