THE NEW RULER OF CARRINGTON
A month slipped by, and though I rode over often to the Manor it was
seldom that I had speech with Grace, and never saw her father. The attack
had left him with intellect clouded and limbs nearly powerless on one
side, while he would hardly permit either his sister or daughter, who were
the only persons he apparently recognized, to leave his sight. It was also
with some trepidation that I awaited the first interview with Grace, but
this vanished when she came in showing signs of an anxious vigil but only
pleasure at my presence.
"I am sorry that I spoke so to you, Ralph, that awful day," she said. "For
hours together I have thought over all that happened, and though it was
hard to overcome a feeling of resentment against the others, and even you
at first, I tried to judge them fairly; and, if it is not disloyal to say
so, I think they were right. Some day, when there will be many things to
settle, I hope to tell them so; but I cannot do it yet."
She would say nothing in the meantime as to her own plans, beyond that
before she could consider herself there was much to be arranged that
concerned her father and the Manor, and with this I had to be content.
Lyle also showed his regret in a practical fashion by visiting the Manor
constantly and supervising the farming, though I knew his own holding
suffered in consequence, and by his advice young Foster had been appointed
bailiff at a salary. Meanwhile, Harry and I were busy almost night and
day, for when the sowing was finished I brought out carpenters and set
them to work extending Fairmead, while with our own hands we hewed
wind-felled timber where we could find it in the bluffs ready for them and
the creamery. It was often necessary to ride long leagues for birches
stout enough, and we frequently slept on the bare earth or in the wagon
beside our work.
To please a friend in Winnipeg I had accepted the services of a destitute
British mechanic, who, when he arrived at Fairmead, with his fare advanced
at our expense, demanded the highest wages paid in Canada, and then
expressed grave doubts as to whether he could conscientiously undertake
the more laborious parts of the framing, because he was a cabinet joiner,
and this, so he said, was carpenter's work. We had met others of the kind
before, who had made their employers' lives a burden in the old country,
but they were the exception, after all.
"You can please yourself," said Harry. "I'm a landowner and ploughman; but
if I hadn't my hands full already I'd tackle anything, from making bricks
to framing bridges, for the wages you're getting. However, to please you,
we'll call the operation joinery."
We had further trouble with this individual, who continually lamented he
had ever come to a country wherein there was no beer, and derided his
Ontario comrade for doing too much. The longer a job lasted the better for
those employed on it and the rest of the profession, he said: to which, as
we heard later, the Ontario man replied: "If the job lasts too long in
this country they pretty well fire you out of it."
At last, returning one morning wet with dew from a damp bed on a bluff,
where we had slept after toiling late the night before, we decided to
dispense with his services.
"Good heavens, man! if you get on at that rate it will take you two years
to finish," I said, when I found him tranquilly notching the ends of some
beams with mallet and chisel. "How long do you spend over one? And didn't
I tell you to use the axe?"
"Half a day to make a good job! There's no man in Canada can teach me what
tools to use," he said; and, being stiff all over, I turned to Harry.
"There's a fair edge on that axe. You might show him," I suggested.
Harry, who was in a hurry, flung off his jacket, badly tearing it; and for
a while the heavy blade made flashes in the sunlight, while the white
chips leaped up in showers, until, flinging down the axe, he pulled out
his watch.
"Ten minutes exactly--you can dress it another five," he said. "Now are
you willing to do it in that way? No? I didn't suppose you would be. Well,
we won't detain you. Give him his fare to Winnipeg and some breakfast,
Ralph--it will pay you."
I found Ormond's horses useful; for between timber-cutting, marking down
growing hay, rides to purchase cattle, and visits to the Manor, we often
covered fifty miles a day, with hard work besides; while, when we brought
out Ontario bushmen, Fairmead and the creamery lumber piles increased
rapidly in size, and our bank balance diminished as rapidly. Once, too,
when I came home so weary that I could scarcely get out of the saddle, I
found a black-edged letter awaiting me, and dropped heavily into a chair
after opening it.
"I hope there's no bad news," said Aline; "it has an American stamp. Who
can it be?"
"Cousin Alice! You might read it--the sun and the grass dust have almost
blinded me."
Martin Lorimer had written the letter from a little town in Southern
California, and Aline read: "I am in sore distress, Ralph. Your poor
cousin died here yesterday of an old sickness she had long greatly
suffered from. She was my only child--all that was left me; and I'm going
back to England a very lonely man. I'll ask you in a post or two to meet
me."
"I am very sorry, and yet it may have been a release," said Aline. "Hers
was a very hard lot to bear, but she was always cheerful. Poor Uncle
Martin! Of course you will go to meet him."
I did so later when, as a special favor, a mounted man brought me a
telegram from Elktail, and Martin Lorimer gripped my fingers hard when I
boarded the east-bound train at that station.
"I knew thee would come, Ralph, and I was longing for a face that I knew,"
he said. "Ay, to the last my poor girl remembered thee. I'm going home to
England--stayed here too long; and Canada seems empty without her. Only
time to catch the liner, or I'd have come to Fairmead, and I've much to
tell thee on the road to Winnipeg."
He looked sadly shaken, but glad to meet any kinsman in his trouble, and,
asking few questions, I listened quietly while, ensconced in a corner of a
first-class car, he relieved his soul with talk. He told me much that
surprised me, but which is not connected with this story, until I started
when he said: "Now I may tell thee that it was Alice sent that money. She
did it main cleverly,--her own savings, poor girl; I'm glad I never
stinted her in the matter of money. 'You can tell him when I'm gone,
father; it pleased me well to know I had helped to make him happy,' she
said. Then again, almost at the end, she whispered: 'Tell Ralph I wish him
a long life, and the best this world can give him and Miss Carrington.'"
Martin Lorimer coughed vigorously before he continued: "I never heard a
word about that loan until I guessed from thy tale at the chalet that my
girl, never suspecting it, had countered my plans. Well, well, it was all
as it had to be; but if she had never helped thee maybe another Lorimer
would be waiting instead of a stranger to carry on the Orb Mill when I've
done with it."
We were nearing the Red River, and the roofs of Winnipeg lifted themselves
higher above the prairie, when he said, for Martin Lorimer, almost
timidly, "Remembering our talk at the chalet, canst change thy mind, lad,
or is it too late?"
"It is too late, Uncle Martin," I answered with reluctance, for I longed
to do something to comfort him. "As I told you, even if I were ready there
are others to consider now."
He sighed before he answered sadly: "Ay, thou'lt take thy own road; it's
born in thee. Then follow it steadfastly, and God bless thee. Some day
I'll come back to Fairmead, but I must have time to get over this blow."
Ten minutes later we parted, and it was some hours after the Atlantic
express pulled out of Winnipeg before I recovered my serenity. I could not
forget the kindness of my dead cousin, who, in spite of sickness and
physical suffering, had so cleverly aided me in my time of need.
The next event of moment happened when Foster brought me a message from
Grace requesting my presence at the Manor on the following day. Most of
the men of Carrington were also expected, Foster said. I reached the Manor
at the appointed time, and made the latter portion of the journey in
company with several of the colonists, and it was with mingled curiosity
and reluctance that we gathered in the great hall.
Except that the air was warmer and there were flowers and feathery grasses
in the tall vases, it looked much the same as it did on our last eventful
visit, though there was now no grim figure in the carved oak chair. No one
knew why we had been summoned except Lyle and myself, and I did not know
wholly. So there was a buzz of curious whispers, until Lyle flung back the
doors, and Grace, followed by Miss Carrington, appeared in the opening.
They were dressed alike in some neutral-tinted fabric, and with one accord
the riders of Carrington rose to their feet, and stood fast and motionless
until with a queenly gesture Grace seated herself in the oaken chair.
Grace was younger than myself by two full years, but there was no trace of
diffidence about her as she looked down out of steady eyes at the men who,
as it were, did homage before her. Then deep silence followed as she said
with a perfect distinctness:
"It was fitting after what has happened that I should send for you. My
father founded this colony, and still nominally holds the greater portion
of the land in it. As you know, he has been stricken--and has lost his
reason; and accordingly the management of the estate devolves upon Miss
Carrington and myself--principally, under his last will, on myself. It is
a heavy responsibility for two women, to do the best, not only for
Carrington Manor, but for the Carrington colony, until it shall please the
Almighty to restore its founder--or grant him release. While the Manor
lands remain intact and the agreement binding, all that affects our
welfare affects that of the whole settlement."
Grace paused, and a man rose upright at the further end of the hall.
"We came here with a feeling of contrition, yet not wholly ashamed," he
said. "On behalf of all I offer the new mistress of Carrington our deepest
sympathy and an assurance of good-will," and again there was a deep murmur
of chivalrous respect from the sun and wind-bronzed men.
Grace's gaze was not so steady and her voice was lower as she answered, "I
thank you. It is a barren heritage, weighted down by debt, but with the
help of my kinsman Lyle we shall do our utmost to improve it. Still, it
was not that that I wanted to tell you. How we last parted you know," and
some of those I noticed showed a darker color in their cheeks, as though
it were an unpleasant memory. "Since then I have tried to consider rightly
all that led up to it, and I ask you to forgive me."
"It was our own blind precipitancy. I am afraid you spoke the truth," a
voice said; but raising her hand for silence Grace went on:
"As I said, this estate entails a heavy responsibility, and I have been
considering what I should do concerning the creamery. My father acted as
seemed right according to his judgment, and I do not know all his reasons,
but now that the decision devolves upon me I am impelled to act according
to my own. No two people see the same thing under the same aspect,
and--this is no disrespect to him--I dare not do otherwise. I think the
creamery will enhance the settlement's prosperity, and though I cannot
grant the Green Mountain site, in which you must bear with me, you may
take the next best, the Willow Grove, with its timber and water, at an
appraised value, to be represented by stock in the creamery. This is all I
have to tell you, and until I resign this position to Miss Carrington I
trust to enjoy your friendship and good-will. You will, I hope, decide,
before you go when to start the work."
"There is still a ruler of Carrington; we haven't a Salic law. We are all
your servants, madam," a big man said, and when some one cried, "To the
Princess of Carrington," the rafters rang to the thunderous cheer, while
once more I wondered that Grace should ever have listened to me. Whether
it was born in her, an hereditary dowry, or was the result of her
father's influence and company, I do not know, but Grace, who could at
other times be only womanly, spoke to the riders of Carrington with the
air of a sovereign. And yet it appeared perfectly seemly that she should
do so, for whether mirthful, commanding, or pitiful, Grace was in all
things natural. Neither is this prejudice in her favor on my part, for it
is well known on the Assiniboian prairie. Still, even after work had
commenced on the creamery and the finances of the Manor were adjusted
temporarily, Grace would give me no definite promise as to when she would
leave it for Fairmead. As yet her first duty was toward the helpless old
man and the charge he had left her, she said.
By one of the striking coincidences that it is hard to believe are
accidents, it happened that as we mounted outside the Manor a buggy came
around one corner of the house, and with a feeling akin to consternation
we turned to regard its occupant. A hired man held the reins, but beside
him, wrapped in a fur coat although the day was warm, sat Colonel
Carrington, a shivering, huddled object propped against the backboard. It
was the first time we had seen him, and the sight troubled us, for the few
weeks had made great changes in the ruler of Carrington.
"I'm afraid I'm breaking orders," the driver explained. "Miss Grace said
wait until you all had gone, but he would come, and I hadn't the heart to
refuse him. He's not understanding much these days, but we take him out
for an hour or two, when he's able for it, in the sun."
Colonel Carrington regarded us as if we were strangers, as with a pitiful
courtesy some raised their hats to him. He attempted with one hand to
strike a match and dropped it, and after Lyle ignited another and held it
to his cigar he nodded cordially. "I thank you, sir," he said with an
entire absence of recognition. "I am not quite as strong as I used to be.
Could you tell me how far it is to Lone Hollow? I seem to have forgotten
the way, and the snow is soft and heavy."
It was a relief to all of us when the buggy drove off, and the assembly
broke up with a sudden chill upon its enthusiasm.
One evening later I was walking home past Hudson's dwelling when I noticed
a curious cloud of dust hanging over the house, and strange sounds
proceeding from it. They suggested that somebody was vigorously brushing
it, which was certainly unusual. Now Hudson, though he held a
quarter-section of Government land, had really no legal claim to it,
because he had neither broken sufficient virgin sod nor put the necessary
acreage under cultivation. He freely admitted that he was prejudiced
against hard work, and, when in need of a few dollars to purchase actual
necessities that he could not borrow, he would drive away with his wagon
and peddle German oleographs and patent medicines to the less-educated
settlers, returning after several weeks' absence to settle down again to a
period of loafing.
Aline and her friend Lilian Kenyon, as well as the latter's brother were
with me.
"What on earth can they be doing inside there, and what a noise they are
making," said Miss Kenyon.
"It shows that my good counsel has not all fallen on stony soil," Aline
answered laughingly. "Harry--that is Mr. Lorraine--is apparently seriously
engaged in spring cleaning. I have been giving him lessons lately on the
virtues of cleanliness."
Understanding the process, I grinned at this, and fancied, though I could
not be certain, that Aline's fair companion envied her the opportunity for
giving Harry lessons on anything. When the next cloud of dust rolled out
of the window an irate voice came with it:
"I'm the biggest slouch on the prairie, eh; I'll pretty well show you
nobody takes liberties with me. I'm almighty sick of this fooling already;
there goes your confounded bucket, and the rest of the blamed caboodle
after it."
Lilian Kenyon started when a bucket fell clattering at her feet, a brush
came hurtling toward us, and amid wild language a grimy figure appeared at
the window, dropping chairs and other furniture wholesale out of it, while
her brother, who strove to conceal his merriment, observed:
"Say, hadn't you two better come on with me? It's getting late already,
and Hudson is not as particular as he ought to be when he's angry."
"I agree with you," said Aline in a tone of severity. "He is a very
disgraceful man, and by no means a fit companion for Harry. Ralph, I am
sorry there are occasions when both of you indulge in unwarranted
expressions. Don't you think such conduct unbecoming in an elder brother,
or any respectable landowner, Lily?"
I laughed and Miss Kenyon looked indignant when I answered: "Then go
along; you don't understand our trials, or you wouldn't condemn us. It can
only be natural depravity that leads Harry to persist in living with such
a companion when half the girls on the prairie are willing to provide him
with a better one."
They had hardly left me when, disheveled and dusty, Hudson strode forth in
wrathful disgust.
"It's almighty hard when a man can't live peacefully in his own home
without your confounded partner brushing all over it," he muttered, "I
guess it's your sister's doing--I knew there would be trouble when she
came in, stepping like a gopher on wet ploughing, with her skirts held up.
Anyway, I'm blamed well sick of Canada, and them Government land fellows
are coming right down on me, so I'm just going to drop the whole thing and
skip. I'm going to sell the place for an old song, or burn it, and light
out for Dakota."
I frowned, for this was the first time I had heard of Aline's visit, and
it struck me that although I suffered from her craze for neatness at
Fairmead she was overstepping the bounds in attempting to reform Hudson's
homestead too; but Harry evidently overheard him, for he came out.
"Try to talk sensible for once, Hudson," he said. "See here, I don't want
to take advantage of your beastly temper, but if you are really bent on
selling the place, and not vaporing as usual, I'm open to make you an
offer."
"I've been willing to sell it for two years," Hudson answered with a grin.
"Haven't done half my legal breaking, and don't mean to, so it's not mine
to sell, and would have to remain registered to me until the improvements
were completed. Then, you see, I could come back, and jump you."
"I don't think you could," said Harry. "You might hurt yourself trying it.
How much do you call a fair thing for the holding as it stands, bearing in
mind our risk in buying what is only the good-will with the owner
absent?"
They haggled over the terms for a while, and then Harry turned to me.
"We can do it at a stretch, Ralph, by paying him so much after the crop's
sold for the next two years. Of course, it's a big handful, but there's
lots of sloo hay that would feed winter stock, and I want the house badly.
Indeed, if I don't get it I'm going to build one. Don't you think we could
take the risk?"
I thought hard for a few minutes. We were speculating boldly, and already
had undertaken rather more than we could manage; but the offer was
tempting, and, noting Harry's eagerness, I agreed.
"Yes; we will chance it," I said, "on his own terms of yearly payments,
although heaven only knows how we're going to finance it if the crop dies
off. Hudson, I'll give you a small check to-morrow if you are satisfied,
but it's fair to tell you that if you stayed and completed the
improvements you would get more for it when you held the patent."
"That's all right," said Hudson. "I guess I'll take the check. You may
have the building and the hundred and sixty blanked acres, scarcely ten of
them broken. It's easier peddling pictures than farming, any day, and no
one else would buy it in the circumstances. It's not even mine without the
patent, and if I die in the meantime you'll get nothing."
"We'll get the crop and the cattle feed; you don't suppose we've bought it
to look at; and if you died the pay would stop," said Harry dryly, and
turned toward me when Hudson, moving away contented, sat down to enjoy a
peaceful smoke.
"That settles it, Ralph," he said. "The deal ought to show a good result,
and I wanted the house. Now that I have got it, it's time for me to ask
you a question which would have to be answered presently in any case. I
was waiting to see how things would go, out of fairness to her, but as we
have bound ourselves hard and fast to Fairmead for several years at least,
I'm going to ask you a great thing. Will you give me Aline?"
"Will she have you?" I said smiling.
"That's just what I don't know," Harry answered rather dismally.
"Sometimes I hope so, and sometimes I've a cold fear that she won't. But
now that I've told you, I'll ask her this very evening. You'll wish me
Godspeed, won't you?"
I looked at him with sympathy, for I knew the feeling, and I had some
experience of Aline's moods. Then I laid my hand on his shoulder, "We
have been as brothers for a long time, Harry, and it would be only good
news if you strengthen the tie. If Aline has the wisdom I give her credit
for, she won't say no, and there's no one in the Dominion I should sooner
trust her to."
"Then I'll make the plunge," said Harry. "Ralph, I'm very grateful for
your good-will. Hudson, where did you fling that confounded bucket? Get up
and straighten yourself, and go after Miss Kenyon. Take her anywhere away
from Miss Lorimer, and, if you feel like it, make love to her. You're not
bad-looking when you wash yourself, and I think she has a fancy for you."
"Not much!" said Hudson grinning as he refilled his pipe. "I've had one
experience in that line, and I don't want another. No, sir, henceforward I
leave women alone."
Harry went back to the house to shed his working attire, and I strode on
toward Fairmead, leaving Hudson sitting among his furniture and kitchen
utensils on the darkening prairie, smoking tranquilly. The stars shone out
when Harry and Aline came in together. Harry looked exultant, Aline
unusually subdued, and me first thing she did was, to my astonishment, to
kiss me.
"Aline has promised to marry me before the winter," said Harry.
Wishing them every happiness I went out and left them. I was occupied two
hours over some badly needed repairs to the granary, and then for a long
time I stood under the stars thinking of Grace.