fetch me a lawyer--let me
make my will and die."

The lawyer was brought--a dapper, bustling, round-headed little man,
Roorback (or Rollebuck, as it was pronounced) by name. At the sight of
him the women broke into loud lamentations, for they looked upon the
signing of a will as the signing of a death-warrant. Wolfert made a
feeble motion for them to be silent. Poor Amy buried her face and her
grief in the bed-curtain. Dame Webber resumed her knitting to hide her
distress, which betrayed itself, however, in a pellucid tear, that
trickled silently down and hung at the end of her peaked nose; while
the cat, the only unconcerned member of the family, played with the
good dame's ball of worsted, as it rolled about the floor.

Wolfert lay on his back, his nightcap drawn over his forehead; his eyes
closed; his whole visage the picture of death. He begged the lawyer to
be brief, for he felt his end approaching, and that he had no time to
lose. The lawyer nibbed his pen, spread out his paper, and prepared to
write.

"I give and bequeath," said Wolfert, faintly, "my small farm--"

"What--all!" exclaimed the lawyer.

Wolfert half opened his eyes and looked upon the lawyer.

"Yes--all" said he.

"What! all that great patch of land with cabbages and sunflowers, which
the corporation is just going to run a main street through?"

"The same," said Wolfert, with a heavy sigh and sinking back upon his
pillow.

"I wish him joy that inherits it!" said the little lawyer, chuckling
and rubbing his hands involuntarily.

"What do you mean?" said Wolfert, again opening his eyes.

"That he'll be one of the richest men in the place!" cried little
Rollebuck.

The expiring Wolfert seemed to step back from the threshold of
existence: his eyes again lighted up; he raised himself in his bed,
shoved back his red worsted nightcap, and stared broadly at the lawyer.

"You don't say so!" exclaimed he.

"Faith, but I do!" rejoined the other. "Why, when that great field and
that piece of meadow come to be laid out in streets, and cut up into
snug building lots--why, whoever owns them need not pull off his hat to
the patroon!"

"Say you so?" cried Wolfert, half thrusting one leg out of bed, "why,
then I think I'll not make my will yet!"

To the surprise of everybody the dying man actually recovered. The
vital spark which had glimmered faintly in the socket, received fresh
fuel from the oil of gladness, which the little lawyer poured int