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8 WRECKED AM) SAVKD.
mercy of friends. He argued through the whole matter as he
was walking to Stoncmoor, with the note to Mr. Breward in
his pocket.
" If I am helped by friends," he said, " I must be thankful
to God and to thorn. I have had to be thankful to friciiu
siiu-e J was nn infant. If friends nro lost, and if there should
he n ne to surco, d 1 em, I cau go on being grateful for the
f..vnrs I J.uve already profl.ed by. Whut I niu friend* have
made me. I have not had any claim oil them ; I know that.
It 1 as ail been pure Christian charity. Once Lady Edith said
that it was a pleasure to help the deserving, and very
often a
duty to help the undeserving. I remember her saying it in
the school some time ago. I remember how I felt it, and how
I made a resolution to be a pleasure to my friends while I was
taking their favors, and in future to be, in my turn, a blessing
to some one else, if I ever had the chance."
Such ideas occupied Peter's mind as he went on his way. In
this manner he was strengthening himself to meet all the
" I am just what God
afternoon.
And so the week went on. All preparations for the funeral
were finished ; and on Friday the body of the guO.l man who
had been like a father to the people was consigned to the grave.
There had never before been such a funeral in that place. Peter
was among those who served at the altar. Every heart was
saying, " May the souls of the faithful departed, by the mercy
of God, rest in peace I"
It may be safely said that not one selfish thought was in
Peter's mind that day.
Then there was the reading of the will.
Father Joseph wag at the mansion. The family solicitor,
Mr. Beunet, v as there. B fore this gentleman went away, he
sent for Mr. Bloomfield, Mrs. BraJing, and the housekeeper.
When they entered the dining-room, they found there the
priest and Lady Edith.
'I sent for you," said Mr. Bennet, "at Mrs. Penwarne's
duty. Among these legacies are, to every servant one year's
wages. In addition to which will be paid to every servant who
has lived ov r four years in this service four pounds for every
to every one who has lived over six years
in this service, six pounds for every year of service ; and to
such as have Lved over ten years in this service, ten pounds
for every year of service. Mr. Bloomfield has lived for over
boy has beeu brought up.
" Now good-bye," said Mr. Bennet. "We have all of us lost
a most excellent friend. I shall be here again soon to settle
future pos> essor of this place is a man not much over thirty,
who has never seen it, and who is a Protestant. There was a
mixed marriage, and he was brought up by his mother, his
father dying when he was young. He lives abroad, and is in
the wine-trade. Good-bye once more." And Mr. Bennet made
a hasty retreat, saying ho should go to to the stables and see
after h:s gifr.
Bloomfield followed him.
Father Joseph and Lady Edith went into the garden, that
Hjnvad away from the end of the house tj the grove o. :
trees; and the servants got away to their own rooms. Tlio
f"the destiny of old Penwarne fell upon UKMU us
rowt'ul bio v. They had never heard of it befor-. Hut s> it
was and all life seemed to ; change. They could scarcely spare
even one thought tj themselves or Peter Sands.
CHAPTER VIL
But those outside the house had more leisure for
and idle tongues
thought,
were even unusually busy.
There are always plenty of people in a village like Penwarne
whose tongues are forever wagging as
and their neighbors' doings.
to their own troub.i s
Grtat surprise was shown over the news of the large sum of
village talk of his being a charity-boy.
made me," he said to his arguing self, by way of a concluding
remark, " and I humbly pray that I may iu the future be that
which He expects and commands me to be."
And so, having made his mind up to this strai fat-forward
course, he delivered the note, saw Mr. Breward, got his leave
for the week's absence, and r turned to Father Joseph wi!h
Mr. Brewaid's promise to be at Penwarne the next money
Saturday
left for the use of Peter Sands and the ; greatest imaginable
ill-nature was exhibited on the occasion. Wuat had
that boy done, people would like to know, that
remembered in that manner ?
he shou.d be
They gossiped over the news. O yes ; they were not going
to say anything against the servants. They had worked f r
it. And the Colonel had been very rich, and he had no living
children, and he could afford to be generous. But that ! Iwy
What had Peter done .' They should like to know that.
"You stop," said a harsh voice, well known as Mary Gar-
dener's, to such talkers by the village pump " you stop. It
is not the way to put it. The question is, not what
has Peter done, but what has the Colonel done ? That is the
question. He was rich, as you siy ; and generous, as you say
also and he has done right. Would there have been any
justice in his supporting a boy, and paying well for every bit
he ate, and even for lodging, clothing, and washing, and giving
him a good education, and then leaving him to the workhouse
? The Colonel has done in his death what he would
have done in his life if longer days had been given to him
and I wikli you would all hold your tongues. "
suggestion, to tell you some part of your late master's will
such points as particularly concern this household. thingEvery-
of every kind belongs to his widow, subject to certain
legacies, which are to be paid by the executors free of legacy
year of such service It was strange to hear Mary talk, who was the most silent
person
;
in the village. Some people said that she had never
said ten words togeiher since her mother died; others, that her
father was a very hard man in private, and that she had had a
very difficult life to keep it all pleasant, and that many words
had never dons with James Gardener, who was a worse man
than he seemed. However, whatever the man was in the eyes
of Him who sees in secret, he was a great personage now,
being associated with Father Sands.
Joseph as trustee for Peter
Perhaps other people were found who secretly suspected
James Gardener of being worse than he looked.
Mr. Bennet appeared at that pretty cottage-door one afternoon,
and went through the orchard-house to see James Gardener;
and he "
began by saying, The choice of you as one of
the trustees for the boy Peter was made > even years ago, when
thirty years, I think. To him there is a further legacy of four
hundred pound^, and an annuity of twenty pounds. To the
boy who was washed ashore here twelve years ago, and whoso
maintenance and education Colonel Penwarne took on himself,
there is a legacy ot one thousand pounds. The trustees of this
legacy, which was left to him more than seven years ago, are
Father Joseph and Mr. James Gardener, in whose house the
that boy was only seven years old. I want you to refuse to
act, and I ask you to give it up. I will prepare a legal document
by which another trustee can be appointed, and I think
"
it had better be done directly.
"
Why?" asked James Gardener, with a face full of amaze-
some affairs with Mrs. Penwarne. The whole of this property
goes, I am sorry to say, to a very distant cousin of the Colonel's.
The only landed property he had to leave are his
estates in Wales and some farms in Buckinghamshire. The
ment, for truly he had never in his life felt more astonished.
" Because Mrs. Penwarue an 1 others wish it. As executor
to the will, jointly with Mrs. Penwarne, I wish it."
' ' What have I d jue ? Why do "
you wish it ?
"It is no disgrace that I want to put on you. It is, to speak
plainly, bee juse you are not fit for the post. In the seven
years that Peter Sands has lived since trustee the boy
you were naiied as
has shown great genius, even extraordinary
capacity. The trustees have under the will power to apply
this money to his use before he is of age if it t hould be for his