JIM'S GUESTS
After breakfast next morning Jim and his friends went out on the
terrace. The tide was full and the woods across the bay looked like
islands. A line of white surf marked the edge of the marsh, which ran
back, broken by winding creeks, to the foot of the rising ground.
Sometimes a gleam of sunshine touched the lonely flats and they flashed
into luminous green, silver, and yellow. Then the color faded and the
light moving on forced up for a few moments the rugged blue hills
against their misty background. The landscape had not the sharp
distinctness common in Canada; it was dim and marked by an elusive
charm.
Jim began to think about Evelyn. She was somehow like the country.
Her charm was strong but not obtrusive. One could not, so to speak,
realize Evelyn at a glance; she was marked by subtle refinements and
delicacies that one rather felt than saw. Her English reserve was
fascinating, because it hinted at the reward one might get if one could
break it down. Carrie, too, was thinking about Evelyn, Mrs. Winter was
sewing, and Jake occupied himself by cleaning an old pipe.
"It's some time since we broke camp on the telegraph line," Carrie
remarked. "Do you find having nothing to do comes easy, Jim?"
"I don't expect to be idle long. It's prudent to consider before you
begin to move."
Carrie felt that Jim was getting English. He had, of course, been to
McGill, but since they reached the Old Country he was dropping his
Western colloquialisms. She thought it significant that he did so
unconsciously.
"Perhaps I'd better tell you how things are, so far as I understand
them," he went on. "To begin with, running a house like Langrigg is
expensive, and I doubt if I am rich enough to loaf in proper style."
"If you want to loaf in proper style, you must be born and raised for
the job," Jake observed.
"That's true, to some extent," Jim agreed. "I was brought up to work
and have got the habit. Well, my farm rents amount to something, but
when you have paid taxes and repaired the homesteads they don't leave
very much. It seems there are people in England willing to pay for
owning land; but that plan's not sound."
"Then, you have another?"
"It's not worked out. The leases of two good farms soon fall in and I
may manage them myself. Then I own the marsh, which feeds some sheep
and cattle in summer. The soil's good alluvial, like the gumbo on the
Manitoba plains, and would grow heavy crops if one could keep out the
water. Well, we have seen small homesteaders draining Canadian
muskegs, a long haul from a railroad, while we have a good market for
all farming truck in two hours' ride. The proposition, however, needs
some thought. It might cost me all I've got."
Jake's eyes twinkled. "I reckon that wouldn't stop you if you resolved
to dyke the marsh. You didn't get much money when you got the estate?"
"I did not. I understand Joseph Dearham was not rich, and when he
found his health was breaking down he gave some money to his relations.
People here try to get out of the inheritance duties like that;
besides, he had not meant to give my father much. However, I have a
rich relation, from whom I want nothing, but whom the others think I
ought to satisfy."
"Bernard Dearham? Dick Halliday talked about him."
Jim nodded. "Bernard is my grandfather Joseph's brother. Joseph was
satisfied to live quietly at Langrigg like a small country gentleman;
Bernard got rich by opening some iron mines not far off. Joseph
married twice, and Mrs. Halliday and Mordaunt's mother were his second
wife's daughters. She was a widow with two children when she married
Joseph. So you see, Mrs. Halliday is not my aunt."
"Then, Evelyn Halliday is not your cousin," Carrie remarked.
"I suppose she's not," said Jim. "Anyhow, since I'm a Dearham, a
descendant in the male line, it seems I've a stronger claim on Bernard
than the others. I don't mean to urge the claim. He didn't give me
Langrigg, he left my father alone, and if I keep the place, I'm going
to run it as I like."
"Do you mean to keep Langrigg?" Carrie asked.
Jim looked thoughtful. "I imagine so; I don't know yet. There are
drawbacks, but something pulls. I'll wait a bit before I decide." He
got up and beckoned Jake. "Let's go and see the farms."
They went off and Carrie turned to Mrs. Winter. "He'll stay; we'll
lose him soon. I think I knew we would lose him when you found the
advertisement------"
She paused and Mrs. Winter remembered that when she had shown the girl
the old newspaper Carrie had hesitated for a moment or two. She,
however, said nothing and Carrie resumed:
"Well, I wanted to see the Old Country and you needed a rest. The life
they live here is fuller than ours; it's something to enjoy it for a
time, but we won't stay long, although Jim is kind."
Mrs. Winter gave her a keen glance, but Carrie's face was calm. Then
she picked up her sewing and Carrie studied the old house. Langrigg
meant much to Jim and she thought would presently mean more. She
vaguely understood his feelings and tried to sympathize, although the
effort cost her something.
In the meantime, Jim went to see his tenants. He dined with one at
noon in an old farm kitchen and afterwards occupied himself by
examining horses, buildings, and agricultural machines. On the whole,
he puzzled the small farmers, to whom a landlord of his type was new,
although they liked his frankness and answered his direct questions,
since it was obvious that this was a man who knew how things were done.
Some of the tenants who had known his grandfather talked about Jim
afterwards and agreed that he had not much in common with the country
gentleman; he was like Bernard Dearham, who opened the famous iron
mines.
When they returned in the afternoon across the small turnip and stubble
fields, Jim said to Jake, "I've seen enough of the plow land. Let's go
across the marsh."
Jake agreed, and by and by Jim, leaning against a gate, indicated the
long rows of hedges that ran down the slope and melted into an
indistinct mass on the level plain.
"There's nothing much to be done here in the meantime. These folks are
wasting labor and money plowing their little fields, but I reckon
they're slow and stubborn. It wouldn't pay to hustle them yet."
"No," said Jake, with a twinkle. "I expect it hurts to feel you must
keep your hands off, but you seem to know when you've got to allow for
the idiosyncrasies of human nature. It's harder to use men properly
than horses and machines."
"Some day, perhaps, I'll grub out these hedges and make room for the
tractors to rip a furrow right across the farms. I've no use for
wasting land on weeds and thorns."
"You think so now," Jake rejoined. "You haven't been here very long
and there's something insidious about the country; its old-time customs
get hold of one. Then I don't know if the tractor's picturesque, and
cutting down trees and hedges might spoil the landscape. It wouldn't
be quite so English after you had done."
Jim looked at him rather hard. "Sometimes you're pretty smart.
Anyhow, I can't spoil the marsh by covering it with good grass and
corn, and if the thing could be done economically, it ought to pay."
"It's possible. Are you keen about the profit? Or do you want a new
big job?"
"I'm not going to philosophize; that's your proper line," Jim answered
with a laugh. "Let's see if the creeks could be dyked."
They went down the hill and plunged into a belt of tall dry grass,
crossed a broad tract of smooth green turf, dotted by thrift and silver
weed, and pushed on to the lower flats where the sea-lavender and
samphire grew. Then they skirted miry creeks that gradually filled
with weeds as they neared dry ground, and went home to Langrigg by the
causeway road. Jim was muddy, but happy; although he told himself he
had not decided yet, half-formed plans floated through his brain.
A day or two afterwards, Dick Halliday and Mordaunt came over to
Langrigg and were shown into the hall. Jim was not there, but his pipe
and some books lay about and the others sat down. Presently Dick
picked up a book and saw it was the old French romance from which
Mordaunt had read a passage at the telegraph shack. He opened it
carelessly and then started when he saw, _Franklin Dearham_, written in
faded ink, on the first blank page. He looked across at Mordaunt and
hesitated, with a vague suspicion in his mind. It was possible the
latter had seen the writing when he opened the book at the shack, and
if he had----
"You look as if you have found something interesting," Mordaunt
remarked.
"It is interesting," said Dick, and felt relieved when he heard a step
in the passage. He did not think Mordaunt, sitting some distance off,
knew the book.
Next moment Jim came in and stated that he was alone. Mordaunt lighted
a cigarette Jim gave him and asked if his friends were staying long.
"I don't know," said Jim. "We have made no plans yet, but I imagine I
shall keep Langrigg."
"Do you mean you had thought about selling the estate?" Mordaunt asked,
rather sharply.
"I did think about it, but don't know if I went much farther. The
matter's complicated."
"Langrigg is rather an expensive house to manage and the farm rents are
low," Mordaunt answered in a thoughtful voice. "Have you any money?
Perhaps I'm blunt, but I'm a relative."
"I have some. Not enough to help me do all I want."
"You mean to do something, then?"
"If I stay, I'm going to put up the farm rents, though I mean to help
my tenants pay. I'm going to enlarge the small fields, alter
boundaries, and fix things so the land can be worked on the economical
Canadian plan. The drawback is it may cost me much and I must wait for
the return."
Dick laughed. "There are other drawbacks and it may cost you more than
you know. In this country you can't do what you like, and we resent
experiments. If you meddle with old-fashioned customs, you'll raise
the neighborhood against you. In a sense, the trees and hedgerows
you'd cut down are your neighbors."
"I believe they're mine," Jim rejoined dryly. "However, I don't
suppose I'd bother anybody if I dyked and drained the marsh."
"Drain the marsh!" Mordaunt exclaimed. "That's frankly ridiculous!
It's a favorite haunt of the Lag geese and, in a dry autumn, I don't
know a better spot for snipe."
"There you are, you see!" Dick interposed, with a twinkle. "Perhaps
you don't understand that it's a serious matter to disturb a few
sportsmen."
"Looks as if I might disturb a number of people before I'm through,"
Jim replied. "Anyhow, I haven't made my calculations yet and don't
know if my money will go round."
"I wonder whether you understand that you are Bernard Dearham's nearest
relation and his approval is important?" Mordaunt remarked.
Jim pondered. He liked Dick and thought he trusted him, but he was not
certain if he trusted Mordaunt. On the whole, he thought the fellow
meant to give him good advice, but he was a type Jim did not know much
about. Although he was highly cultivated, Jim thought he had
conservative prejudices and an exaggerated pride. The pride was, of
course, not obtrusive, but it was there.
"The lawyers hinted something like that and Mrs. Halliday made it
plainer," he answered cautiously.
Mordaunt saw he would say nothing more and they were silent for a few
moments until Dick got up and said he would ask the gardener for some
plants the man had promised his mother. He wanted the plants, but he
wanted to think, for he was curious about the French romance. If Lance
had seen Franklin Dearham's name, he must have known Jim was his son,
and had meant to let him stay in Canada. Lance's manner when they
talked about Jim at the shack to some extent justified the supposition.
Moreover, while Lance had gone to Langrigg with the object of giving
Jim good advice there was something curious about his tone. He was
urbane, but one noted a hint of superiority, or perhaps patronage, that
the other might resent. All the same, it was not Dick's business and
he went to look for the gardener.
In the meantime, Mordaunt said to Jim: "You suggested that your
Canadian friends might make a long visit."
"I did; I'd like them to stay for good."
"Do you think it's prudent?" Mordaunt asked quietly.
Jim looked hard at him, with a touch of haughty surprise, and Mordaunt
resumed in a conciliatory voice: "Perhaps I'm getting on dangerous
ground, but I mean well and if you don't see----. To begin with, have
you thought about marrying Miss Winter?"
"I have not. I'm certain she has not thought about marrying me!"
"No doubt, you know," Mordaunt agreed with some dryness. "For all
that, my inquiry was perhaps justified. The girl is unformed, but
she's beautiful and I think she's clever."
"You can leave Miss Winter out. Now I suppose you have cleared the
ground and there's something else?"
Mordaunt made a deprecatory gesture. "I'll be frank, because I don't
want you to make mistakes. If you are going to stay at Langrigg, you
owe something to the family and yourself. A country gentleman has
social duties and much depends on what your neighbors think about you
at first. Very well. Your Canadian friends wear the stamp of the rank
to which they belong; it was hardly necessary for Mrs. Winter to state
that she had kept a small store. These are not the kind of people your
neighbors would like to receive. Then Bernard Dearham's family pride
is known: I imagine he largely persuaded your grandfather to alter his
will."
Jim got up and his face was quietly stern.
"Langrigg is mine; my grandfather gave it to me without my asking for
the gift," he said. "I owe my relations nothing and don't acknowledge
Bernard Dearham's rule. None of you bothered about my father; you were
glad to leave him and me alone. I had no claim on my Canadian friends
and they had nothing to gain; but they nursed me when I was ill and my
partner stood by me in the blizzards and cold of the North. Now you
ask me to turn them down, because they're not the people neighbors I
don't know would like to meet! Do you think I will agree?"
Mordaunt shrugged and forced a smile. "Oh, well, in a sense I suppose
your attitude is correct. There is obviously nothing more to be said."
Dick came in soon afterwards and Mordaunt went off with him, but he had
given Jim a jar and the latter walked about the terrace until Mrs.
Winter and the others returned from a drive. Carrie gave Jim a quick
glance as she advanced. She knew his moods and saw he was disturbed.
The drive had brought the color to her skin; she looked very fresh and
her step was light. Jim felt savage as he remembered Mordaunt's
patronizing remark. Carrie _was_ beautiful.
"Has something been bothering you, Jim?" she asked.
"It is not important," he replied. "If you own land in this country,
it seems you must submit to a number of ridiculous rules and folks
won't leave you alone. However, did you like the town?"
"We were charmed. It's a quaint old place and the country round is so
green and quiet. Everything's smooth and well-kept; the trees look as
if somebody had taught them how they ought to grow. You feel as if all
the rough work had been done long since and folks have only to take
care of things. I like it all."
"Then, you will be satisfied to stay at Langrigg?"
"For a time. If you want us."
"I'd be happy if you'd stay for good!"
Carrie said nothing for a moment and then smiled.
"That's impossible, though you're very nice. We'll make the most of
our holiday; but it's only a holiday."
She turned, rather quickly, and joined Mrs. Winter, who was going into
the house.