A TRUANT DISPOSITION.
Gathering up each broken thread.
WHYTEHEAD.
'Tom Madison is come back,' said the Vicar, as he sat beside
Fitzjocelyn's couch, a day or two after Lord Ormersfield had gone to
London.
'Come back--where has he been?' exclaimed Louis.
'There!' said the Vicar, with a gesture of dismay; 'I forgot that you
were to hear nothing of it! However, I should think you were well
enough to support the communication.'
'What is it?' cried Louis, the blood rushing into his cheeks so
suddenly, that Mr. Holdsworth felt guilty of having disregarded the
precautions that he had fancied exaggerated by the fond aunt. 'Poor
fellow--he has not--' but, checking himself, he added, 'I am
particularly anxious to hear of him.'
'I wish there were anything more gratifying to tell you; but he took
the opportunity of the height of your illness to run away from his
place, and has just been passed home to his parish. After all your
pains, it is very mortifying, but--'
'Pains! Don't you know how I neglected him latterly!' said Louis.
'Poor fellow--then--' but he stopped himself again, and added, 'You
heard nothing of the grounds?'
'They were not difficult to find,' said Mr. Holdsworth. 'It is the old
story. He was, as Mrs. Smith told me, 'a great trial'--more and more
disposed to be saucy and disobedient, taking up with the most
good-for-nothing boys in the town, haunting those Chartist lectures,
and never coming home in proper time at night. The very last evening,
he had come in at eleven o'clock, and when his master rebuked him, came
out with something about the rights of man. He was sent to Little
Northwold, about the middle of the day, to carry home some
silver-handled knives of Mr. Calcott's, and returned no more. Smith
fancied, at first, that he had made off with the plate, and set the
police after him, but that proved to be an overhasty measure, for the
parcel had been safely left. However, Miss Faithfull's servant found
him frightening Mrs. Frost's poor little kitchen-maid into fits, and
the next day James Frost detected him lurking suspiciously about the
garden here, and set Warren to warn him off--'
Louis gave a kind of groan, and struck his hand against the couch in
despair, then said, anxiously, 'What then?'
'No more was heard of him, till yesterday the police passed him home to
the Union as a vagabond. He looks very ill and ragged; but he is in
one of those sullen moods, when no one can get a word out of him. Smith
declines prosecuting for running away, being only too glad of the
riddance on any terms; so there he is at his grandfather's, ready for
any sort of mischief.'
'Mr. Holdsworth,' said Louis, raising himself on his elbow, 'you are
judging, like every one else, from appearances. If I were at liberty
to tell the whole, you would see what a noble nature it was that I
trifled with; and they have been hounding--Poor Tom! would it have been
better for him that I had never seen him? It is a fearful thing, this
blind treading about among souls, not knowing whether one does good or
harm!'
'If you feel so,' said Mr. Holdsworth, hoping to lead him from the
unfortunate subject, 'what must _we_ do?'
'My position, if I live, seems to have as much power for evil, without
the supernatural power for good. Doing hastily, or leaving undone, are
equally fatal!'
'Nay, what hope can there be but in fear, and sense of responsibility?'
'I think not. I do more mischief than those who do not go out of their
way to think of the matter at all!'
'Do you!' said the Vicar, smiling. 'At least, I know, for my own part,
I prefer all the trouble and perplexity you give me, to a squire who
would let me and my parish jog on our own way.'
'I dare say young Brewster never spoilt a Tom Madison.'
'The sight of self indulgence spoils more than injudicious care does.
Besides, I look on these experiments as giving experience.'
'Nice experience of my best efforts!'
'Pardon me, Fitzjocelyn, have we seen your best?'
'I hope you will!' said Louis, vigorously. 'And to begin, will you
tell this poor boy to come to me?'
Mr. Holdsworth had an unmitigated sense of his own indiscretion, and
not such a high one of Fitzjocelyn's discretion as to make him think
the interview sufficiently desirable for the culprit, to justify the
possible mischief to the adviser, whose wisdom and folly were equally
perplexing, and who would surely be either disappointed or deceived.
Dissuasions and arguments, however, failed; and Mrs. Frost, who was
appealed to as a last resource, no sooner found that her patient's
heart was set on the meeting, than she consented, and persuaded Mr.
Holdsworth that no harm would ensue equal to the evil of her boy lying
there distressing himself.
Accordingly, in due time, Mr. Holdsworth admitted the lad, and, on a
sign from Louis, shut himself out, leaving the runaway standing within
the door, a monument of surly embarrassment. Raising himself, Louis
said, affectionately, 'Never mind, Tom, don't you see how fast I am
getting over it?'
The lad looked up, but apparently saw little such assurance in the thin
pale cheeks, and feeble, recumbent form; for his face twitched all
over, resumed the same sullen stolidity, and was bent down again.
'Come near, Tom,' continued Louis, with unabated kindness--'come and
sit down here. I am afraid you have suffered a great deal,' as the boy
shambled with an awkward footsore gait. 'It was a great pity you ran
away.'
'I couldn't stay!' burst out Tom, half crying.
'Why not?'
'Not to have that there cast in my teeth!' he exclaimed, with blunt
incivility.
'Did any one reproach you?' said Louis, anxiously. 'I thought no one
knew it but ourselves.'
'You knew it, then, my Lord?' asked Tom, staring.
'I found out directly that there was no cement,' said Louis. 'I had
suspected it before, and intended to examine whenever I had time.'
'Well! I thought, when I came back, no one did seem to guess as 'twas
all along of me!' cried Tom. 'So sure I thought you hadn't known it,
my Lord. And you never said nothing, my Lord!'
'I trust not. I would not consciously have accused you of what was
quite as much my fault as yours. That would not have been fair play.'
'If I won't give it to Bill Bettesworth!' cried Tom.
'What has he done?'
'Always telling me that gentlefolks hadn't got no notion of fair play
with the like of us, but held us like the dirt to be trampled on! But
there--I'll let him know--'
'Who is he?'
'A young man what works with Mr. Smith,' returned Tom, his sullenness
having given place to a frank, open manner, such as any one but Louis
would have deemed too free and ready.
'Was he your great friend at Northwold?'
'A chap must speak to some one,' was Tom's answer.
'And what kind of a some one was he?'
'Why, he comes down Illershall way. He knows a thing or two, and can
go on like an orator or a play-book--or like yourself, my Lord.'
'Thank you. I hope the thing or two were of the right sort.'
Tom looked sheepish.
'I heard something about bad companions. I hope he was not one. I
ought to have come and visited you, Tom; I have been very sorry I did
not. You'd better let me hear all about it, for I fear there must have
been worse scrapes than this of the stones.'
'Worse!' cried Tom--'sure nothing could be worserer!'
'I wish there were no evils worse than careless forgetfulness,' said
Louis.
'I didn't forget!' said Tom. 'I meant to have told you whenever you
came to see me, but'--his eyes filled and his voice began to
alter--'you never came, and she at the Terrace wouldn't look at me!
And Bill and the rest of them was always at me, asking when I expected
my aristocrat, and jeering me 'cause I'd said you wasn't like the rest
of 'em. So then I thought I'd have my liberty too, and show I didn't
care no more than they, and spite you all.'
'How little one thinks of the grievous harm a little selfish
heedlessness may do!' sighed Louis, half aloud. 'If you had only
looked to something better than me, Tom! And so you ran into mischief?'
Half confession, half vindication ensued, and the poor fellow's story
was manifest enough. His faults had been unsteadiness and misplaced
independence rather than any of the more degrading stamp of evils. The
public-house had not been sought for liquor's sake, but for that of the
orator who inflamed the crude imaginations and aspirations that
effervesced in the youth's mind; and the rudely-exercised authority of
master and foreman had only driven his fierce temper further astray.
With sense of right sufficient to be dissatisfied with himself, and
taste and principle just enough developed to loathe the evils round
him, hardened and soured by Louis's neglect, and rendered discontented
by Chartist preachers, he had come to long for any sort of change or
break; and the tidings of the accident, coupled with the hard words
which he knew himself to deserve but too well, had put the finishing
stroke.
Hearing that the police were in pursuit of him, he had fancied it was
on account of the harm done by his negligence. 'I hid about for a
day,' he said: 'somehow I felt as if I could not go far off, till I
heard how you were, my Lord, and I'd made up my mind that as soon as
ever I heard the first stroke of the bell, I'd go and find the police,
and his Lordship might hang me, and glad!'
Louis was nearer a tear than a smile.
'Then Mr. Frost finds me, and was mad at me. Nothing wasn't bad enough
for me, and he sets Mr. Warren to see me off, so I had nothing for it
but to cut.'
'What did you think of doing?' sighed Louis.
'I made for the sea. If I could have got to them places in the Indies,
such as that Philip went to, as you reads about in the verse-book--he
as killed his wife and lost his son, and made friends with that there
big rascal, and had the chest of gold--'
'Philip Mortham! Were you going in search of buccaneers?'
'I don't know, my Lord. Once you told me of some English Sir, as kills
the pirates, and is some sort of a king. I thought, may be, now you'd
tell me where they goes to dig for gold.'
'Oh, Tom, Tom, what a mess I have made of your notions!'
'Isn't there no such place?'
'It's a bad business, and what can you want of it?'
'I want to get shut of them as orders one about here and there, with
never a civil word. Besides,' looking down, 'there's one I'd like to
see live like a lady.'
'Would that make her happier?'
'I'll never see her put about, and slave and drudge, as poor mother
did!' exclaimed Tom.
'That's a better spirit than the mere dislike to a master,' said Louis.
'What is life but obedience?'
'I'd obey fast enough, if folk would only speak like you do--not drive
one about like a dog, when one knows one is every bit as good as they.'
'I'm sure I never knew that!'
Tom stared broadly.
'I never saw the person who was not my superior,' repeated Louis,
quietly, and in full earnest. 'Not that this would make rough words
pleasanter, I suppose. The only cure I could ever see for the ills of
the world is, that each should heartily respect his neighbour.'
Paradoxes musingly uttered, and flying over his head, wore to Tom a
natural and comfortable atmosphere; and the conversation proceeded.
Louis found that geography had been as much at fault as chronology, and
that the runaway had found himself not at the sea, but at Illershall,
where he had applied for work, and had taken a great fancy to Mr.
Dobbs, but had been rejected for want of a character, since the good
superintendent made it his rule to keep up a high standard among his
men. Wandering had succeeded, in which, moneyless, forlorn, and unable
to find employment, he had been obliged to part with portions of his
clothing to procure food; his strength began to give way, and he had
been found by the police sleeping under a hedge; he was questioned, and
sent home, crestfallen, sullen, and miserable, unwilling to stay at
Marksedge, yet not knowing where to go.
His hankering was for Illershall, and Louis, thinking of the judicious
care, the evening school, and the openings for promotion, decided at
once that the experiment should be tried without loss of time. He
desired Tom to bring him ink and paper, and hastily wrote:
'DEAR MR. DOBBS,--You would do me a great kindness by employing this
poor fellow, and bearing with him. I have managed him very ill, but he
would reward any care. Have an eye to him, and put him in
communication with the chaplain. If you can take him, I will write
more at length. If you have heard of my accident, you will excuse more
at present.
'Yours very truly,
'FITZJOCELYN.'
Then arose the question, how Tom was to get to Illershall. He did not
know; and Louis directed his search into the places where the loose
money in his pocket might have been put. When it was found, Tom
scrupled at the proposed half-sovereign. Three-and-fourpence would pay
for his ticket. 'You will want a supper and a bed. Go respectably,
Tom, and keep so. It will be some consolation for the mischief I have
done you!'
'You done me harm!' cried Tom. 'Why, 'tis all along of you that I
ain't a regularly-built scamp!'
'Very irregularly built, whatever you are!' said Louis. But I'll tell
you what you shall do for me,' continued he, with anxious earnestness.
'Do you know the hollow ash-tree that shades over Inglewood stile? It
has a stout sucker, with a honeysuckle grown into it--coming up among
the moss, where the great white vase-shaped funguses grew up in the
autumn.'
'I know him, my Lord,' said Tom, brightening at the detail, given with
all a sick man's vivid remembrance of the out-of-doors world.
'I have fixed my mind on that stick! I think it has a bend at the
root. Will you cut it for me, and trim it up for a walking-stick?'
'That I will, my Lord!'
'Thank you. Bring it up to me between seven and eight in the morning,
if you please; and so I shall see you again--'
Mr. Holdsworth was already entering to close the conversation, which
had been already over-long and exciting, for Louis, sinking back,
mournfully exclaimed, 'The medley of that poor boy's mind is the worst
of my pieces of work. I have made him too refined for one class, and
left him too rough for another--discontented with his station, and too
desultory and insubordinate to rise, nobleness of nature turning to
arrogance, fact and fiction all mixed up together. It would be a study,
if one was not so sorry!'
Nevertheless, Mr. Holdsworth could not understand how even Fitzjocelyn
could have given the lad a recommendation, and he would have
remonstrated, but that the long interview had already been sufficiently
trying; so he did his best to have faith in his eccentric friend's good
intentions.
In the early morning, Tom Madison made his appearance, in his best
clothes, erect and open-faced, a strong contrast to the jaded, downcast
being who had yesterday presented himself. The stick was prepared to
perfection, and Louis acknowledged it with gratitude proportioned to
the fancies that he had spent on it, poising it, feeling the cool grey
bark, and raising himself in bed to try how he should lean on it.
'Hang it up there, Tom, within my reach. It seems like a beginning of
independence.'
'I wish, my Lord,' blurted out Tom, in agitation, 'you'd tell me if
you're to go lame for life, and then I should know the worst of it.'
'I suspect no one knows either the worst or the best,' said Louis,
kindly. 'Since the pain has gone off, I have been content, and asked
no questions. Mr. Walby says my ankle is going on so well, that it is
a real picture, and a pleasure to touch it; and though I can't say the
pleasure is mutual, I ought to be satisfied.'
'You'll only laugh at me!' half sobbed Tom, 'and if there was but
anything I could do! I've wished my own legs was cut off--and serve me
right--ever since I seen you lying there.'
'Thank you; I'm afraid they would have been no use to me! But,
seriously, if I had been moderately prudent, it would not have
happened. And as it is, I hope I shall be glad of that roll in Ferny
dell to the end of my life.'
'I did go to see after mending them stones!' cried Tom, as if injured
by losing this one compensation; 'but they are all done up, and there
ain't nothing to do to them.'
'Look here, Tom: if you want to do anything for me, it is easily told,
what would be the greatest boon to me. They tell me I've spoilt you,
and I partly believe it, for I put more of my own fancies into you than
of real good, and the way I treated you made you impatient of control:
and then, because I could not keep you on as I should have wished,--as,
unluckily, you and I were not made to live together on a desert
island,--I left you without the little help I might have given. Now,
Tom, if you go to the bad, I shall know it is all my fault--'
'That it ain't,' the boy tried to say, eagerly, but Louis went on.
'Don't let my bad management be the ruin of you. Take a turn from this
moment. You know Who can help you, and Who, if you had thought of Him,
would have kept you straight when I forgot. Put all the stuff out of
your head about one man being equal to another. Equal they are; but
some have the trial of ruling, others of obeying, and the last are the
lucky ones. If we could only see their souls, we should know it.
You'll find evening schools and lectures at Illershall; you'd better
take to them, for you've more real liking for that sort of thing than
for mischief; and if you finished up your education, you'd get into a
line that would make you happier, and where you might do much good.
There--promise me that you'll think of these things, and take heed to
your Sundays.'
'I promise,' said Tom.
'And mind you write to me, Tom, and tell how you get on. I'll write,
and let you know about your grandfather, and Marksedge news and all--'
The 'Thank you, my Lord,' came with great pleasure and alacrity.
'Some day, when you are a foreman, perhaps I may bring Miss Clara to
see copper-smelting. Only mind, that you'll never go on soundly, nor
even be fit to make your pretty tidy nest for any gentle bird, unless
you mind one thing most of all; and that is, that we have had a new
Life given us, and we have to begin now, and live it for ever and ever.'
As he raised himself, holding out his pale, slender hand from his white
sleeve, his clear blue eyes earnestly fixed on the sky, his face all
one onward look, something of that sense of the unseen passed into the
confused, turbulent spirit of the boy, very susceptible of poetical
impressions, and his young lord's countenance connected itself with all
the floating notions left in his mind by parable or allegory. He did
not speak, as Louis heartily shook his hardy red hand, and bade him
good speed, but his bow and pulled forelock at the door had in them
more of real reverence than of conventional courtesy.
Of tastes and perceptions above his breeding, the very sense of his own
deficiencies had made him still more rugged and clownish, and removed
him from the sympathies of his own class, while he almost idolized the
two most refined beings whom he knew, Lord Fitzjocelyn and Charlotte
Arnold. On an interview with her, his heart was set. He had taken
leave of his half-childish grandfather, made up his bundle, and marched
into Northwold, with three hours still to spare ere the starting of the
parliamentary train. Sympathy, hope, resolution, and the sense of
respectability had made another man of him; and, above all, he dwelt on
the prospect held out of repairing the deficiencies of his learning.
The consciousness of ignorance and awkwardness was very painful, and he
longed to rub it off, and take the place for which he felt his powers.
'I will work!' thought he; 'I have a will to it, and, please God, when
I come back next, it won't be as a rough, ignorant lout that I'll stand
before Charlotte!'
'Louis,' said Mary Ponsonby, as she sat at work beside him that
afternoon, after an expedition to the new house at Dynevor Terrace, 'I
want to know, if you please, how you have been acting like a gentleman.'
'I did not know that I had been acting at all of late.'
'I could not help hearing something in Aunt Catharine's garden that has
made me very curious.'
'Ha!' cried Louis, eagerly.
'I was sowing some annuals in our back garden, and heard voices through
the trellis. Presently I heard, quite loud, 'My young Lord has behaved
like a real gentleman, as he is, and no mistake, or I'd never have been
here now.' And, presently, 'I've promised him, and I promise you,
Charlotte, to keep my Church, and have no more to do with them things.
I'll keep it as sacred as they keeps the Temperance pledge; for sure
I'm bound to him, as he forgave me, and kept my secret as if I'd been
his own brother: and when I've proved it, won't that satisfy you,
Charlotte?'
'And what did Charlotte say?'
'I think she was crying; but I thought listening any more would be
unfair, so I ran upstairs and threw up the drawing-room window to warn
them.'
'Oh, Mary, how unfeeling!'
'I thought it could be doing no good!'
'That is so like prudent people, who can allow no true love under five
hundred pounds a year! Did you see them? How did they look?'
'Charlotte was standing in an attitude, her hands clasped over her
broom. The gentleman was a country-looking boy--'
'Bearing himself like a sensible, pugnacious cock-robin? Poor fellow,
so you marred their parting.'
'Charlotte flew into the house, and the boy walked off up the garden.
Was he your Madison, Louis? for I thought my aunt did not think it
right to encourage him about her house.'
'And so he is to be thwarted in what would best raise and refine him.
That great, bright leading star of a well-placed affection is not to be
allowed to help him through all the storms and quicksands in his way.'
Good Mary might well open her eyes, but, pondering a little, she said,
'He need not leave off liking Charlotte, if that is to do him good; but
I suppose the question is, what is safest for her?'
'Well, he is safe enough. He is gone to Illershall to earn her.'
'Oh! then I don't care! But you have not answered me, and I think I
can guess the boy's secret that you have been keeping. Did you not
once tell me that you trusted those stones in Ferny dell to him?'
'Now, Mary, you must keep his secret!'
'But why was it made one? Did you think it unkind to say that it was
his fault?'
'Of course I did. When I thought it was all over with me, I could not
go and charge the poor fellow with it, so as to make him a marked man.
I was only afraid that thinking so often of stopping myself, I should
bring it out by mistake.'
Mary looked down, and thought; then raised her eyes suddenly, and said,
as if surprised, 'That was really very noble in you, Louis!' Then,
thinking on, she said, 'But how few people would think it worth while!'
'Yes,' said Louis; 'but I had a real regard for this poor fellow, and
an instinct, perhaps perverse, of shielding him; so I could not accuse
him on my own account. Besides, I believe I am far more guilty towards
him. His neglect only hurt my ankle--my neglect left him to fall into
temptation.'
'Yet, by the way he talks of you--'
'Yes, he has the sort of generous disposition on which a little
delicacy makes a thousand times more impression than a whole pile of
benefits I hope and trust that he is going to repair all that is past.
I wish I could make out whether good intentions overrule errors in
detail, or only make them more fatal.'
Mary was glad to reason out the question. Abstract practical views
interested her, and she had much depth and observation, more original
than if she had read more and thought less. Of course, no conclusion
was arrived at; but the two cousins had an argument of much enjoyment
and some advantage to both.
Affairs glided on quietly till the Saturday, when Lord Ormersfield
returned. Never had he so truly known what it was to come home as when
he mounted the stairs, with steps unlike his usual measured tread, and
beheld his son's look of animated welcome, and eager, outstretched
hands.
'I was afraid,' said the Earl, presently, 'that you had not felt so
well,' and he touched his own upper lip to indicate that the same
feature in his son was covered with down like a young bird.
Louis blushed a little, but spoke indifferently. 'I thought it a pity
not to leave it for the regulation moustache for the Yeomanry.'
'I wish I could think you likely to be fit to go out with the Yeomanry.'
'Every effort must be made!' cried Louis. 'What do they say in London
about the invasion?'
It was the year 1847, when a French invasion was in every one's mouth,
and Sydney Calcott had been retailing all sorts of facts about
war-steamers and artillery, in a visit to Fitzjocelyn, whose patriotism
had forthwith run mad, so that he looked quite baffled when his father
coolly set the whole down as 'the regular ten years' panic.' There was
a fervid glow within him of awe, courage, and enterprise, the outward
symbol of which was that infant yellow moustache. He was obliged,
however, to allow the subject to be dismissed, while his father told
him of Sir Miles Oakstead's kind inquiries, and gave a message of
greeting from his aunt Lady Conway, delivering himself of it as an
unpleasant duty, and adding, as he turned to Mrs. Ponsonby, 'She
desired to be remembered to you, Mary.'
'I have not seen her for many years. Is Sir Walter alive?'
'No; he died about three years ago.'
'I suppose her daughters are not come out yet?'
'Her own are in the school-room; but there is a step-daughter who is
much admired.'
'Those cousins of mine,' exclaimed Louis, 'it is strange that I have
never seen them. I think I had better employ some of my spare time
this summer in making their acquaintance.'
Mrs. Ponsonby perceived that the Earl had become inspired with a deadly
terror of the handsome stepdaughter; for he turned aside and began to
unpack a parcel. It was M'Culloch's Natural Theology, into which Louis
had once dipped at Mr. Calcott's, and had expressed a wish to read it.
His father had taken some pains to procure this too-scarce book for
him, and he seized on it with delighted and surprised gratitude,
plunging at once into the middle, and reading aloud a most eloquent
passage upon electricity. No beauty, however, could atone to Lord
Ormersfield for the outrage upon method. 'If you would oblige me,
Louis,' he said, 'you would read that book consecutively.'
'To oblige you, certainly,' said Louis, smiling, and turning to the
first page, but his vivacious eagerness was extinguished.
M'Culloch is not an author to be thoroughly read without a strong
effort. His gems are of the purest ray, but they lie embedded in a
hard crust of reasoning and disquisition; and on the first morning,
Louis, barely strong enough yet for a battle with his own volatility,
looked, and owned himself, dead beat by the first chapter.
Mary took pity on him. She had been much interested by his account of
the work, and would be delighted if he would read it with her. He
brightened at once, and the regular habit began, greatly to their
mutual enjoyment. Mary liked the argument, Louis liked explaining it;
and the flood of allusions was delightful to both, with his richness of
illustration, and Mary's actual experience of ocean and mountains. She
brought him whatever books he wanted, and from the benevolent view of
entertaining him while a prisoner, came to be more interested than her
mother had ever expected to see her in anything literary. It was
amusing to see the two cousins unconsciously educating each other--the
one learning expansion, the other concentration, of mind. Mary could
now thoroughly trust Louis's goodness, and therefore began by bearing
with his vagaries, and gradually tracing the grain of wisdom that was
usually at their root; and her eyes were opened to new worlds, where
all was not evil or uninteresting that Aunt Melicent distrusted. Louis
made her teach him Spanish; and his insight into grammar and keen
delight in the majestic language and rich literature infected her,
while he was amused by her positive distaste to anything incomplete,
and playfully, though half murmuringly, submitted to his 'good
governess,' and let her keep him in excellent order. She knew where
all his property was, and, in her quaint, straightforward way, would
refuse to give him whatever 'was not good for him.'
It was all to oblige Mary that, when he could sit up and use pen and
pencil, he set to work to finish his cottage plans, and soon drew and
talked himself into a vehement condition about Marksedge. Mary's
patronage drew on the work, even to hasty learning of perspective
enough for a pretty elevation intelligible to the unlearned, and a
hopeless calculation of the expense.
The plans lay on the table when next his father came home, and their
interest was explained.
'Did you draw all these yourself?' exclaimed the Earl. 'Where did you
learn architectural drawing? I should have thought them done by a
professional hand.'
'It is easy enough to get it up from books,' said Louis; 'and Mary kept
me to the point, in case you should be willing to consider the matter.
I would have written out the estimate; but this book allows for bricks,
and we could use the stone at Inglewood more cheaply, to say nothing of
beauty.'
'Well,' said Lord Ormersfield, considering, 'you have every right to
have a voice in the management of the property. I should like to hear
your views with regard to these cottages.'
Colouring deeply, and with earnest thanks, Fitzjocelyn stated the
injury both to labourers and employers, caused by their distance from
their work; he explained where he thought the buildings ought to stand,
and was even guarded enough to show that the rents would justify the
outlay. He had considered the matter so much, that he could even have
encountered Richardson; and his father was only afraid that what was so
plausible _must_ be insecure. Caution contended with a real desire to
gratify his son, and to find him in the right. He must know the wishes
of the farmer, be sure of the cost, and be certain of the spot
intended. His crippled means had estranged him from duties that he
could not fulfil according to his wishes, and, though not a hard
landlord, he had no intercourse with his tenants, took little interest
in his estate, and was such a stranger to the localities, that Louis
could not make him understand the nook selected for the buildings. He
had seen the arable field called 'Great Courtiers,' and the farm called
'Small Profits,' on the map, but did not know their ups and downs much
better than the coast of China.
'Mary knows them!' said Louis. 'She made all my measurements there,
before I planned the gardens.'
'Mary seems to be a good friend to your designs,' said the Earl,
looking kindly at her.
'The best!' said Louis. 'I begin to have some hope of my doings when I
see her take them in hand.'
Lord Ormersfield thanked Mary, and asked whether it would be
trespassing too much on her kindness to ask her to show him the place
in question. She was delighted, and they set out at once, the Earl
almost overpowering her by his exceeding graciousness, so that she was
nearly ready to laugh when he complimented her on knowing her way
through the bye-paths of his own park so much better than he did. 'It
is a great pleasure to me that you can feel it something like home,' he
said.
'I was so happy here as a child,' said Mary, heartily, 'that it must
seem to me more of a home than any other place.'
'I hope it may always be so, my dear.'
He checked himself, as if he had been about to speak even more warmly;
and Mary did the honours of the proposed site for the cottages, a waste
strip fronting a parish lane, open to the south, and looking full of
capabilities, all of which she pointed out after Louis's well-learned
lesson, as eagerly as if it had been her own affair.
Lord Ormersfield gave due force to all, but still was prudent. 'I must
find out,' he said, 'whether this place be in my hands, or included in
Morris's lease. You see, Mary, this is an encumbered property, with
every disadvantage, so that I cannot always act as you and Louis would
wish; but we so far see our way out of our difficulties, that, if
guided by good sense, he will be able to effect far more than I have
ever done.'
'I believe,' was Mary's answer, 'this green is in the farmer's hands,
but that he has no use for it.'
'I should like to be certain of his wishes. Farmers are so unwilling
to increase the rates, that I should not like to consent till I know
that it would be really a convenience to him.'
Mary suggested that there stood the farmhouse; and the Earl
apologetically asked if she would dislike their proceeding thither, as
he would not detain her long. She eagerly declared that Louis would be
'so glad,' and Lord Ormersfield turned his steps to the door, where he
had only been once in his life, when he was a very young man, trying to
like shooting.
The round-eyed little maid would say nothing but 'Walk in, sir,' in
answer to inquiries if Mr. Norris were at home; and they walked into a
parlour, chill with closed windows, and as stiff and fine as the lilac
streamers of the cap that Mrs. Norris had just put on for their
reception. Nevertheless, she was a sensible, well-mannered woman, and
after explaining that her husband was close at hand, showed genuine
warmth and interest in inquiring for Lord Fitzjocelyn. As the
conversation began to flag, Mary had recourse to admiring a handsome
silver tankard on a side table. It was the prize of a ploughing-match
eight years ago, and brought out a story that evidently always went
with it, how Mrs. Norris had been unwell and stayed at home, and had
first heard of her husband's triumph by seeing the young Lord galloping
headlong up the homefield, hurraing, and waving his cap. He had taken
his pony the instant he heard the decision, and rushed off to be the
first to bring the news to Mrs. Norris, wild with the honour of Small
Profits. 'And,' said the farmer's wife, 'I always say Norris was as
pleased with what I told him, as I was with the tankard!'
Norris here came in, an unpretending, quiet man, of the modern,
intelligent race of farmers. There was anxiety at first in his eye,
but it cleared off as he heard the cause of his landlord's visit, and
he was as propitious as any cautious farmer could be. He was strong on
the present inconveniences, and agreed that it would be a great boon to
have a _few_ families brought back, such as were steady, and would not
burden the rates; but the _few_ recurred so often as to show that he
was afraid of a general migration of Marksedge. Lord Ormersfield
thereupon promised that he should be consulted as to the individuals.
'Thank you, my Lord. There are some families at Marksedge that one
would not wish to see nearer here; and I'll not say but I should like
to have a voice in the matter, for they are apt to take advantage of
Lord Fitzjocelyn's kindness.'
'I quite understand you. Nothing can be more reasonable. I only acted
because my son was persuaded it was your wish.'
'It is so, my Lord. I am greatly obliged. He has often talked of it
with me, and I had mentioned the matter to Mr. Richardson, but he
thought your lordship would be averse to doing anything.'
'I have not been able to do all I could have wished,' said the Earl.
'My son will have it in his power to turn more attention to the
property.'
And he _is_ a thorough farmer's friend, as they all say,' earnestly
exclaimed Norris, with warmth breaking through the civil formal manner.
'True,' said Lord Ormersfield, gratified; 'he is very much attached to
the place, and all connected with it.'
'I'm sure they're the same to him,' replied the farmer. 'As an
instance, my Lord, you'll excuse it--do you see that boy driving in the
cows? You would not look for much from him. Well, the morning the
doctor from London came down, that boy came to his work, crying so that
I thought he was ill. 'No, master,' said he, 'but what'll ever become
of us when we've lost my young Lord?' And he burst out again, fit to
break his heart. I told him I was sorry enough myself, but to go to
his work, for crying would do no good. 'I can't help it, master,' says
he, 'when I looks at the pigs. Didn't he find 'em all in the park, and
me nutting--and helped me his own self to drive 'em out before Mr.
Warren see 'em, and lifted the little pigs over the gap as tender as if
they were Christians?'
'Yes, that's the way with them all,' interposed Mrs. Norris: 'he has
the good word of high and low.'
Lord Ormersfield smiled: he smiled better than he used to do, and took
leave.
'Fitzjocelyn will be a popular man,' he said.
Mary could not help being diverted at this moral deduced from the
pig-story. 'Every one is fond of him,' was all she said.
'Talent and popularity,' continued the Earl. 'He will have great
influence. The free, prepossessing manner is a great advantage, where
it is so natural and devoid of effort.'
'It comes of his loving every one,' said Mary, almost indignantly.
'It is a decided advantage,' continued the Earl, complacently. 'I have
no doubt but that he has every endowment requisite for success. You and
your mother have done much in developing his character, my dear; and I
see every reason to hope that the same influence continued will produce
the most beneficial results.'
Mary thought this a magnificent compliment, even considering that no
one but her mamma had succeeded in teaching Louis to read when a little
boy, or in making him persevere in anything now: but then, when Lord
Ormersfield did pay a compliment, it was always in the style of Louis
XIV.