“The fact is,” continued Mr. Oakly, “John was too much favored in early life. He was my father’s idol, and, to my disadvantage, favor after favor was heaped upon him. Although younger by several years than myself, he was sent to college, I was kept at home—he had choice of a profession, I was forced to measure off tape and calico by the yard. He became dissipated, was wounded in some rowdy frolic, fell in love with, and married, a girl of low family, who took care of him during his illness. Such conduct highly exasperated my father, who vowed that unless he would abandon this low connection forever, and return home, he not only would disinherit him, but would never see him more. John refused the terms; the consequences were as my father had said, who shortly after died. I was his only heir, and, of course, as such, was bound to hold all my father’s views sacred; and as he never forgave my ungrateful brother, consequently, neither did I.”
So much for Mr. Oakly’s version of his brother’s history. We shall see, by and bye, how far it may be depended upon.
“But were you not aware of your brother’s destitute situation?” said Mrs. Oakly, somewhat reproachfully.
“Why, not exactly—at least I—I did not know it for a fact. But, what then—suppose I did; he chose his own path—what had I to do with it?”
Mrs. Oakly shook her head and sighed.
“Did your brother leave any family?”
“Yes, so it seems—for here comes a begging letter from some country scribe, whereby it appears he has left a widow and two children—girls, too; but read it yourself.”
Mrs. Oakly took the letter.
“Sir,—Your brother, Mr. John Oakly, was buried yesterday at the expense of the parish. Upon his death-bed he requested that notice should be forwarded you of the event, and some assistance solicited on behalf of his destitute family. He leaves a widow, in delicate health, and two small children, both girls. As they are without any means of support save the little which the mother can earn by labor, I trust this appeal to your sympathy will not be in vain.”
“Well, my dear,” said Mrs. Oakly, looking inquiringly at her husband, as she finished reading.