She reached for a pencil, and Eaton pushed a pad of paper toward her. She began jotting down Farley’s various bequests to charity, as provided in the series of wills, pausing now and then to refer to Thurston for items she only imperfectly remembered.
The total was three hundred and fifty thousand dollars. She tapped the paper reflectively.
“Of course,” remarked Thurston anxiously, as he saw what was in her mind, “you are not bound by any of the legacies in those unsigned wills. Not one of the wills contained all those bequests, so your total doesn’t represent what he meant to dispose of in that way. And his last will is evidence that he had wholly changed his mind about them.”
“We are bound to accept that last will as convincing proof of his very great confidence in Miss Farley,” said Eaton quickly, “rather than as an expression of distrust.”
“We all know perfectly well what he meant by that,” Nan replied. “But I don’t want you to think I have any feeling about it.”
They nodded gravely as she glanced at them appealingly.
“I can see,” she went on hurriedly, “that my refusal to accept anything at all might look like resentment; that it would be in a way unjust to him.” She turned for a glance over the fields, as though seeking their counsel. “Papa really wanted to help people who hadn’t a chance; he was only hard on the idle and shiftless. If he hadn’t been big-hearted and generous, he never would have taken me up as he did. And mamma was like him. I feel strongly that even if he did change his mind sometimes, his wish to help these things—the Boys’ Club, the Home for Aged Women, and all the rest—should be respected.”
“That can’t be done unless you take the whole,” said Eaton quickly. “But you needn’t decide about it now.”
“Yes; you should wait a few years at least!” added Thurston, crossing his legs nervously.
“And since I’ve been out here and have learned about the girls Mrs. Copeland is training to take care of themselves, I’ve thought of some other things that might be done,” said Nan, ignoring their manifest unwillingness to acquiesce in the recognition of Farley’s vacillating benefactions. “There ought to be, in a town like this, a home and training school for girls who start the wrong way, or make mistakes. We haven’t anything that quite fills that need, and there are a good many such girls. A hundred thousand dollars would provide such a place, and it ought to have another hundred thousand for endowment. Mrs. Copeland and I have talked of the need for such a school. It would be fine to start something like that! And you know,” she added, “I might have been just such a girl myself!”