“That’s a pity.”

“If I were a capitalist, I wouldn’t mind starting him myself; but as you, my dear, are my most precious property, and are not readily convertible into cash, I don’t quite see my way to do anything to assist him.”

“I didn’t think of you, Henry.  Country doctors are not likely to get rich.  But I thought Colonel Preston, who seemed to take an interest in the boy, might do something for him.”

“If he had lived, he might have done so—­probably he would.  But Mrs. Preston and Godfrey hate the Burkes like poison, for no good reason that I know of, and there is no chance of help from that quarter.”

“I should think not.”

The next day, Dr. Townley, immediately after breakfast, drew the envelope already referred to from among his private papers, and, breaking the seal, opened it.

To his surprise and excitement, he discovered that the inclosure was the last will and testament of his deceased friend.  Accompanying it was the following note: 

“My dear friend, Dr. Townley:  This is the duplicate of a will executed recently, and expresses my well-considered wishes as to the disposition of my property.  The original will may have been found and executed before you open this envelope.  In that case, of course, this will be of no value, and you can destroy it.  But I am aware that valuable papers are liable to loss or injury, and, therefore, I deem it prudent to place this duplicate in your possession, that, if the other be lost, you may see it carried into execution.  I have named you my executor, and am sure, out of regard to me, you will accept the trust, and fulfill it to the best of your ability.  I have always felt the utmost confidence in your friendship, and this will account for my troubling you on the present occasion. 
                              “Your friend,
“Anthony Preston.”

From this letter Dr. Townley turned to the perusal of the will.  The contents filled him with equal surprise and pleasure.

“Five thousand dollars to Andy Burke!” he repeated.  “That is capital!  It will start the boy in life, and with his good habits it will make him sure of a competence by and by.  With half of it he can buy an interest in Graves’ store, and the balance will, if well invested, give him a handsome addition to his income.  Then there’s the bequest for the town library—­a capital idea, that!  It will do a great deal to make the town attractive, and be a powerful agency for refining and educating the people.”

Just then Mrs. Townley, who knew what her husband was about, came into the room.

“Well, Henry,” she said, “is the paper important?”

“I should say it was.  It is Colonel Preston’s last will and testatment.”

“Is it possible?  How does he leave his property?”

“He leaves five thousand dollars for a town library.”

“Does he remember Andy Burke?”