“Emily and Louis will know jest what to do with their share; and now, John Jones, to you,—­as a child of our father, as a brother to me,—­I say, help yourself with what little I bestow in the very best way you can.  Ef I didn’t know you would look well after Peg and Matthias I should have left it to them and not to you.  They won’t stay here very much longer, any way—­and its all peace ahead, blessed peace.  You, perhaps, are wonderin’ why Jane and her husband ain’t here in this list.  This is the reason:  I wanted to tell you jest how I come to have this money, and I thought her husband would feel bad at the explanation.  I should like to have you all go over there, and let Mr. Minot read to Mr. and Mrs. Turner and the children the paper I have left for them.  Now I’m contented to go, and ef they do put a railroad track through my wood lot, it can’t make me feel bad.  The things of earth that I held so close through long years, will not seem to me any more as they have, too holy to be teched.”

When father concluded the reading, we sat in such silence that the tick of the old clock, was to our ears the united beating of our hearts.  Our thoughts were all centered on the wisdom and goodness of our unselfish friend who, through her life had been ever mindful of the needs of her fellow-men, and who, when standing before the gate of her eternal home, threw behind her her last treasure, thinking still of the poor hearts who needed its benefit.

We were to assemble at Jane’s the next afternoon at five o’clock, and when we said “good night,” John looked up at the stars and said: 

“If the spirit of that good woman sees me, she reads what I cannot tell you.”

The next afternoon found us in Jane’s large square room, which faced the western sky, and no less than twenty children were seated there with us.  This number seemed to be the complement of the Home,—­as many as could comfortably be accommodated.  It was a pleasant care to Jane, for her heart was in the work, and she looked younger now than before the work began.  The wishes of the boys were consulted, and each one as nearly fitted to the place he occupied as possible.  Jane said, when they first began to multiply, the care troubled her some; but she began to talk to herself, and to say:  “There now, don’t be foolish enough to notice every little caper of them boys,” and then, she said:  “I began to practise what I preached to myself.  It worked first-rate, for I give over watchin’ ’em, and we get along splendid.”

There was a breathless silence when Louis said: 

“We are here at the request of your friend, children, the blessed Aunt Hildy who has left a word for you.  You know she loved you, and I imagine at this moment you are each wearing a pair of stockings which were knit for you by her.  Now listen, please, while Mr. Minot reads to you her letter.”

Then, in a slow and impressive manner, father read as follows: