“Oh dear! oh dear!” said Mrs. Howland. “Mr. Martin doesn’t approve of what he calls documents.”
“Darling mother, you’re not Mr. Martin’s wife yet. I want you to put on paper that you have given me father’s curios. He always meant them for me, didn’t he?”
“He did! he did!” said Mrs. Howland. “One of the very last things he said—in his letter, I mean, for you know he died 98 in Africa—was: ‘The treasures I am sending home will be appreciated by my little girl.’”
“Oh mother! yes, and they are. Please, mother, write something on this bit of paper.”
“My head is so weak. I haven’t an idea what to say.”
“I’ll dictate it to you, if I may.”
“Very well, child; I suppose I can’t prevent you.”
Maggie brought paper, blotting-pad, and pen, and Mrs. Howland presently wrote: “I have given, on the eve of my marriage to Mr. Martin, her father’s treasures to my daughter, Margaret Howland.”
“Thank you, mother,” said Maggie.
The date was affixed. Mrs. Howland added the name she was so soon to resign, and Maggie almost skipped into the bedroom.