While the building operations were going on at such a rapid rate on the corner lot, Mrs. Cliff tried to make herself as happy as possible in her own home. She liked having enough servants to do all the work, and relieve both her and Willy. She liked to be able to drive out when she wanted to, or to invite a few of her friends to dinner or to tea, and to give them the very best the markets afforded of everything she thought they might like; but she was not a satisfied woman.

It was true that Mr. Burke was doing all that he could with her money, and doing it well, she had not the slightest doubt; but, after all, a new dining-room was a matter of small importance. She had fears that even after it was all finished and paid for she would find that her income had gained upon her.

As often as once a day the argument came to her that it would be wise for her to give away the bulk of her fortune in charity, and thus rid herself of the necessity for this depressing struggle between her desire to live as she wanted to live, and the obligations to herself under which her fortune placed her; but she could not consent to thus part with her great fortune. She would not turn her back upon her golden opportunities. As soon as she had so determined her life that the assertion of her riches would not interfere with her domestic and social affairs, she would be charitable enough, she would do good works upon a large scale; but she must first determine what she was to do for herself, and so let her charities begin at home.

This undecided state of mind did not have a good effect upon her general appearance, and it was frequently remarked that her health was not what it used to be. Miss Nancy Shott thought there was nothing to wonder at in this. Mrs. Cliff had never been accustomed to spend money, and it was easy to see, from the things she had bought abroad and put into that little house, that she had expended a good deal more than she could afford, and no wonder she was troubled, and no wonder she was looking thin and sick.

Other friends, however, did not entirely agree with Miss Shott. They thought their old friend was entirely too sensible a woman to waste a fortune, whether it had been large or small, which had come to her in so wonderful a manner; and they believed she had money enough to live on very comfortably. If this were not the case, she would never consent to keep a carriage almost for Willy Croup's sole use.

They thought, perhaps, that the example and companionship of Mr. Burke might have had an effect upon her. It was as likely as not that she had borne part of the expense of moving the Barnard house, so that there should be nothing between her and the new building. But this, as they said themselves, was mere surmise. Mr. Burke might fancy large grounds, and he was certainly able to have them if he wanted them. Whatever people said and thought about Mrs. Cliff and her money, it was generally believed that she was in comfortable circumstances. Still, it had to be admitted that she was getting on in years.

Now arose a very important question among the gossips of Plainton: who was to be Mrs. Cliff's heir?

Everybody knew that Mrs. Cliff had but one blood relation living, and that was Willy Croup, and no one who had given any thought whatever to the subject believed that Willy Croup would be her heir. Her husband had some distant relatives, but, as they had had nothing to do with Mrs. Cliff during the days of her adversity, it was not likely that she would now have anything to do with them. Especially, as any money she had to leave did not come through her husband.

But, although the simple-minded Willy Croup was a person who would not know how to take care of money if she had it, and although everybody knew that if Mrs. Cliff made a will she would never think of leaving her property to Willy, still, everybody who thought or talked about the matter saw the appalling fact staring them in their faces—that if Mrs. Cliff died without a will, Willy would inherit her possessions!

The more it was considered, the more did this unpleasant contingency trouble the minds of certain of the female citizens of Plainton. Miss Cushing, the principal dressmaker of the place, was greatly concerned upon this subject, and as her parlor, where she generally sat at her work, was a favorite resort of certain ladies, who sometimes had orders to give, and always had a great deal to say, it was natural that those good women who took most to heart Mrs. Cliff's heirless condition should think of Miss Cushing whenever they were inclined to talk upon the subject.

Miss Shott dropped in there one day with a very doleful countenance. That very morning she had passed Mrs. Cliff's house on the other side of the way, and had seen that poor widow standing in her front yard with the most dejected and miserable countenance she had ever seen on a human being.

"People might talk as much as they pleased about Mrs. Cliff being troubled because she had spent too much money, that all might be, or it might not be, but it was not the reason for that woman looking as if she was just ready to drop into a sick-bed. When people go to the most unhealthy regions in the whole world, and live in holes in the ground like hedgehogs, they cannot expect to come home without seeds of disease in their system, which are bound to come out. And that those seeds were now coming out in Mrs. Cliff no sensible person could look at her and deny."

When Miss Cushing heard this, she felt more strongly convinced than ever of the importance of the subject upon which she and some of her friends had been talking. But she said nothing in regard to that subject to Miss Shott. What she had to say and what she had already said about the future of Mrs. Cliff's property, and what her particular friends had said, were matters which none of them wanted repeated, and when a citizen of Plainton did not wish anything repeated, it was not told to Miss Shott.

But after Miss Shott had gone, there came in Mrs. Ferguson, a widow lady, and shortly afterwards, Miss Inchman, a middle-aged spinster, accompanied by Mrs. Wells and Mrs. Archibald, these latter both worthy matrons of the town. Mrs. Archibald really came to talk to Miss Cushing about a winter dress, but during the subsequent conversation she made no reference to this errand.

Miss Cushing was relating to Mrs. Ferguson what Nancy had told her when the other ladies came in, but Nancy Shott had stopped in at each of their houses and had already given them the information.

"Nancy always makes out things a good deal worse than they are," said Mrs. Archibald, "but there's truth in what she says. Mrs. Cliff is failing; everybody can see that!"

"Of course they can," said Miss Cushing, "and I say that if she has any friends in Plainton,—and everybody knows she has,—it's time for them to do something!"

"The trouble is, what to do, and who is to do it," remarked Mrs. Ferguson.

"What to do is easy enough," said Miss Cushing, "but who is to do it is another matter."

"And what would you do?" asked Mrs. Wells. "If she feels she needs a doctor, she has sense enough to send for one without waiting until her friends speak about it."

"The doctor is a different thing altogether!" said Miss Cushing. "If he comes and cures her, that's neither here nor there. It isn't the point! But the danger is, that, whether he comes or not, she is a woman well on in years, with a constitution breaking down under her,—that is as far as appearances go, for of course I can't say anything positive about it,—and she has nobody to inherit her money, and as far as anybody knows she has never made a will!"

"Oh, she has never made a will," said Mrs. Wells, "because my John is in the office, and if Mrs. Cliff had ever come there on such business, he would know about it."

"But she ought to make a will," said Miss Cushing. "That's the long and short of it; and she ought to have a friend who would tell her so. That would be no more than a Christian duty which any one of us would owe to another, if cases were changed."

"I don't look upon Mrs. Cliff as such a very old woman," said Miss Inchman, "but I agree with you that this thing ought to be put before her. Willy Croup will never do it, and really if some one of us don't, I don't know who will."

"There's Mrs. Perley," said Mrs. Archibald.

"Oh, she'd never do!" struck in Miss Cushing. "Mrs. Perley is too timid. She would throw it off on her husband, and if he talks to Mrs. Cliff about a will, her money will all go to the church or to some charity. I should say that one of us ought to take on herself this friendly duty. Of course, it would not do to go to her and blurt out that we all thought she would not live very long, and that she ought to make her will; but conversation could be led to the matter, and when Mrs. Cliff got to consider her own case, I haven't a doubt but that she would be glad to have advice and help from an old friend."

All agreed that this was a very correct view of the case, but not one of them volunteered to go and talk to Mrs. Cliff on the subject. This was not from timidity, nor from an unwillingness to meddle in other people's business, but from a desire on the part of each not to injure herself in Mrs. Cliff's eyes by any action which might indicate that she had a personal interest in the matter.

Miss Cushing voiced the opinion of the company when she said: "When a person has no heirs, relatives ought to be considered first, but if there are none of these, or if they aren't suitable, then friends should come in. Of course, I mean the oldest and best friends of the party without heirs."

No remark immediately followed this, for each lady was thinking that she, probably more than any one else in Plainton, had a claim upon Mrs. Cliff's attention if she were leaving her property to her friends, as she certainly ought to do.

In years gone by Mrs. Cliff had been a very kind friend to Miss Cushing. She had loaned her money, and assisted her in various ways, and since her return to Plainton she had put a great deal of work into Miss Cushing's hands. Dress after dress for Willy Croup had been made, and material for others was still lying in the house; and Mrs. Cliff herself had ordered so much work, that at this moment Miss Cushing had two girls upstairs sewing diligently upon it.

Having experienced all this kindness, Miss Cushing felt that if Mrs. Cliff left any of her money to her friends, she would certainly remember her, and that right handsomely. If anybody spoke to Mrs. Cliff upon the subject, she would insist, and she thought she had a right to insist, that her name should be brought in prominently.

Mrs. Ferguson had also well-defined opinions upon the subject. She had two daughters who were more than half grown, had learned all that they could be taught in Plainton, and she was very anxious to send them away to school, where their natural talents could be properly cultivated. She felt that she owed a deep and solemn duty to these girls, and she had already talked to Mrs. Cliff about them.

The latter had taken a great deal of interest in the matter, and although she had not said she would help Mrs. Ferguson to properly educate these girls, for she had not asked her help, she had taken so much interest in the matter that their mother had great hopes. And if this widow without any children felt inclined to assist the children of others during her life, how much more willing would she be likely to be to appropriate a portion of what she left behind her to such an object!

Mrs. Wells and Mrs. Archibald had solid claims upon Mrs. Cliff. It was known that shortly after the death of her husband, when she found it difficult to make collections and was very much in need of money for immediate expenses, they had each made loans to her. It is true that even before she started for South America she had repaid these loans with full legal interest. But the two matrons could not forget that they had been kind to her, nor did they believe that Mrs. Cliff had forgotten what they had done, for the presents she had brought them from France were generally considered as being more beautiful and more valuable than those given to anybody else,—except the Thorpedykes and the Perleys. This indicated a very gratifying gratitude upon which the two ladies, each for herself, had every right to build very favorable hopes.

Miss Inchman and Mrs. Cliff had been school-fellows, and when they were both grown young women there had been a good deal of doubt which one of them William Cliff would marry. He made his choice, and Susan Inchman never showed by word or deed that she begrudged him to her friend, to whom she had always endeavored to show just as much kindly feeling as if there had been two William Cliffs, and each of the young women had secured one of them. If Mrs. Cliff, now a widow with money enough to live well upon and keep a carriage, was making out her will, and was thinking of her friends in Plainton, it would be impossible for her to forget one who was the oldest friend of all.

So it is easy to see why she did not want to go to Mrs. Cliff and prejudice her against herself, by stating that she ought to make a will for the benefit of the old friends who had always loved and respected her.

Miss Cushing now spoke. She knew what each member of the little company was thinking about, and she felt that it might as well be spoken of.

"It does seem to me," said she, "and I never would have thought of it, if it hadn't been for the talk we had,—that we five are the persons that Mrs. Cliff would naturally mention in her will, not, perhaps, regarding any money she might have to leave—"

"I don't see why!" interrupted Mrs. Ferguson.

"Well, that's neither here nor there," continued Miss Cushing. "Money is money, and nobody knows what people will do with it when they die, and if she leaves anything to the church or to charity, it's her money! but I'm sure that Mrs. Cliff has too much hard sense to order her executors to sell all the beautiful rugs, and table-covers, and glass, and china, and the dear knows what besides is in her house at this moment! They wouldn't bring anything at a sale, and she would naturally think of leaving them to her friends. Some might get more and some might get less, but we five in this room at this present moment are the old friends that Mrs. Cliff would naturally remember. And if any one of us ever sees fit to speak to her on the subject, we're the people who should be mentioned when the proper opportunity comes to make such mention."

"You're forgetting Willy Croup," said Mrs. Wells.

"No," answered Miss Cushing, a little sharply, "I don't forget her, but I'll have nothing to do with her. I don't suppose she'll be forgotten, but whatever is done for her or whatever is not done for her is not our business. It's my private opinion, however, that she's had a good deal already!"

"Well," said Mrs. Ferguson, "I suppose that what you say is all right,—at least I've no objections to any of it; but whoever's going to speak to her, it mustn't be me, because she knows I've daughters to educate, and she'd naturally think that if I spoke I was principally speaking for myself, and that would set her against me, which I wouldn't do for the world. And whatever other people may say, I believe she will have money to leave."

Miss Cushing hesitated for a moment, and then spoke up boldly.

"It's my opinion," said she, "that Miss Inchman is the proper person to speak to Mrs. Cliff on this important subject. She's known her all her life, from the time when they were little girls together, and when they were both grown she made sacrifices for her which none of the rest of us had the chance to make.

"Now, for Miss Inchman to go and open the subject in a gradual and friendly way would be the right and proper thing, no matter how you look at it, and it's my opinion that we who are now here should ask her to go and speak, not in our names perhaps, but out of good-will and kindness to us as well as to Mrs. Cliff."

Mrs. Wells was a lady who was in the habit of saying things at the wrong time, and she now remarked, "We've forgotten the Thorpedykes! You know, Mrs. Cliff—"

Miss Cushing leaned forward, her face reddened. "Bother the Thorpedykes!" she exclaimed. "They're no more than acquaintances, and ought not to be spoken of at all. And as for Mrs. Perley, if any one's thinking of her, she's only been here four years, and that gives her no claim whatever, considering that we've been lifelong friends and neighbors of Sarah Cliff.

"And now, in behalf of all of us, I ask you, Miss Inchman, will you speak to Mrs. Cliff?"

Miss Inchman was rather a small woman, spare in figure, and she wore glasses, which seemed to be of a peculiar kind, for while they enabled her to see through them into surrounding space, they did not allow people who looked at her to see through them into her eyes. People often remarked that you could not tell the color of Miss Inchman's eyes when she had her spectacles on.

Thus it was that although her eyes were sometimes brighter than at other times, and this could be noticed through her spectacles, it was difficult to understand her expression and to discover whether she was angry or amused.

Now Miss Inchman's eyes behind her spectacles brightened very much as she looked from Miss Cushing to the other members of the little party who had constituted themselves the heirs of Mrs. Cliff. None of them could judge from her face what she was likely to say, but they all waited to hear what she would say. At this moment the door opened, and Mrs. Cliff entered the parlor.