UNCLE MATTHEW'S GENEROSITY
"HAVE you answered either of those letters yet, father?"
"No, Matthew, and I've no intention of doing so. I regard them both as
highly impertinent."
The younger man sighed, but the baronet, Sir Matthew Rose, looked as
cold and impregnable as a rock.
It was the close of a golden September day; the misty shadows were
falling across the well-wooded park and meadow-lands which surrounded
the old baronial pile known as The Towers.
"You will pardon me saying so, father, but I think you are wrong," went
on Matthew fearlessly.
"That's all you know about it," answered the baronet testily.
But Matthew, heedless of his father's irritability, pursued the subject
bravely.
"It is but fitting that one of Gilbert's boys should be your heir. My
life, I sometimes feel, will not be a long one, and—"
"Nonsense, man, nonsense!" interrupted Sir Matthew. "I intend that The
Towers shall be yours, and that after your death—and you'll make old
bones yet, you mark my words! It shall descend to your son, for you
must marry, Matthew."
A look of pain crossed the young man's features, which was not
unnoticed by the baronet's quick eye.
"You think too much of your physical defect, you do, 'pon my word,"
said his father, but there was a tenderness underlying the irritation
in his voice.
There was no answer to this speech, as at this moment a servant entered
with the evening letters.
For a while there was silence as each perused his correspondence.
Presently an exclamation of surprise burst from Sir Matthew's lips.
"Why, here's a letter from Mary! I thought she was in America!"
"Where does she write from, father?" inquired Matthew.
"Linwell—the very spot where Gilbert's wife and family have taken up
their abode. That's very strange!" muttered the old man.
"'I am hoping to come and see you as soon as we are settled in our new
home,'" he went on, reading the letter aloud.
"Well, I'm in no hurry," said he, ungraciously. "I had quite enough of
Mrs. Wilfrid's airs and graces years ago."
"Ah well, dad, let bygones be bygones," said peace-loving Matthew;
"remember she has passed through much sorrow since those days."
"Poor Wilfrid!" murmured the baronet. "Who would have thought, to look
at him, that he would have been cut off in the prime of his manhood!"
Again a silence fell upon them both; this time it was broken by Matthew.
"I should like to read those two letters—Alicia Beaumont's and
Hugh's—once again, if you've not destroyed them."
"No, they are in my desk; here are the keys."
Matthew, with halting gait, stepped across the room, and soon obtained
possession of the letters in question. The first one which he opened
ran as follows—
"DEAR GRANDFATHER,
"I am sorry you treated my mother in such a way, by turning her from
your doors like a beggar. It was very cruel of you, and you will never
have the chance of doing it again. She was going to ask you to help us
with our education, but it doesn't matter now a bit, because we are
going to the Board school. Apolergizing for troubling you with a letter,
"I am,
"Your grandson,
"HUGH."
And this was the effusion sent off by an indignant lad, and regretted
ten minutes later.
"Poor little chap!" said Matthew to himself. "He has a fine spirit, but
a little more education won't hurt him."
The other letter, which was penned by Miss Alicia Beaumont (who was a
distant connection of the late Lady Rose), was in this wise—
"DEAR SIR MATTHEW,
"You will doubtless be surprised at hearing from me, and more
especially when I tell you that for nearly three years I have been
living in the same house as your son's wife, Elizabeth Rose. In fact,
to put it plainly, I am her lodger, and very comfortable indeed she
makes me.
"But I am not writing this letter to inform you about myself, but just
to give you some idea of what kind of woman your daughter-in-law has
proved herself to be. She is a good mother in every sense of the word,
and is seeking to train her children in the faith and fear of God.
"I am not a religious woman myself, but her example has gone far to
prove to me the reality and beauty of a consistent Christian life.
"She finds it a struggle to make both ends meet, and how she is to
educate her sons fitly, and place them out in the world, passes my
comprehension.
"I ask of you, for the sake of their father whom you once loved, that
this neglect of your grandsons shall not continue.
"Please forgive me if I have said too much,
"Believe me,
"Yours sincerely,
"ALICIA BEAUMONT."
"Something must be done, father," said Matthew with decision, as he
laid the letters down on the table beside him.
"Then you must do it, for I shall not," was the abrupt answer.
"May I reply to these letters, father?"
"You may write to Alicia, but I desire that no notice whatever be
taken of the lad's impudent epistle," and with these words Sir Matthew
quitted the room.
The younger man then sat down to the writing-table, and hastily wrote
off an answer to Miss Beaumont's letter, which same epistle gave great
pleasure to the recipient.
Her face positively beamed with gladness as she read the few lines
which Matthew Rose had inscribed.
The letter was to the point, and ran thus—
"DEAR MISS BEAUMONT,
"It is my desire to undertake the education of my nephews, and—if their
mother be willing—I should like them to attend the County Grammar
School, which is situated a few miles from Linwell. The master there,
the Rev. Dr. Willoughby, is a personal friend of mine, and one in whom
I repose great confidence. Kindly inform my sister-in-law of this
offer, but refrain from mentioning my name.
"Thanking you for your letter to my father, and with kind regards,
"Believe me,
"Yours very sincerely,
"MATTHEW ROSE."
Five minutes after the receipt of this epistle a brisk tapping was
heard at the door of the room wherein Mrs. Rose sat, darning the week's
socks and stockings. Miss Beaumont was surprised upon entering to see
that the usually calm, bright woman had evidently been giving way to
a few tears. Beneath her somewhat forbidding exterior, Miss Beaumont
possessed a very kindly heart, as her frequent anonymous gifts to the
Rose family testified.
"Are you too busy to give me a few minutes, Mrs. Rose?" she asked.
"Oh, no," answered the widow, laying aside her work. "I hope nothing
is wrong," she added, for a visit from Miss Beaumont was of rare
occurrence.
"Nothing whatever. I merely came in to tell you that a friend who
wishes his name to remain unknown is desirous of undertaking the cost
of the education of your boys at the County Grammar School."
For a moment Mrs. Rose was too overcome to answer.
"Forgive me," she said brokenly, "I did not mean to be so foolish."
"Well, I must say, my dear good woman, I don't see anything to cry
about," said Miss Beaumont brusquely.
"No, no; I am only so glad and thankful. Would you believe it, I had
actually thought that God had not seen fit to answer my prayers about
this matter. Wasn't it foolish of me?" she asked, smiling through her
tears.
Miss Beaumont made no reply; the fact was that an uncomfortable lump in
her throat prevented her calm utterance at that moment.
"If I might only know who my kind friend is—" said the widow.
"You see, he doesn't wish to be known," answered Miss Beaumont
decisively.
"Can it be possible that Sir Matthew has at last relented?" said Mrs.
Rose reflectively.
"I can gratify your curiosity on that point—it certainly is not their
grandfather."
A shade of disappointment crossed the widow's face.
"I would give much to be able to grasp the hand of my unknown friend,
and say, 'God bless you.'"
As tears threatened to dim the mother's eyes once more, Miss Beaumont,
who dreaded a scene, hastily bade her good-morning, and departed to her
own room.
But she need not have feared. Mrs. Rose very rarely indulged in the
luxury of giving way to such womanly weakness, and it was with a very
light and thankful heart that she finished the remainder of her pile of
work.
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