Mrs. Bell spent a great deal of time, during the day, in trying to think what it would be best for Mary Erskine to do, and also in trying to think what she could herself do for her. She, however, made very little progress in respect to either of those points. It seemed to her that Mary Erskine could not move into the new house, and attempt to carry on the farm, and, on the other hand, it appeared equally out of the question for her to remain where she was, in her lonesome log cabin. She might move into the village, or to some house nearer the village, but what should she do in that case for a livelihood. In a word, the more that Mrs. Bell reflected upon the subject, the more at a loss she was.
She determined to go and see Mary Erskine after dinner, again, as the visit would at least be a token of kindness and sympathy, even if it should do no other good. She arrived at the house about the middle of the afternoon. She found Mary Erskine busily at work, putting the house in order, and rectifying the many derangements which sickness and death always occasion. Mary Erskine received Mrs. Bell at first with a cheerful smile, and seemed, to all appearance, as contented and happy as usual. The sight of Mrs. Bell, however, recalled forcibly to her mind her irremediable loss, and overwhelmed her heart, again, with bitter grief. She went to the window, where her little work-table had been placed, and throwing herself down in a chair before it, she crossed her arms upon the table, laid her forehead down upon them in an attitude of despair, and burst into tears.
Mrs. Bell drew up toward her and stood by her side in silence. She pitied her with all her heart, but she did not know what to say to comfort her.
Just then little Bella came climbing up the steps, from the stoop, with some flowers in her hand, which she had gathered in the yard. As soon as she had got up into the room she stood upon her feet and went dancing along toward the baby, who was playing upon the floor, singing as she danced. She gave the baby the flowers, and then, seeing that her mother was in trouble, she came up toward the place and stood still a moment, with a countenance expressive of great concern. She put her arm around her mother's neck, saying in a very gentle and soothing tone,
"Mother! what is the matter, mother?"
Mary Erskine liberated one of her arms, and clasped Bella with it fondly, but did not raise her head, or answer.
"Go and get some flowers for your mother," said Mrs. Bell, "like those which you got for the baby."
"Well," said Bella, "I will." So she turned away, and went singing and dancing out of the room.
"Mary," said Mrs. Bell. "I wish that you would shut up this house and take the children and come to my house, at least for a while, until you can determine what to do."
Mary Erskine shook her head, but did not reply. She seemed, however, to be regaining her composure. Presently she raised her head, smoothed down her hair, which was very soft and beautiful, readjusted her dress, and sat up, looking out at the window.
"If you stay here," continued Mrs. Bell, "you will only spend your time in useless and hopeless grief."
"No," said Mary Erskine, "I am not going to do any such a thing."
"Have you begun to think at all what you shall do?" asked Mrs. Bell.
"No," said Mary Erskine. "When any great thing happens, I always have to wait a little while till I get accustomed to knowing that it has happened, before I can determine what to do about it. It seems as if I did not more than half know yet, that Albert is dead. Every time the door opens I almost expect to see him come in."
"Do you think that you shall move to the new house?" asked Mrs. Bell.
"No," said Mary Erskine, "I see that I can't do that. I don't wish to move there, either, now."
"There's one thing," continued Mrs. Bell after a moment's pause, "that perhaps I ought to tell you, though it is rather bad news for you. Mr. Keep says that he is afraid that the will, which Albert made, is not good in law."
"Not good! Why not?" asked Mary Erskine.
"Why because there is only one witness The law requires that there should be three witnesses, so as to be sure that Albert really signed the will."
"Oh no," said Mary Erskine. "One witness is enough, I am sure. The Judge of Probate knows you, and he will believe you as certainly as he would a dozen witnesses."
"But I suppose," said Mrs. Bell, "that it does not depend upon the Judge of Probate. It depends upon the law."
Mary Erskine was silent. Presently she opened her drawer and took out the will and looked at it mysteriously. She could not read a word of it.
"Read it to me, Mrs. Bell," said she, handing the paper to Mrs. Bell.
Mrs. Bell read as follows:
"I bequeath all my property to my wife, Mary Erskine. Albert
Forester. Witness, Mary Bell."
"I am sure that is all right," said Mary Erskine. "It is very plain, and one witness is enough. Besides, Albert would know how it ought to be done."
"But then," she continued after a moment's pause, "he was very sick and feeble. Perhaps he did not think. I am sure I shall be very sorry if it is not a good will, for if I do not have the farm and the stock, I don't know what I shall do with my poor children."
Mary Erskine had a vague idea that if the will should prove invalid, she and her children would lose the property, in some way or other, entirely,-though she did not know precisely how. After musing upon this melancholy prospect a moment she asked,
"Should not I have any of the property, if the will proves not to be good?"
"Oh yes," said Mrs. Bell, "you will have a considerable part of it, at any rate."
"How much?" asked Mary Erskine.
"Why about half, I believe," replied Mrs. Bell.
"Oh," said Mary Erskine, apparently very much relieved. "That will do very well. Half will be enough. There is a great deal of property. Albert told me that the farm and the new house are worth five hundred dollars, and the stock is worth full three hundred more. And Albert does not owe any thing at all."
"Well," said Mrs. Bell. "You will have half. Either half or a third, I forget exactly which."
"And what becomes of the rest?" asked Mary Erskine.
"Why the rest goes to the children," said Mrs. Bell.
"To the children!" repeated Mary Erskine.
"Yes," said she, "you will have to be appointed guardian, and take care of it for them, and carry in your account, now and then, to the Judge of Probate."
"Oh," said Mary Erskine, her countenance brightening up with an expression of great relief and satisfaction. "That is just the same thing. If it is to go to the children, and I am to take care of it for them, it is just the same thing. I don't care any thing about the will at all."
So saying, she threw the paper down upon the table, as if it was of no value whatever.
"But there's one thing," she said again, after pausing a few minutes. "I can't keep any accounts. I can not even write my name."
"That is no matter," said Mrs. Bell. "There will be but little to do about the accounts, and it is easy to get somebody to do that for you."
"I wish I had learned to write," said Mary Erskine.
Mrs. Bell said nothing, but in her heart she wished so too.