Free And Now Good-bye by James Hilton Page A

with me in a little prayer of thankfulness.”
    So he prayed again, and when that was over she went on to say that, as a
more practical expression of gratitude, she had been thinking of making an
alteration in her will. She had only a few hundred pounds to dispose of, and
as the will stood, it was all left to Mrs. Kerfoot, her widowed niece who
lived next door and had looked after her for many years. In view, however, of
the recent dramatic intervention of Providence, she had come to feel that
this would be a selfish arrangement; a hundred pounds would surely be enough
for Mrs. Kerfoot, and the rest could then be devoted to loftier things. She
had been thinking out details, in fact, ever since early morning, and had
already sent a message to her lawyer. What she had in mind was some sort of
charity, associated with the chapel and administered by the parson. She knew
there were several existing charities of the kind in Browdley—one
provided for loaves and candles to be given every Christmas to fifty
deserving Church of England spinsters—she had often seen mentions of it
in the local paper, and she had noticed that it was always called after the
name of the original benefactor. Something like that she had in mind; it
seemed to her a really charitable way of disposing of money, much better than
leaving it all in bulk to a private person, however deserving.
    Howat listened rather unhappily as she expounded this evidently well-
prepared scheme. He mentioned with diffidence that most charities of such a
kind dated from hundreds of years back, when social conditions were
different, and survived nowadays merely as antiquities. He also indicated
that it was already becoming a matter of some intricacy to discover the fifty
deserving spinsters who would accept the Christmas loaves and candles, and
that the vicar of the parish church had often commented that there ought to
be some way of altering things to fit in with more modern needs. In his
(Howat’s) opinion, if she would forgive him for expressing it, he
didn’t think such a bequest would really be the best way of using the
money; there were many other things in these days—the infirmary, for
instance, which badly required new X-ray equipment, or the cottage
hospital—
    But that, if he had remembered, was tactless of him, for Miss Monks had a
violent grudge against all such institutions, and answered tartly: “Not
with my money, thank you, Mr. Freemantle—I don’t hold with
them at all. Those who give to such things can do what they like with their
own, but I have a right to do what I like with mine.”
    “Oh quite, quite,” agreed Howat.
    In the end he did, after much persuasion, manage to convince her that a
Letitia Monks Bequest on the lines of the loaves and candles would be a
rather pointless affair. But he could not convert her to any alternative idea
of his own; two things, he realised, were fixed in her mind—first, that
the bequest should be connected with the chapel, and second, that it should
be permanently associated with her own name. Finally, as the only terms on
which she could be diverted from something absolutely fatuous, he agreed that
the chapel was in some need of a new vestry. Yes, of course, it could be the
Letitia Monks Vestry, and the name could be inscribed in stone
somewhere—oh yes, he was sure it could. And he would certainly consult
with her lawyer about it, if she wished—yes, he would do anything she
asked. A splendid idea—extremely generous of her—future
generations would undoubtedly appreciate it—oh yes,
yes—undoubtedly…
    “You see,” said Miss Monks, with shrewd triumph, “I feel
it’s the chapel that has made me what I am.”
    He stayed a little longer till a distant chiming reminded him that it was
nine o’clock; he had been there for an hour and a half; it really was
time he looked in at that Temperance meeting. He was just shaking hands and
preparing to leave when