ly ties, I did not suffer much during my
absence. Still the old village seemed to take on a kind of motherly air
as the stage, with me in it, rattled into town, and I was just dropping
into a pleasant little reverie, when a carriage, which I recognized as
Markson's, dashed down the road, met us, and stopped, while the coachman
shouted:

"Raines's foreman says the old man's coming home to-day."

He meant me.

"Reckon his head was purty level," replied the stage-driver, tossing his
head backward toward me.

"Mr. Raines," said the coachman, recognizing me, "Mr. Markson is awful
sick--like to die any minute--an' he wants to see you right away--wishes
you wouldn't wait for anything."

What to make of it I didn't know, and said so, upon which the
stage-driver rather pettishly suggested that 'twouldn't take long to
find out if I got behind Markson's team; and, as I agreed with him, I
changed conveyances, and was soon at Markson's house.

Helen met me at the door, and led me immediately to Markson's chamber.
The distance from the door of his room to the side of his bed couldn't
have been more than twenty feet, yet, in passing over it, it seemed to
me that I imagined at least fifty reasons why the sick man had sent for
me, but not one of the fifty was either sensible or satisfactory.

I was even foolish enough to imagine Markson's conscience was troubled,
and that he was going to pay me some money which he justly owed me,
whereas he had paid me every cent, according to contract.

We reached his bedside before I had determined what it could be. Helen
took his hand, and said:

"Father, here is Mr. Raines."

Markson, who was lying motionless, with his face to the wall, turned
quickly over and grasped my hand and beckoned me closer. I put my head
down, and he whispered:

"I'm glad you've come; I want to ask you a favor--a dying man's last
request. You're an honest man (N.B.--People intending to build will
please make a note of this.--J.R.), I am sure, and I want you to help me
do justice. You have seen my wife; she can be a tiger when she wants to.
She married me for money; she thinks the will I made some time ago,
leaving everything to her, is my last. But it is not. I've deceived her,
for the sake of peace. I made one since, leaving the bulk of my property
to Helen; it came to me through her dear mother. I know nobody to trust
it with. Mrs. Markson can wrap almost any one around her finger when she
tries, and--"

H