By his will, $250,000 were left to his daughter Florence, and $100,000 to his daughter Maude. To compensate for the $150,000 difference in the bequests, the Hon. Nathaniel Sawyer's interest in the firm of Sawyer, Crowninshield, and Lawrence was conveyed to Mr. Harry Merry, provided that one-third of his share from the income of the law-business was paid to the trustees of the estate of his grandson Quincy Adams Sawyer. The remainder of his property, both real and personal, was left to his wife, Sarah Quincy Sawyer. Quincy's grandmother did not live long to enjoy her fortune. Maude wished her to sell the Beacon Street house and come to Mount Vernon Street. Her mother wished her to come to Beacon Street. While the _pros_ and _cons_ were being considered, the old lady died of absolute inanition. She had been dominated so long by a superior will power, she had been so dependent upon her late husband in every event of her life, that without him she was a helpless creature, and so willing to drop her burden, that she did not cling to life but gave up without the semblance of a struggle. Her last will and testament was very short, containing but one clause, which gave all her property to her grandson Quincy Adams Sawyer. When Aunt Ella heard of her sister's death, she said to Alice: “They were not two distinct beings, Nathaniel was one and a half, and Sarah only a half.” “That boy will sure go to the devil now,” was Mr. Strout's comment. “I don't think so,” said Hiram. “He's too much like his father.” “How do you know where his father has gone?” snapped Mr. Strout, who did not believe, evidently, that good works were a sure passport to future bliss. Quincy's vacation after his first year at Andover was passed at Fernborough. He was warmly welcomed and congratulated upon the great fortune that had fallen to him. “He's got a big head, sure enough,” said Mr. Strout, “but I think he's a little weak in the legs. He won't disgust the community by fightin' as his father did.” “I wish he'd thrash Bob Wood's son--he's too impudent to live,” said Mrs. Amanda Maxwell, to whom Mr. Strout had addressed his remark. “No danger o' that,” and Mr. Strout laughed gleefully. “Young Bob's as good with his fists as his father was.” “He didn't amount to much when Mr. Sawyer tackled him,” and with a scornful laugh Mrs. Maxwell flounced out of the store. “Your wife's as bad as the rest on 'em, Hiram.” “Yes, Obadiah; it seems to be whoopedemic, as the doctors say.” Quincy's second and third years at Andover passed quickly and again vacation time had come. “Let's go to Fernborough as usual,” said Quincy, and Tom, without argument, seconded the motion. This time, Tom was Quincy's guest. They were young men now. Quincy was seventeen and Tom nineteen, but the fields were as green, the fruit as sweet, the vegetables as crisp and fresh, and their friends as glad to see them as when they were children.