Aunt Jimmy's Will

by Mabel Osgood Wright

Mrs. Lane grew hot and cold by turns, and a torrent of words rose to her lips, but the thought of Lammy waiting so patiently checked her in time, and she merely said, “Yes, Abiram Slocum, you’ll hear from us to-morrer.”

As she reached the home gate, she saw Dinah Lucky, who was stationed at the window to give the first word of her return, and at the same time a wild-looking tawny head and a pair of big questioning gray eyes appeared above her fat shoulder, as Lammy steadied himself by the window-frame. Quick as a flash she pulled off her red knitted shawl and waved it joyfully, so that Lammy knew at least two minutes before she could have reached his room to tell him.

Once upstairs, she was obliged to begin at the beginning and tell him the story of the morning in every detail, holding his hand the while as if to convince him that she was real and what she told the plain truth.

Presently Dinah slipped downstairs, saying she would get the dinner and bring them both some upstairs, for she was sure “Missy Lane” must be clear tuckered out.

And so she was, though she had not realized it until that moment and sinking back in the homemade arm-chair, she closed her eyes in a state of perfect peace, and must have dozed, for she awoke with a start to hear Lammy say, “This sort of makes up for the Thanksgiving dinner I missed,” and there upon the various chairs and the bedstand Dinah had spread a dinner tempting as only a coloured “born cook” knows how to make it, while the clashing of knives and forks below told her that Joshua and the boys were provided for (they had all staid at home from the shop to attend the auction) and that this afternoon at least was her own.

After dinner Lammy lay for a long time, looking at the wood fire flickering through the open front of the stove, planning how they would fix Aunt Jimmy’s—or rather his—house, as his mother called it, and when they would move. Of course, Lammy wished to go at once—even a week seemed a long delay. Mrs. Lane hesitated, for she had thoughts of waiting until spring; yet, on the other hand, she could not well leave the house empty or travel up and down to tend the chickens. Aunt Jimmy’s house was by far the easier to heat, and now as they must keep a hired man permanently, he could be put into their present house and everything settle down for a comfortable winter of work, rest, and planning, so she said, much to Lammy’s joy, that she thought they could be in by Christmas and then make the improvements at their leisure.

“Yes, we can wait to paper the rooms—that is, all except Bird’s,” he added. “I’d like to have hers fixed up for her when she comes, white and a paper with wild roses—that’s what she likes, and she made a pattern for one once and was going to send it to the wall-paper man when her father finished the red piney pattern, only he never did.” And Lammy told his mother of Bird’s hopes about her work, ending by taking the string that held the key from about his neck and saying:—

“Please unlock my lower drawer and give me Bird’s bundle that her uncle would not let her take with her; if I can’t see her, I can look at her things. I know she wouldn’t mind, because I went back in through the cellar with her that last day and tied them up; only I didn’t do it very well because there was no good paper and string. I’d like to fix them better and put up the paint-box by itself,” he said, fumbling with the knots, as his mother, much interested, took a fresh sheet of paper from the press closet behind the bed.

As she reseated herself, the string broke, and the contents of the hastily made bundle were scattered about the bed. Lammy picked up the water-colour drawings carefully, one by one, and smoothed them out with the greatest care. There were a couple of dozen of them, besides those of the wild roses and the peony design, which Mrs. Lane at once recognized from its spirit, even though it was unfinished.