We were very careful in preparing it.
It is legal." "Very well," continued Hiram.

"Now I'll give you the points of my will." Torrey took notebook and pencil from his pocket.
"First," began Hiram, as if he were reciting something he had learned by heart, "to my wife, Ellen, this house and everything in it, and the grounds and all the horses and carriages and that kind of thing." "Yes," said Torrey, looking up from his note making.
"Second, to my wife an income of seven thousand a year for life--that is what it cost her and me to live last year, and the children--except the extras.

Seven thousand for life--but only for life." "Yes," said Torrey, his glance at Hiram now uneasy and expectant.
"Third, to my daughter, Adelaide, two thousand a year for her life--to be divided among her daughters equally, if she have any; if not, to revert to my estate at her death." "Yes," said Torrey.
"Fourth, to my son, five thousand dollars in cash." A long pause, Torrey looking at his old friend and client as if he thought one or the other of them bereft of his senses.

At last, he said, "Yes, Hiram." "Fifth, to my brothers, Jacob and Ezra, four hundred dollars each," continued Hiram, in his same voice of repeating by rote, "and to my sister Prudence, five thousand dollars--so fixed that her husband can't touch it." "Yes," said Torrey.
"Sixth, the rest of my estate to be made into a trust, with Charles Whitney and Mark Hargrave and Hampden Scarborough trustees, with power to select their successors.

The trust to be administered for the benefit of Tecumseh University under the plan you have there." Torrey half-rose from his chair, his usually calm features reflecting his inner contention of grief, alarm, and protest.