True Riches: Wealth Without Wings

The increase of Claire’s family had caused him, some time before, to remove from the two comfortable rooms in which were passed the first pleasant years of his married life.  He now occupied a small house in a retired street, the rent of which, though moderate, drew pretty heavily on his income.  But he had managed, through the prudent co-operation of his wife, not only to keep even with the world, but to lay by a small sum of money.

Few homes, in the large city wherein dwelt this obscure family, were so full of all the elements of happiness.  If, sometimes, the spirit of Claire was overshadowed by passing clouds—­as would unavoidably happen from his contact with the world, and his own variant states—­the evening’s return to the bosom of his family, generally made all bright again.

Little Fanny Elder, now ten years of age, had been steadily growing into his affections from the first.  It is questionable whether his love for his own children was a purer passion.  Older, by several years, than Edith, she had been to him more companionable; and had ever greeted his return at evening with warmer expressions of pleasure than were manifested by Edith, or the two younger children who had been added to the number of his household treasures.

On this evening, as Claire drew nearer and nearer to his home, and his thoughts began to make pictures of the scene within, its light and warmth penetrated his feelings, and when he opened, at length, the door, he was himself again.

First to bound into his arms was Fanny Elder.  What a beautiful, fairy-like creature she was!  How more than fulfilled the promise of her early childhood!  Next came Edith, now six years of age, side by side with her brother Harry, a wild little rogue, and were only a few seconds behind Fanny in throwing themselves upon their father; while little baby Mary, as she sat on the carpet, fluttered her tiny arms, and crowed out her joyous welcome.

What a merry romp they all had for the next two or three minutes.  When quiet came back again, baby was sitting on one knee, Harry on the other, and Fanny leaning her face on the shoulder of her “father”—­for so she called him with the rest—­while her glossy curls were resting in sunny clusters upon his bosom.  The memory of the child’s former home and parents seemed to have faded almost entirely.  If the past ever came back to her, like a dream, with its mingled web of sunshine and tears, she never spoke of it.  Fully had she been taken into the hearts and home of her now parents; and she rested there as one having a right to her position.

And the pure spirit who presided over this little Paradise, where was she?  Present—­observing all, and sharing in the delight her husband’s return had occasioned.  The expected kiss had not long been kept from her loving lips.

Happy household!  What have its inmates to envy in those around them?  Within the circle of many squares were none so rich in all the elements of happiness.

Soon after the evening meal was over, the children, after another merry romp with their father, went off to bed.  When Mrs. Claire returned from the chamber, whither she had accompanied them, she held a letter in her hand.

“I had forgotten all about this letter, Edward,” said she.  “It was left here for you, this afternoon.”

Claire took the letter and broke the seal, running his eye down to the signature as he unfolded it.

“Leonard Jasper!  What is this?”

His brow contracted instantly, as he commenced reading the letter.  It was brief, and in these words—­

“Mr. Edward Claire—­Sir:  From this time I relieve you of the burden of my ward, Fanny Elder.  Mrs. Jasper and myself have determined to take her into our own family, in order that we may give the needful care to her education.  Call around and see me to-morrow, and we will arrange this matter.  Yours, &c.  Leonard Jasper.”

The face of the young man had become pale by the time he had finished reading this letter; but that of his wife, who did not yet know a word of its contents, was almost white—­the effect produced on her husband filling her with a vague alarm.

“What is it, Edward?” she asked, in a low, eager whisper.

“Jasper wants us to give up Fanny.”

Edith sank into a chair, exclaiming—­

“Oh, Edward!”

“But she is only ten years of age,” said the husband, “and our contract is to keep her until she is twelve.”

“We cannot give her up,” murmured Edith, tears already beginning to flow over her cheeks.  “I never thought of this.  What can it mean?”

“Some sudden determination on the part of Jasper, and based on nothing good,” was the reply.  “But, as I said, our contract is binding until Fanny is twelve years of age, and I will never consent to its being broken.  He was over anxious to hold me in writing.  He did not value his own word, and would not trust mine.  It was well.  The dear child shall remain where she is.”

“But, after she is twelve, Edward?  What then?  Oh, I can never part with her,” said Mrs. Claire, now weeping freely.

“Two years will pass ere that time.  Jasper may have other purposes in view when our present contract expires.”

“You will see him in the morning?”

“O yes.  I must understand all about this matter.  What can it mean?  ‘Needful care to her education!’ A mere hypocritical pretence.  What does he care for her, or her education?  What, in fact, does he know of her?  Nothing at all.  Has he ever called to see her?  Has he ever made the first inquiry after her?  No.  There is something wrong, without doubt.  This movement bodes no good to our dear child.  But she has one friend who will stand between her and harm—­who will protect her, if need be, at the risk of his own life.”

Claire, as his words indicate, had suffered himself to become much excited.  Seeing this, his wife recovered, to some extent, her own self-possession, and spoke to him soothingly.

“We will wait and see what it means,” said she.  “Mr. Jasper cannot force her away from us now, if he would.”

“After seeing him to-morrow, you can understand better what we are to expect.  This note may have been written from some momentary feeling.  I cannot think that he has a settled purpose to take the child from us.”

“Time will show,” was the abstracted response.

Not for years had so unhappy an evening been spent by Edward Claire and his wife; and when they retired, it was to pass the night in broken intervals of sleep.

Early on the next morning, Claire called at the store of Jasper, who received him with cold politeness, and at once came to the matter uppermost in both their thoughts, by saying—­

“You received my note?”

“I did,” was the reply.

“Well?  All right, I suppose?”

“Fanny is not twelve years of age yet!”

“Isn’t she?  Well, what of that?” There was some impatience in the manner of Jasper.

“I agreed to take the care of her until she was twelve.”

“Well—­well—­suppose you did?  I’m her guardian, and wish to have her now in my own family.  If you agreed to keep her, I did not say that she should positively remain.”

“There was a contract signed to that effect,” firmly replied Claire.

“A contract!  Humph!  Are you sure?”

“Very sure.  You drew it yourself.”

“Have you a copy of it?”

“I have.”

Jasper seemed thrown aback by this.  He had not forgotten the contract, for all his affected ignorance thereof.  He only hoped that Edward had, through carelessness, lost his copy.  But he was mistaken.

“A contract!  A contract?” said Jasper, as if communing with his own thoughts.  “I do remember, now, something of the kind.  And so there was a written contract?”

“Yes, sir; and I have a copy in your own hand.”

“And I am to understand, Edward, that notwithstanding my wish, as the child’s legal guardian, and, therefore, the representative of her parents, to have her in my own family, that you will interpose a hasty-signed contract?”

“Mr. Jasper,” said the young man, changing his manner, “we have had this child in our family for over five years, and have grown strongly attached to her.  In fact, she seems to us as one of our own children; and we, to her, are in the place of parents.  To remove her would, therefore, be doing a great violence to our feelings, and I know it would make her unhappy.  Let her remain where she is, and you may rest assured that she will be cared for as tenderly as our own.”

“No, Edward, it is no use to talk of that,” replied Jasper, positively.  “I wish, now, to have her in my own family, and trust that you will not stand for a moment in the way.”

“But, Mr. Jasper”—­

“It will be of no avail to argue the point, Edward,” said the merchant, interrupting him.  “I was fully in earnest when I wrote to you, and am no less in earnest now.  I am certainly entitled to the possession of my ward, and will not bear, patiently, any attempt on your part to deprive me of that right.”

There was an angry quivering of the lips, and a stern knitting of the brows, on the part of Jasper, as he closed this emphatic sentence.  Claire felt excited, yet was so fully conscious of the necessity of self-control, that he quieted down his feelings, and endeavoured to think calmly.

“Well, what do you say?” imperatively demanded Jasper, after waiting some moments for a reply.

“We cannot part with the child,” said the young man, in a low, appealing voice.

“You must part with her!” was the quick, resolute response.

“Must?  That is a strong word, Mr. Jasper.”  Claire’s manner underwent another change, as was shown by the firm compression of his lips, and the steady gaze of his eyes, as he fixed them on the merchant.

“I know it is strong, but no stronger than my purpose; and I warn you not to stand in my way.  I’ve got an old grudge against you, so don’t provoke me too far in this matter.  A pretty affair, indeed, when you attempt to come between me and my legal rights and duties.”

“Duties!” There was a stinging contempt in the young man’s voice.  The manner of Jasper had chafed him beyond all manner of self-control.

“You forget to whom you are speaking,” said the latter, offended now, as well as angry.  “But we will not bandy words.  Will you, without further trouble, give into my hands the child of Mr. Elder?”

“I cannot do it, Mr. Jasper.”

“Speak positively.  Will you, or will you not do as I wish?”

“I will not,” was the decided answer.

“Enough.”  And Jasper turned away, muttering in an undertone, “We’ll soon see who is to be master here.”

Claire lingered a short time, but, as Jasper showed no disposition to renew the conversation, he left the store, greatly disturbed and troubled in his mind.