The Argosy — page 368: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Aunt Paradox. 347 “Yes, yes,” testily cried the lawyer, ‘but you don’t understand. There were some legacies bequeathed in this last will; one of them to you, Gatty. If the will can’t be found, the legacies are void.” Gatty sighed. ‘“ Well, sir, we must take things as they come,” he said, with resignation. ‘‘ My master was very dear to me, and [I shall at all events have the consolation of knowing that he did remember me.” “You won't suffer, Gatty, will or no will,” said Richard Damer. Again a few days went on. It appeared to be utterly useless to search further for the new will; the conclusion unwillingly come to was, that Mr. Damer had himself destroyed it; and Mr. Stephon made preparations for proving the old one, which must now be acted upon. By this will Mrs. Paradox came into five hundred pounds a year, and Richard Damer decided to go down into Norfolk to tell her of it. “You may as well go with me, George,” he said to his friend Ryde, the previous night. ‘“ There’s an excellent village inn, clean and quiet, and I’ve written to the landlord to expect me.” “Don’t mind if I do,” answered the young man, whose time was his own, for he had been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, and was in no profession. ‘‘What place do you call it?—Barnham Pp Never heard of it.” “It has only about a score of dwellings in it, half of them cot- tages. Aunt Paradox has named hers ‘Barnham Lodge.’ We'll go down by an early train to-morrow. The country is very pretty about there—affords a fine field for you sketchers.” BT: BARNHAM LODGE was a little red-brick house, standing just beyond the village. It had a flower garden and lawn, a productive kitchen-garden and a poultry-yard surrounding it. Seated in the kitchen, scraping asparagus, was a fair, pretty girl, very intent upon her work. She wore a white cotton frock with blue spots upon it; spots as blue as her own clear blue eyes. Her sleeves were partly tucked up and her hands and arms were the delicate ones of a lady. May had just come in, the air was balmy, and the sun shone through - the kitchen window right upon the girl’s lovely golden hair. At that moment two young men, who had left the train and ordered a porter to take their travelling bags to the village-inn, the ‘ Plough,” where they meant to put up, turned into the garden. On each side of the path that led up to the door was a flower-bed, in which appeared Spring’s fragrant flowers. Richard Damer, who wore mourning, stooped to pick a small early rose, no bigger than a button. By the broad, white doorstep grew a huge cluster of the fragrant southernwood—not that everybody cares for its scent. He tried the front door, found it fastened, and was turning away. “Why don’t you knock ?” asked Mr. Ryde. COMICOOOLKS