“In accordance,” said he, with an air of respect and resignation, “with the wishes of the late Christopher Burt, as expressed in a paper found in his secretary drawer after his decease, I am about to open his will.”

The Honorable Mr. Dinks cleared his throat.  Mrs. Fanny Newt Dinks turned back from the window, and conversation ceased.  All eyes were fixed upon the speaker, who became more pigeon-breasted every moment.  He took out his glasses and placed them upon his nose, and slowly surveyed the company.  He then drew a sealed paper from his pocket, clearing his throat with great dignity as he did so: 

“This is the document,” said he, again glancing about the room.  At this point Hiram stepped gently in, and stood by the door.

Mr. Dinks proceeded to break the seal as if it had been sacramental bread, and with occasional looks at the groups around him, opened the document—­shook it—­creased it back—­smoothed it—­and held it carefully in the attitude of reading.

When the audience had been sufficiently impressed with this ceremony, and with a proper conviction of the fact that he of all other men had been selected to reveal the contents of that important paper to mankind, he began, and read that, being of sound mind and body, etc., etc., Christopher Burt, etc., etc., as an humble Christian, and loving the old forms, gave his body to the ground, his soul to his God, in the hope of a happy resurrection, etc., etc.; and devised and bequeathed his property, etc., etc., in the manner following, to wit; that is to say: 

At this point Mr. Dinks paused, and blew his nose with profound gravity.  He proceeded: 

“First.  I give to my housekeeper, Jane Simcoe, the friend of my darling daughter Mary, and the life-long friend and guardian of my dear grand-daughter, Hope Wayne, one thousand dollars per annum, as hereinafter specified.”

Mrs. Simcoe’s face did not change; nobody moved except Alfred Dinks, who changed the position of his legs, and thought within himself—­“By Jove!”

“Second. I give to Almira Dinks, the daughter of my brother Jonathan Burt, and the wife of Budlong Dinks, of Boston, the sum of five thousand dollars.”

The voice of Mr. Dinks faltered.  His wife half rose and sat down again—­her face of a dark mahogany color.  Fanny Newt sat perfectly still and looked narrowly at her father-in-law, with an expression which was very black and dangerous.  Alfred had an air of troubled consternation, as if something fearful were about to happen.  The whole company were disturbed.  They seemed to be in an electrical condition of apprehension, like the air before a thunder-burst.

Mr. Dinks continued: 

“Third.  I give to Alfred Dinks, my grand-nephew, my silver shoe-buckles, which belonged to his great-grandfather Burt.”

“Fourth. And all the other estate, real and personal, of which I may die seized, I give, devise, and bequeath to Budlong Dinks, Timothy Kingo, and Selah Sutler, in trust, nevertheless, and for the sole use, behoof, and benefit of my dearly-beloved grand-daughter, Hope Wayne.”