“I, Humphrey Muirhead, being of sound mind, and being at the point of death at the hands of Indians, do hereby make my last will and testament. To my daughter, Margaret Kennedy, of Carlisle, wife of Fergus Kennedy, and her heirs, I will and bequeath all whereof I die possessed whether real or personal estate, with the exception of one shilling which I give to my son Humphrey Muirhead. “(Signed) HUMPHREY MUIRHEAD. “October 15, 1793. {JOHN STARK, “Witnesses {WILLIAM BROWN, {HENRY FOSTER.” “What’d I tell ye? Hear to that!” cried Polly, in ecstasy. “Me tale’s not done,” said Jimmy, with a silencing nod. “He furthermore says to Brown: ‘It’s a poor chanst fur me daughter to git her own, but if be at any time ye see a chanst o’ gittin this to me friends, give it to anny one that’ll take it,’ says he. ‘I’ll trust ye,’ he says, ‘bein’ as yer one o’ me own race.’ Well, Brown, he’d not then made up his mind to tarry along with the redskins, an’ he says he’ll take it. So the next day Muirhead, poor soul, is despatched, an’ Brown keeps the bit o’ paper. He’s a quare fish, is Brown. The Injuns make him wan o’ them, an’ he’ll not return to his own when he gits a chanst, but I misdoubt it ain’t for a rayson, fur more’n wan o’ his own color has he been able to git off to their friends. He didn’t put obstacles in my way o’ goin’; in truth, he rayther encouraged it, an’ he trusted this to me; ‘For,’ says he, ‘if anybody kin git away, it’s yersel’, Jimmy O’Neill, who’s so strong. An’ if ye kin seek out the darter o’ this man Muirhead, he’ll lie aisier in his grave if grave he had, poor soul.’” “Oh, poor grandfather, poor grandfather!” sobbed Agnes. “Now don’t greet, child,” said Polly. “He’s at rest this long while.” But the tale had a silencing effect upon them all, and they sat for some time, each pondering over it. It was Parker who broke the silence by saying, “This will oust Humphrey Muirhead from his snug quarters, and give your mother, Agnes, the house you want for her.” “Yes, I know,” returned Agnes, in a subdued voice, “but ah me, how strange it is that in this much desired thing there should be a sting, for we must rob dear little Honey of his home.” “He’s too young to know the difference,” said Polly, sharply, “and his father’s well able to make him another. He’s no worse off, an’ not so bad as my bairns were when they were driven out with no one but their mother to do for them.” Jimmy patted Polly’s plump hand. “It’s the good mother ye were, Polly, an’ the bairns do ye credit. Well, this is a strange piece of news all around; it’s more of a tangle than ye’ll unsnarl in one evening, I’m thinking. Now, what’s yer tale? I don’t git quite the rights av it.”