Willie had shivered, and looked steadfastly under the table, thinking, while his little heart beat suffocatingly, that he was glad there were no prayers after a will.

When that was over, and Dr.Howe had carried Willie back with him to be cheered and comforted at the rectory, Gifford had devoted himself to disposing of such small effects as Mr.Denner had left as personal bequests.
They were not very many.

A certain bamboo rod with silver mountings and a tarnished silver reel, were for Dr.Howe; and there were a few books to be sent to Mr.Dale, and six bottles of Tokay, '52, for Colonel Drayton.
There was a mourning-ring, which had been Mr.Denner's father's, for a distant cousin, who was further comforted by a few hundred dollars, but all the rest was for Willie.
Gifford had felt, as he sat at Mr.Denner's writing-desk and touched some small possessions, all the pathetic powerlessness of the dead.

How Mr.
Denner had treasured his little valueless belongings! There was a pair of silver shoe-buckles, wrapped in chamois skin, which the little gentleman had faithfully kept bright and shining; they had belonged to his grandfather, and Mr.Denner could remember when they had been worn, and the knee-breeches, and the great bunch of seals at the fob.

Perhaps, when his little twinkling brown eyes looked at them, he felt again the thrill of love and fear for the stately gentleman who had awed his boyhood.
There was a lock of faded gray hair in a yellow old envelope, on which was written, in the lawyer's precise hand, "My mother's hair," and a date which seemed to Gifford very far back.