Godfrey returned home on the day after his father's death. He had never witnessed death before, and it frightened him, for the time, into propriety. He exhibited none of the stormy and impetuous grief which a warm-hearted and affectionate boy would have been likely to exhibit. It was not in his nature.  
When he and his mother were left alone, he showed his resemblance to her, by asking:
 
"Do you know how much property father left?"
 
"I don't know. He never told me about his affairs as he ought. I think he must have left near a hundred thousand dollars."
 
Godfrey's eyes sparkled.
 
"That's a pile of money," he said. "It goes to me, don't it?"
 
"To us," said Mrs. Preston.
 
"A woman doesn't need so much money as a man," said Godfrey, selfishly.
 
"You are not a man yet," said his mother, dryly. "Your father may have left a will. In that case, he may have left a part of his property to others."
 
"Do you think he has?" inquired Godfrey, in alarm.
 
"I don't think any will will be found," said his mother, quietly. "He never spoke to me of making one."
 
"Of course not. That wouldn't be fair, would it?"
 
"It is fitting that the property should all go to us."
 
"When shall I get mine?"
 
"When you are twenty-one."
 
"That's a long time to wait," said Godfrey, grumblingly.
 
"You are only a boy yet. I shall probably be your guardian."
 
"I hope you'll give me a larger allowance than father did."
 
"I will."
 
"Must I go back to boarding school? I don't want to."
 
"If I go to Boston to live, as I think I shall, I will take you with me, and you can go to school there."
 
"That'll be jolly," said Godfrey, his eyes sparkling with anticipation. "I've got tired of this miserable town."
 
"So have I," said his mother. "We shall have more privileges in Boston."
 
"I can go to the theater as often as I please there, can't I?"
 
"We will see about that."
 
"How soon shall we move to the city?"
 
"As soon as business will allow. I must settle up your father's affairs here."
 
"Can't I go beforehand?"
 
"Would you leave me alone?" asked his mother, with a little touch of wounded affection, for she did feel attached to her son. He was the only one, indeed, for whom she felt any affection.
 
"You won't miss me, mother. It'll be awfully stupid here, and you know you'll be coming to the city as soon as you get through with the business."
 
Mrs. Preston was disappointed, but she should not have been surprised. Her only son reflected her own selfishness.
 
"It would not look well for you to go to the theater just at the present," she said.
 
"Why not?"
 
"So soon after your father's death."
 
Godfrey said nothing, but looked discontented. It was early to think of amusement, while his father lay yet unburied in the next room. He left the room, whistling. He could not gainsay his mother's objections, but he thought it hard luck.
 
A funeral in a country village is a public occasion. Friends and neighbors are expected to be present without invitation. Among those who assembled at the house were Mrs. Burke and Andy. They felt truly sorry for the death of Colonel Preston, who had been a friend to both. Mrs. Preston saw them enter, and, notwithstanding the solemnity of the occasion, the thought intruded: "They're after the legacy, but they will be disappointed. I've taken good care of that."
 
Godfrey saw them, also, and his thought was a characteristic one:
 
"What business has that Irish boy at my father's funeral? He ought to know better than to poke himself in where he is not wanted."
 
Even Godfrey, however, had the decency to let this thought remain unspoken. The services proceeded, and among those who followed on foot in the funeral procession were Andy and his mother. It never occurred to them that they were intruding. They wanted to show respect for the memory of one who had been a friend to them.
 
On the day a............