“Of course, we can’t tell the duration of our lives.  Still, I think you will outlive me.  If not, I shall reclaim the paper.  Meanwhile, I shall be glad to have you take charge of it for me.”

“Of course I will.  It is a slight favor to ask.”

“It may prove important.  By the way, there is no need of telling anyone, unless, perchance, your wife.  I don’t want to force you to keep anything secret from her.  Mrs. Townley, I know, may be depended upon.”

“I think she may.  Well, Colonel Preston, set your mind at rest.  I will take care of the paper.”

When Colonel Preston died, not long afterward, the doctor naturally thought of the paper, and, as no will was left, it occurred to him that this might be a will; but, in that case, he couldn’t understand why he should have been enjoined to keep it six months before opening it.  On the whole, he concluded that it was not a will.

Seated at the supper table, about this time, Mrs. Townley said, suddenly: 

“Henry, how long is it since Colonel Preston died?”

“Let me see,” said the doctor, thoughtfully.  “It is—­yes, it is six months to-morrow.”

“Then it is time for you to open that envelope he gave into your charge.”

“So it is.  My dear, your feminine curiosity inspired that thought,” said the doctor, smiling.

“Perhaps you are right.  I own I am a little inquisitive in the matter.”

“I am glad you mentioned it.  I have so much on my mind that I should have let the day pass, and I should be sorry not to fulfill to the letter the promise I made to my friend.”

“Have you any suspicion as to the nature of the document?”

“I thought it might be a will; but, if so, I can’t understand why a delay of six months should have been interposed.”

“Colonel Preston may have had his reasons.  Possibly he did not fully trust his wife’s attention to his requests.”

“It may be so.  I am afraid his married life was not altogether harmonious.  Mrs. Preston always struck me as a very selfish woman.”

“No doubt of that.”

“She evidently regarded herself as superior to the rest of us.”

“In that respect Godfrey is like her.  He is a self-conceited, disagreeable young jackanapes.  I wouldn’t give much for his chances of honorable distinction in life.  I’ll tell you of a boy who will, in my opinion, beat him in the race of life.”

“Who is that?”

“Andy Burke.”

“Andy is a good boy, but I am afraid the family is doing poorly now.”

“So I fear.  The, fact is, there doesn’t appear to be much opening for a lad like Andy in this village.”

“I hear that Mr. Graves, the storekeeper, who is getting old, wants to get a boy, or young man, with a small capital to take an interest in his business, and, eventually, succeed him.”

“That would be a good chance for Andy, if he had the small capital; but he probably hasn’t ten dollars in the world.”