“My husband!” repeated Mrs Inglis.
“Yes; and now I shouldn’t wonder if I had spoiled it to you, too. I told him I was going to give it for that. As like as not he didn’t believe me,” said Miss Bethia, with a sob. “I’ve had my feelings considerably hurt, one way and another, this afternoon. There wouldn’t any of you have been so surprised if any one else had wanted to do you a kindness—if you will have that it’s a kindness. I know some folks have got to think I’m stingy and mean, because—”
“Aunt Bethia,” said David, taking her hand in both his, “that is not what we think here.”
“No, indeed! We have never thought that,” said Violet, kissing her.
Then David kissed her, too, reddening a little, as boys will who only kiss their mothers when they go to bed, or their very little sisters.
“Miss Bethia,” said Mrs Inglis, “my husband always looked upon you as a true friend. I do not doubt but that your kindness in this matter comforted him at the last.”
“Well, then, it’s settled—no more need be said. If I were to die to-night, it would be found in my will all straight. And you wouldn’t refuse to take it if I were dead, would you? Why should you now? unless you grudge me the pleasure of seeing it. Oh! I’ve got enough more to keep me—if that’s what you mean—if I should live for forty years, which ain’t likely.”
So what could Mrs Inglis do but press her hand, murmuring thanks in the name of her children and her husband.
Miss Bethia’s spirits rose.
“And you’ll have to be a good boy, David, and adorn the doctrine of your Saviour, so as to fill your father’s place.”