Laurie bit his lips, and turning a little from the
pensive speaker, read the following document, with
praiseworthy gravity, considering the spelling:
I, Amy Curtis March, being in my sane mind, go give
and bequeethe all my earthly property—viz.
to wit:—namely
To my father, my best pictures, sketches, maps, and
works of art, including frames. Also my $100,
to do what he likes with.
To my mother, all my clothes, except the blue apron
with pockets—also my likeness, and my medal,
with much love.
To my dear sister Margaret, I give my turkquoise ring
(if I get it), also my green box with the doves on
it, also my piece of real lace for her neck, and my
sketch of her as a memorial of her ‘little girl’.
To Jo I leave my breastpin, the one mended with sealing
wax, also my bronze inkstand—she lost the
cover—and my most precious plaster rabbit,
because I am sorry I burned up her story.
To Beth (if she lives after me) I give my dolls and
the little bureau, my fan, my linen collars and my
new slippers if she can wear them being thin when
she gets well. And I herewith also leave her
my regret that I ever made fun of old Joanna.
To my friend and neighbor Theodore Laurence I bequeethe
my paper mashay portfolio, my clay model of a horse
though he did say it hadn’t any neck.
Also in return for his great kindness in the hour
of affliction any one of my artistic works he likes,
Noter Dame is the best.
To our venerable benefactor Mr. Laurence I leave my
purple box with a looking glass in the cover which
will be nice for his pens and remind him of the departed
girl who thanks him for his favors to her family,
especially Beth.
I wish my favorite playmate Kitty Bryant to have the
blue silk apron and my gold-bead ring with a kiss.
To Hannah I give the bandbox she wanted and all the
patchwork I leave hoping she ‘will remember
me, when it you see’.
And now having disposed of my most valuable property
I hope all will be satisfied and not blame the dead.
I forgive everyone, and trust we may all meet when
the trump shall sound. Amen.
To this will and testiment I set my hand and seal
on this 20th day of Nov. Anni Domino 1861.
Amy Curtis March
Witnesses:
Estelle Valnor,
Theodore Laurence.
The last name was written in pencil, and Amy explained
that he was to rewrite it in ink and seal it up for
her properly.
“What put it into your head? Did anyone
tell you about Beth’s giving away her things?”
asked Laurie soberly, as Amy laid a bit of red tape,
with sealing wax, a taper, and a standish before him.
She explained and then asked anxiously, “What
about Beth?”
“I’m sorry I spoke, but as I did, I’ll
tell you. She felt so ill one day that she told
Jo she wanted to give her piano to Meg, her cats to
you, and the poor old doll to Jo, who would love it
for her sake. She was sorry she had so little
to give, and left locks of hair to the rest of us,
and her best love to Grandpa. She never thought
of a will.”
