“Surely I would not fail to provide for you.”
Mrs. Crawford shook her head.
“I am sure of your kind intentions, my husband,” she said, “but they will not avail unless you provide for me in your will.”
“Yes, it’s only right that I should do so. As soon as I feel equal to the effort I will draw up a will.”
“I hope you will, for I should not care to be dependent on Carl, who does not like me. I hope you will not think me mercenary, but to Peter and myself this is of vital importance.”
“No, I don’t misjudge you. I ought to have thought of it before.”
“I don’t care so much about myself,” said Mrs. Crawford, in a tone of self-sacrifice, “but I should not like to have Peter thrown upon the world without means.”
“All that you say is wise and reasonable,” answered her husband, wearily. “I will attend to the matter to-morrow.”
The next day Mrs. Crawford came into her husband’s presence with a sheet of legal cap.
“My dear husband,” she said, in a soft, insinuating tone, “I wished to spare you trouble, and I have accordingly drawn up a will to submit to you, and receive your signature, if you approve it.”
Dr. Crawford looked surprised.
“Where did you learn to write a will?” he asked.
“I used in my days of poverty to copy documents for a lawyer,” she replied. “In this way I became something of a lawyer myself.”
“I see. Will you read what you have prepared?”
Mrs. Crawford read the document in her hand. It provided in the proper legal phraseology for an equal division of the testator’s estate between the widow and Carl.
“I didn’t know, of course, what provision you intended to make for me,” she said, meekly. “Perhaps you do not care to leave me half the estate.”
“Yes, that seems only fair. You do not mention Peter. I ought to do something for him.”
“Your kindness touches me, my dear husband, but I shall be able to provide for him out of my liberal bequest. I do not wish to rob your son, Carl. I admit that I do not like him, but that shall not hinder me from being just.”
Dr. Crawford was pleased with this unexpected concession from his wife. He felt that he should be more at ease if Carl’s future was assured.
“Very well, my dear,” he said, cheerfully. “I approve of the will as you have drawn it up, and I will affix my signature at once.” “Then, shall I send for two of the neighbors to witness it?”
“It will be well.”
Two near neighbors were sent for and witnessed Dr. Crawford’s signature to the will.
There was a strangely triumphant look in Mrs. Crawford’s eyes as she took the document after it had been duly executed.
“You will let me keep this, doctor?” she asked. “It will be important for your son as well as myself, that it should be in safe hands.”
“Yes; I shall be glad to have you do so. I rejoice that it is off my mind.”
“You won’t think me mercenary, my dear husband, or indifferent to your life?”
“No; why should I?”
“Then I am satisfied.”
Mrs. Crawford took the will, and carrying it upstairs, opened her trunk, removed the false bottom, and deposited under it the last will and testament of Dr. Paul Crawford.
“At last!” she said to herself. “I am secure, and have compassed what I have labored for so long.”
Dr. Crawford had not noticed that the will to which he affixed his signature was not the same that had been read to him. Mrs. Crawford had artfully substituted another paper of quite different tenor. By the will actually executed, the entire estate was left to Mrs. Crawford, who was left guardian of her son and Carl, and authorized to make such provision for each as she might deem suitable. This, of course, made Carl entirely dependent on a woman who hated him.
“Now, Dr. Paul Crawford,” said Mrs. Crawford to herself, with a cold smile, “you may die as soon as you please. Peter and I are provided for. Your father died when a year older than you are now, you tell me. It is hardly likely that you will live to a greater age than he.”