"Don't call it a weakness! It does you credit."

Mr. Floyd exchanged a sly glance of complacency with Abner Trimble, who was pleased that his agent got off so creditably. He had evidently produced a good impression on Mrs. Trimble.

"You see, my dear," he said, gently, "that there can be no doubt about poor Edward's death. I have thought, under the circ.u.mstances, that you would feel like making a will, and seeing that I was suitably provided for. As matters stand your property would go to distant cousins, and second cousins at that, while I would be left out in the cold.

"I know, of course, that you are younger than myself and likely to outlive me, but still, life is uncertain. I don't care much for money, but I wouldn't like to die dest.i.tute, and so I asked Mr. Coleman, the lawyer, to come round. I think I hear his ring now. Will you see him?"

"Yes, if you wish it. I care very little what becomes of the property now my boy is no more."

Mr. Trimble went downstairs, and returned with a very respectable-looking man of middle age, whom he introduced as Mr.

Coleman.

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

MAKING A WILL.

"Mr. Coleman," said Trimble, with suavity, "this is my wife, Mrs.

Trimble."

The lawyer bowed.

"I believe you wish to execute a will, Mrs. Trimble?" said he.

"Yes," answered the poor mother, in a spiritless tone.

Various questions were asked in relation to the property, and then the lawyer seated himself at a table and wrote the formal part of the will.

"I understand you wish to leave the entire property to your husband?"

he said, in a tone of inquiry.

"In the event of my son's death," interpolated Mrs. Trimble.

"But, my dear, he is dead," said Abner Trimble, with a slight frown.

"I would prefer to have it expressed in this way."

"I am sure," continued Trimble, annoyed, "that Mr. Coleman will consider it unnecessary."

"I see no objections to it," said the lawyer. "Of course, the son being dead, it won't count."

"Mr. Coleman," explained Mrs. Trimble, "I have no reason to doubt my poor son's death, but I didn't see him die, and there may have been a mistake."

"How can there be?" demanded Trimble, impatiently. "Didn't my friend Floyd see him drowned?"

"He may have been mistaken. Besides, he only says he did not see him after the boat upset. He may have been picked up by some other boat."

For the first time Trimble and Floyd saw the flaw in the story, which had been invented by Trimble himself.

"Was there any boat near, Floyd?" asked Trimble, winking significantly.

"No, sir; not within a quarter of a mile."

"Edward could swim. He may have reached one by swimming."

This was news to Trimble. He had not been aware that his stepson could swim.

"Under the circ.u.mstances," said the lawyer, "I think Mrs. Trimble is right."

Trimble looked panic-stricken. Knowing that Edward Granger was still living he recognized the fact that such a will would do him no good.

"If he were alive he would let us know," he said, after a pause.

"Probably he would."

"So that we may conclude he is dead."

"It might be stipulated that if the missing son does not appear within three years from the time the will is made he may be regarded as dead?"

suggested the lawyer.

"One year would be sufficient, it seems to me," put in Trimble.

"I would rather make it three," said his wife.

Abner Trimble looked disappointed, but did not dare object.

The lawyer continued to write.

"I understand, then," he observed, "that you bequeath all your estate to your husband, in the event of your son being decided to be dead."

Mrs. Trimble paused to consider.

"I think," she said, "I will leave the sum of five thousand dollars to charitable purposes as a memorial of Edward."

"I don't think much of charitable societies," growled Trimble.

"Some of them do a great deal of good," said the lawyer. "Are there any particular societies which you would wish to remember, Mrs. Trimble?"

"I leave the choice to my executor," said the lady.

"Whom have you selected for that office?"

"Will you serve?" she asked.

"Then you don't care to appoint Mr. Trimble?"