t does, I had better here dispose of; and that was the death
of old Mr. Stillwood, who passed away rich in honour and regret, and was
buried with much ostentation and much sincere sorrow; for he had been to
many of his clients, mostly old folk, rather a friend than a mere man
of business, and had gained from all with whom he had come in contact,
respect, and from many real affection.

In conformity with the old legal fashions that in his life he had so
fondly clung to, his will was read aloud by Mr. Gadley after the return
from the funeral, and many were the tears its recital called forth.
Written years ago by himself and never altered, its quaint phraseology
was full of kindly thought and expression. No one had been forgotten.
Clerks, servants, poor relations, all had been treated with even-handed
justice, while for those with claim upon him, ample provision had
been made. Few wills, I think, could ever have been read less open to
criticism.

Old Gadley slipped his arm into mine as we left the house. "If you've
nothing to do, young 'un," he said, "I'll get you to come with me to the
office. I have got all the keys in my pocket, and we shall be quiet.
It will be sad work for me, and I had rather we were alone. A couple of
hours will show us everything."

We lighted the wax candles--old Stillwood could never tolerate gas in
his own room--and opening the safe took out the heavy ledgers one by
one, and from them Gadley dictated figures which I wrote down and added
up.

"Thirty years I have kept these books for him," said old Gadley, as we
laid by the last of them, "thirty years come Christmas next, he and I
together. No other hands but ours have ever touched them, and now people
to whom they mean nothing but so much business will fling them about,
drop greasy crumbs upon them--I know their ways, the brutes!--scribble
all over them. And he who always would have everything so neat and
orderly!"

We came to the end of them in less than the time old Gadley had thought
needful: in such perfect order had everything been maintained. I was
preparing to go, but old Gadley had drawn a couple of small keys from
his pocket, and was shuffling again towards the safe.

"Only one more," he explained in answer to my look, "his own private
ledger. It will merely be in the nature of a summary, but we'll just
glance through it."

He opened an inner drawer and took from it a small thick volume bound
in green leather and closed with tw