“Squire Townsend came to the bank and told your uncle he had your aunt’s will, and that, after paying out a few small legacies, her property was all left to you. This information settled the matter. If you had property enough, the bank would lose nothing by you. Your disappearance called forth a paragraph or two in the papers, but Mr. Bristlebach caused others to be inserted to the effect that the bank would not lose a dollar by your absence.”
“I saw all these items.”
“So you wrote me. Now, Paley, how much do you suppose your aunt left?”
“I don’t know. People used to say she was worth about twenty thousand dollars, but finally the sum got up to thirty thousand,” I replied.
“Both were below the fact. Her inventory amounts to over fifty thousand. They say she had twenty thousand more than fifteen years ago. She has never spent much of anything, and her stocks paid her from six to twenty per cent. In a word, Paley, you are a rich man.”
I was astonished at this information, and more than ever conscious of the folly of my past conduct.
“You can return to Boston, and if any body ever suspected that you were a defaulter, your money will cover up the error.”
“I don’t deserve this good fortune, Tom.”
“That’s very true,” replied Tom, drily. “If you are honest and true, you may enjoy it. I hope it will not undo your reformation.”