“He kep’ the big paper with the seals on it for ‘most three years after he quit paying,” she said. “Then he tore it up an’ burned it. He said it wasn’t no more use, for he’d lost it all when he quit paying. It seemed mighty hard, but I thought he knew.”
“There isn’t even a scrap of it left?” queried Murray.
“No, sir. He burned the scraps. I saw him do it.”
“That’s unfortunate,” said Murray. “If there was barely enough to identify the policy it would help. It would be annoying to have it turn up after we had settled the matter, for the custom is to surrender the policy to the company when the payment is made.”
“You needn’t to worry over that,” Mrs. Moffat assured him anxiously. “It was burned to the very last piece. I saw it myself.”
“I don’t doubt it,” returned Murray. “Have you your marriage certificate?”
“Have I!” exclaimed Mrs. Moffat in surprise. “You didn’t never know an honest married woman who would lose that, did you? A man don’t think much of it, but a woman does. It’s the proof she’s respectable.”
Mrs. Moffat produced the certificate, but Murray merely glanced at the names.
“I think you may rely on getting the money, Mrs. Moffat,” he said. “It isn’t much, but—”
“I got a chance to start a little school store if I had a bit of money,” she interrupted eagerly. “I don’t need only two hundred or two hundred and fifty, an’ it’s better than sewing.”