Miss Parsons Legacy

It was a bitter mid-winter ilay, and mow and Ice everywliere posBMsed the land. The earth, so lutely full of gracious life and beauty, now raus Uke Iron beneath the foot, and a piereing wind sweptover the desolate country. Pedestrlana wlth ptnched faces Bltpped along the treaclH'rons sldewalks, and the teamsters tln-ashcd their anus Uke animated wtndmills, in a vain attempt to find warmth. It was bitter weather indeed. Ouly the gay young poople did not mind it. Helen Turner, walking briskly down the Btreet with her "deareet frlends," Anna Blake and Grnce Warrinaton, had never a thought of KnftVriiiK. Their pretty cloth Buite ■were very trim and becominsc, and dainty furs set off fresli young faces, and brlght, girlish bralds. They swung' their skates Ughtly In gloved hands, and the gay young voices ehatlered on lilithely of the sport at the park wbither they were bound; three healthy, happy young creatures to whom Ufe was all sunshine and good cheer. Presently Miss Parsons passedthem, creeping with nervoua cautlon over the icy pavement, her faded (ace pinched and drawn wlth cold. a smile lit up hor eyes as she saw the britrht group, and her greetlng was cheery; but os she passed out of hearing, Anna said lightly: "Oh dear! I'm glad I'm not Miss Parsons! It must be the forlornest thing to bc old!" "But she was as young as we are, ouce," said Helen quickly, a little pang crossing her at the recollection rf that half-wistful sniile; -And she ivas a beauty and a belle, too, father says." "Well, she's got bravely over it!" laughed Aiina. "When was it,- in the year one t" "Slie really was, girls. She went everywhrrc. and was vry mach admired- " "Then why is she such a forlorn old maid ï" interrupted Anna flippautly. Spinsters are a mistake." "Because, she ehose to be, perhaps," said Grace, slawly. We shall be Just UkE h.T aome day, it may be." "O mercy, don't! it gives me the horrors!'' eried Anna, wlth a little shrug. "I hate to think of growlng old, and faded. and wrinkled, and losing my hair and havtng to wear glasses, and go creepinii over the ice. the way Miss Parsona does. And I'm sure I shall be stout, I'm so short. tTgh! it makes me shivcr." And she begau to talk rapidly of BOjnethlng elae, and Miss Paraaas was soon forgotten when the park was reached and the gay sport began. But Helen remembered her again that evening when dinner was over and she at at the piano, rippling notes. She tried to fancy what such a life must be like and if it did look as forlorn to Miss Parsons is to the girls. Did ehe look back longingly to her gay girlhood and regret its happy days ? or wefe there compeusations even at fifty-five ? What did life hold ? At least, ahe must .be very lonely; and the.n Helen thought teuddenly, "What if I were to run down and Bit wiih her a little while thie evening? Mamma won't mind," And so, presently slie was going down the street with Martlia, the most good-natured of the maids. whom she had easily persuaded to escort her thither and to cali for her later. Miss Tarsons boarded, bat she liad a very cozy, pleasant little aittlngroom, into which Helen was presently ushered . A bright fire burned in the little grate, and the round table, wilh its large lamp, held plenty of books and papers. But Miss Bon s easy chair was drawn before the" fire and Bhe had evldently been in deep mcditation when Melen rapped. She welcomed her visitor warmly. drawing up a comfortal)le rocker beside her own, as she exclaimed: "Why, this is quite charming of you! I believe I was actually getting blue, all alone here." It was a very pleasant evening. They talked of all sorts of things- oi the weather and the skating, of the new books, of Helen's school and the great eharity bazaar soon to be held, in which all the town was interested. And finding Helen was to be at one of the tables and was still perplexed about her costume, Miss Parsons brought out a wonderful Bown from her treasures, which had belonged to her grandmother, a charming affair of blue brooade and yellow laces, which fairly fascinated Helen. How fortúnate that she carne, and what a charming cvoning she was spending! The talk had dropped a moment. Miss Parsons was looking thoughtfully into the fire. and Helen iriu thinking again what it would be to her to lead such i life as this. It ■was a very pleasant little room, certainly, but to sit in it alone day after day, and in the long evenings,- "I shouldn't like it at all," she thought, and spoke quickly, "Aren't you dreadfully lonesome sometimes, Miss ParBons?" and then she repented, fearing she had been rude. "I beg your pardon," she was addIng, but Miss Parsons smiled. "Yes," she said simply, "very lonely indeed. I was just thinking of it when you came, and what I would do if I could." "Oh, what would you?" Helen was interèsted at once. "■V'hy,- do you know the Barton girls? No, I don't suppose you do; they're not in your eet at all, and - " "But isn't one lame?" questioned Holen. "I think I know the ones you mean. On V street, isn't it?" "Yes, thoee are the girls. Mary Is a great sufferer. Hhe will never be able to do anything for herself, and Lucy is so young, only fifteen, poo chikl! and their mother is dying." Helen gave a little gasp of syinpa thy. "Oh, poor things!" she saic "What will they do?" Miss Parsons shook her head sac' ly. "I don't knoiv, yet. They ar in sad trouble. I was just thinking when yon carne, if I only had a littl more money, 1 would rent that lit tle cottage on K street- tlie one wlth the pretty little garden, you know- and make a humo for those two pirls with me." "Why luiw lovely tluit would be!" cried H-elen, eagerly, "And can't you ?" Miss Parsons shook lier liead aiiain. "I couldn't begin to do it. I've onlj just enough to live on as it is. If I liad Annt Susan'8 legacy, now - " ■Aimt Susan's legacy? What was that?" HeJeh was as eager as possible, for she dearly loved a story, espécially a 1rue one. "Oh, it Avas only a queer okl nrrat aunt of mine." Miss l'arsons láughed a little. "Slie Iived in the funiest little house I ever siiw, full of all sorts of queer, old-fashioned thlngs, with two or three servnnta to look after her comfort. I used to fío and sec hrr sometimos, as a child. and I remember very weH liow fascinated I was wlttt her and the, woncterful thtngB about her honse. siu looked like a fairy godmother, and hor liair was as white as snoiv. Of cour.se. slK' must liave had moncy ii live as she did, but nobod.v knew anything a hout mucii. for Bhe deliuhted in mysteries. She took a fancy to me, I suppose because I did to her. and slie used to say sometimes: 'You'll never come to want. Iouisa. I'll look out for that.' So it got to be quite a family joke and my sister was always teasing me about Aunt Susan's legacy. 'Well when I was about fifteen years old, she dird. and when her will came to be read it was found .she had left all lier property (whicb proved to be mach tem Than anyone liad supposed) to a far-away coustn; and the house went to him, too. ;md everything in it, except an old mahogany desk, which was left to me. 'To my grand-nlece Louisa, who is never to part with it while she lives,' the will sald." ■■And was Uiat all?" questioned Helen breathleesly. "That was all:" .Miss Pareaos laughed again. "My sister made a great deal of fun about my 'great expectations.' and thal desk's ever keeping me trota want; but I'm fond of it for Aunt Stfsan's sake, and have it yet, you see," poiuting to ai oldfashioned brass-mountod affair. at oue side of the room. Helen rose at once and looked ai it curiously. "That Vas so qdeer, Miss Parsons," slie said. "Are you sure there was nothing in it?- no legacy, I mean." "Oh dear me yes! quite sure. We thought of that and hunted it through and through, thoroughly at first." "And there isn't any secret drawer, or panel, or anything ?" persisted Helen, eagerly. "I've heard of such things." "Oh, no! it's all is simple as possible, inside. We could account for ever.v inch of space. There -tfasn't a thing in it. Her maid said she had had it brought to her and'cleared it out only a few days before she died, burning all her papers." "How very, very queer!" mused Helen, thinking meanwhile, "I wisli sh.would let me look!" "But you may look if you like, child," said Miss Parsons, miling, as if she read her thoughts. ïhere's nothing in it except a few papers; you won't find any legacy; I uisli you could." sin opened the desk as she spoke and began pulling out the varioua drawers for Helen's inspection. It was, in truth, a very Himple affair and Helen confessed to herself, grudgingly, that there seemed to be no chance for a mystery about it. "But 6he must have meant something," she said, reluctant to give it up. "Yes, I suppose she did!" said Miss Parsons, sighing, "but probably she put off altering her will too long. You know how some old people hate these things. Her's was made ten yeara betere." Helen had taken one of the drawers out, to see if by any possibility anything could have slipped behind it. It would be such a lovely mystery, just like a Btory-book. "But It's no ose," she Bigbed. "Tiiri-e is nol a thing there;" and just as she said it, the drawer she held slipped iroiu her hand and feil to the floor Wlth a crash, bottom upward. Helen stooped to piek it up with an exclamation of dismay at her carelessness, when as she [Utëd it, tlie bottom, looxened by the shock, feil out, followed by Bome thin, yellowish paekages of folded paper, that eertainly had not been among Miss Parsoo's prim llttle boxea and packages of letters. "A false bottom:" cried Helen eagerly, pouncing on one instantly. Miss Parsons had caught up anotlier, and was unfolding it with hands that trembled visibly. "What is It?" cried Helen, in wild excitement, staring at the odd-IbokIng paper. "Oh Miss Parsons, Js it your legacy ?" "It's bonds! it certainly is bonds!" cried Miss Parsons, her voice shaking like her fingers; and certainly nobody can wonder she wasn't particular about her grammar on such an occasion. Bonds, they certainly were; good paying bonds, too, as Helen's father quickly certified. whon presently his little girl and Miss Parsons rushed into his presence in great excitement, to consult him. Miss Parsons was deber by twenty thousand dollars thán Bhe had known that afternoon. I hardly kaóyt whether Bhe or Helen was the greater heroïne, when the story of the woncterful find got about. ïlie charity bazaar was quite thrown into the stade, and Miss l'arsons was overwhelmed with eongratulations du all sides. But the first thing Bhe did when she was quite sure of her good fortune, was to go to the sorrowful house wbere Mra Barton was fading out of life, and comfort thé mother'a heart by promisos of home and loving care always for those whom Bhe was leaving. .Miss l'arsons took the whole fa in i ly in charge at once, comforting and helping them In every possible way; and when the mother'a suiferlog was over, she took the desolate young thlnga at once to the in-w home on K. street which she had been as busy as a bee in fitting up in all lier spare moment. Selen had been enclianted to help, and Mrs. Turner luid lent very hearty cooperation, and a charmlng little home it was. The prettieet oJ rooms had been fitted up for poor crlppled Mary, f il led with all .sorts of comforts and contrivance.s, and looklng out on the Uttle lawn and qulet, pleasantly shaded street. Lucy's room was bright and dainty a.s a young girlti should be, and Miss Parsons was as happy iis a child abcnit it all, and talked' foudly of "my two girls," and of all plans lor their welfare. A good stout maid-of-all-work had been found by Mrs. Turner, and the little house gave lts warmest look of welcome wheu tlny took possession. Their heavy grief was as yet too new to poor Mary and Lucy, but they could not but be Bomewhat oomforted by the warnith and love about them, and by Miss Parson's tender care. They lifted drooping lieads like flowers after rain, at last, as the nionths went by, and grew quite happy and content. It was a delightful little household and Miss Parsons was happier than words can teil in minlsterlng to it. Ht'len gpent many a happy hour there each week, and was alniost as much at home as were Mary and Lucy, of whom she was very fond, and to whom her brightaess was a perpetual dclight. "My dear," said Miss Parsons one day as ahe was leaving them, "I always did like that line of Spencer's, ■It chanced- eterna] God that chance did ulde'; and if ever anybody was sent, you were to me that nlght."