A BIG SCHEME
IT was a gusty October afternoon. The wind was whirling yellow-brown
leaves along the roads, shrieking through the half-clad trees, and
howling down the old chimneys at the Hall. Sir Mark had gone up to
town for a few days. Damaris had been taking a walk over the common
in company with Rolf the greyhound and David the terrier. David had
obtained his name by his fondness, from a puppy, of attacking dogs six
times his size, and Damaris had many anxious moments when strange big
dogs encountered them in their walks. She had staved off one fight upon
this afternoon, and it had brought her into the house in a dishevelled
breathless state.
Stuart and Barbara were standing over the hall fire as she entered.
Barbara looked grave and did not notice Damaris's entrance, but Stuart
exclaimed at once—
"Who has been chasing you?"
"The wind," said Damaris rosy with her exertions. "But David is furious
with me because I've hooked my stick into his collar and dragged him
home by force. He tried to fight Farmer Sampson's dog."
David crawled slowly towards the fire, his tail between his legs, but
he rolled one eye round at Damaris in such a sulky disgusted fashion
that even Barbara smiled.
"I always let them fight," she said. "It's no good postponing the day."
Then she added, "We're having tea in my sanctum, Damaris."
Damaris ran upstairs to make herself tidy. When she came down, she
found Stuart and Barbara still talking earnestly together. They were
discussing Gregory Lancaster, the son of the family doctor.
"Why did you interfere?" Barbara was saying. "The father won't thank
you."
"No; and perhaps the son won't either; but the poor beggar wants a
chance. How long is it? Eight years, isn't it, that he has been trying
to pass his exams, and not managed to pass out yet. He hates the
profession, and will never do any good at it. And he's going down-hill
fast. He as good as told me so. He's like some of these country-born
fellows—hates town, and instead of working to get out of it, sinks
without an effort."
"How do you know your aunt will have him?"
Stuart laughed lightly.
"She always comes round; answers like a thoroughbred to the rein after
she's plunged a bit. She's plunging now, and that's why I've asked
myself to dinner."
"I would like her to hear you talk."
"I assure you she does."
Barbara changed the subject.
But Stuart was restive till tea was over; then, when it was taken away
and they were alone, he said—
"I have come over chock-full of news; you must let me tell you it all.
Ennismore and I sat up till the small hours last night threshing it
out."
Damaris was going to slip away.
"I want you to hear too," he said; "don't go."
She hesitated, and looked at Barbara.
"My dear Damaris, I have no desire for a tête-à-tête conversation. Now
then, for your wonderful scheme, Stuart!"
"It's Ennismore's—but it gives me the chance of doing good work as well
as Gregory. You know he's sold his other estate. Well, he's going to
put the price of it into a model village for disabled soldiers. And I'm
to be architect, head foreman, general manager, and perhaps practical
builder."
"Jack-of-all-trades, as usual."
"Don't chaff, because it's a big thing. He's going to pitch it on the
top of that rising hill by the Long Burrow coverts—just two miles from
Darleywater."
"He told me he had such an idea; but I did not think he would put it
into action so soon."
"Oh, when Ennismore and I get together, we're pretty rapid. I'm going
to plan it out. You see, we can run the water out of the town to it, so
there'll be no boring for wells. And the idea is to give the chaps a
chance of living outside a town, and working in it."
"How will disabled soldiers—say legless ones—be able to do the four
miles a day?"
"Oh, they'll have their automatic tricycles, and the others their
cycles, and some will prefer the walk. And they're all going to have
a small plot of ground sufficient for poultry or fruit growing, and
Ennismore is going to start them each with fruit trees, a dozen
poultry, or a pig, just as they prefer. But one of our plans is that
they should all help to build their own houses, so that employment will
begin at once for them."
"But if they don't understand the trade?"
"They can learn. Of course, we shall have a few skilled workmen to
help. You know, the Tommies have had a bit of experience out in the
trenches—I've seen first-class dug-outs built by amateurs; and those
who haven't an aptitude for bricks and mortar can carpenter, and those
who can't carpenter can be getting the ground ready for cultivation.
They'll work with such zest if they know it's for themselves."
"And how many houses are to be built?"
"We thought from twenty-five to thirty. Of course, the idea is that
they should either be natives of Darleywater or have some connection
with it. A town with fifty thousand odd inhabitants must have a good
many of its men disabled."
"And supposing you find they prefer to live in the town."
"Oh, well, then we shall make up our numbers from elsewhere."
"It sounds easy," said Barbara shaking her head.
"It bristles with difficulties," Stuart exclaimed, "but I'm going to
tackle them. Now, look here, what do you think of this for a cottage?"
He produced a roll out of his pocket and opened it. It was an exquisite
little water-colour sketch of a small thatched cottage in the midst of
a bower of shrubs and flowers.
Damaris looked at it and caught her breath.
"How lovely!"
Then she looked up at some of the watercolours on the walls.
And Stuart, following her gaze, laughed.
"You recognise the same hand."
"Did you paint these pictures?" asked Damaris.
"He did," said Barbara; "he gives me one every birthday, and I'm
beginning to feel that this row of them dates my age. Really, Stuart,
this cottage is ridiculous. It's just a picture. You'll never be able
to carry it out."
"Why not? We've decided to use thatch, and revive the trade of
thatchers. There's plenty of straw on the estate. In some cases, we
shall build a couple together, in others, single. We've all kinds of
ideas—one a communal laundry-house and drying-ground."
"I don't believe the women will like that."
"Why not?" Stuart would not be damped; he was quite excited over his
subject. "I want to start it next week," he said.
And then Barbara laughed.
"Isn't that just like you! How much are they going to cost? Have you
worked that out yet? And how much rent are you going to ask?"
"Ennismore is going to do it on the hire system. After so many years'
rent, when they've paid for the building, it's to be their own."
"It's a good thing that Lord Ennismore is a rich man."
"I think it's splendid of him," said Damaris enthusiastically. "Why
should not all landlords try and do the same?"
"They're most of them too out-of-pocket themselves," said Barbara. "I
know what the yearly repairs of our cottages amount to."
"Yes; but you'd save that if you gave it over to them," said Stuart.
"Then what will happen? The unthrifty and careless will let their
houses deteriorate year by year until they become unsanitary pig-styes."
"Oh, there'll be a signed agreement that, they'll vacate, if they can't
keep up repairs."
"You'll never be able to enforce that, when once the place is theirs.
That is half the trouble with these country people who buy property.
They cannot or will not keep them in good repair. It's a Utopian
scheme, but not a practical one."
"We'll make it practical. You can't damp me; I've taken over the job,
and am going to work it for all I'm worth!"
Stuart pinned his sketch up to one of the window curtains, then stood
and looked at it with his eyes half shut and his head on one side.
"Yes—not much amiss with that! Ten years hence, our model village will
be the ornament of the county!" Then he wheeled round upon Damaris.
"Barbara is a wet blanket; encourage me, will you?"
"You don't need to be encouraged," said Damaris, laughing; "you are
determined to succeed."
"Of course I am. But I like a bit of applause."
"My dear Stuart," said Barbara, in her abrupt fashion, "wait till the
time comes for applause. Plans and schemes are easy to formulate.
"'The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley.'
"But I'll give you my good wishes, and we all shall be intensely
interested in looking on."
"Don't you talk to Ennismore like that. I've got ahead of him on
purpose to warn you that he wants pushing, not holding back."
"Oh, I'll cheer him on!" said Barbara. "The only person I feel really
sorry for is your aunt. She'll be a lost dog without you!"
Later that evening, after Stuart had left them, Barbara began to talk
about him.
"Of course he's an optimist of the first water; and there's no doubt
about his industry and capability. He has hated this small agency of
his aunt's which has tied him down."
"How can he leave her?" asked Damaris. "And is he thinking of handing
his work over to the doctor's son?"
"To Gregory? Yes—Stuart has always been good to that boy. But I
question the wisdom of bringing him here. It's true he has always
hated surgery and medicine; but his father never let him alone till
he persuaded him to take it up. And he has done no good at Bart's
Hospital. He won't pass his examinations, and is leading a very
go-ahead life in town. Drink is his snare. I question whether Mrs.
Bonnycott will ever keep him. But it's like Stuart to try and do him a
good turn; and, of course, it may be his salvation."
The very next afternoon, Mrs. Bonnycott arrived over, and complained,
with tears, of her nephew's "hard-heartedness and officiousness."
"I've always been so good to him, and we understand each other
perfectly. Why has he this sudden craze for more work? And what
business has he to produce Gregory Lancaster to fill his place without
asking me first whether I would like him?"
"He meant well," said Barbara, trying to soothe her; "and Gregory is a
nice boy, and loves the country. He has been miserable in town."
"Stuart ought to get married," Mrs. Bonnycott said suddenly; "his wife
would steady him down. His brain is teeming with plans and schemes and
impossible theories which he tries to carry out as fast as they come to
him. I don't know why he doesn't marry?"
"I think I can tell you," said Barbara slowly; "he is so busy thinking
about other people and doing things to help them, that he has no time
to think about himself or his needs. I consider Stuart one of the most
purely unselfish men that I have ever met!"
"Well, this model village is ridiculous! Lord Ennismore will lose
thousands over it. The people don't want to live in the country when
they can have the chance of living in the town. Do you think a woman
wouldn't rather have an oil and grocery store round the corner, and
the baker, and butcher, and milkman all close to her hand, instead of
having to trudge two miles into the town to get what she wants? It
isn't sufficiently in the country to be independent of the town."
"Oh, I don't see that," said Barbara; "bakers and butchers would call
with their carts, of course!"
"And it's to be a village of crocked-up men—not a sound one in the
community! It's to be hoped the women will make up their deficiencies.
We won't talk about it any more. I really don't care what he does with
himself once he has left me."
"But is he going to leave you?"
Mrs. Bonnycott looked a little ashamed of herself as she said—
"I told him he shouldn't stay in my house when he gave up the agency.
He has thrown me over with a month's notice—so I have done the same."
"I hope you'll think better of that," said Barbara.
The old lady turned to Damaris.
"And how are you getting on, my dear? It is quite delightful to see you
sit quietly there with your needlework. No young people will sit still
nowadays. You haven't this craze for doing men's work, have you?"
Damaris smiled.
"I don't know, Mrs. Bonnycott: I have hardly settled in yet. But I
think it's quite right of Mr. Maitland to do all the work he can.
Perhaps I haven't a right to give my opinion. I have been listening
to you all, but it seems to me that Mr. Maitland is the man for Lord
Ennismore. He is a good architect, and he is artistic as well, and
practical, and has a way of getting everyone to do what he wants—"
"Not his aunt," interrupted Mrs. Bonnycott.
"Don't you think yourself that he will have full scope for all his
energies and abilities?"
"I want his energies and abilities spent upon 'my' property," said Mrs.
Bonnycott stubbornly.
She went away declaring that she would strike him out of her will, and
have nothing more to do with him.
Yet in a few days' time, Barbara told Damaris that there was no
question of his leaving his aunt's, and that she was as good friends
with him as ever.
"He will be within easy reach of Lord Ennismore, and can ride over
every day. Mrs. Bonnycott is like that. She raises a rumpus, and
subsides as soon as she recovers her breath."
Stuart did not come over to the Hall so often now, and both Barbara and
Damaris missed him.
He and Lord Ennismore meant business; and plans and prospectuses for
the model village were promptly drawn up. Both men thought and acted
quickly.
One day, Lord Ennismore arrived over and showed Barbara the completed
plans. Every detail had been worked out, and Barbara gasped at the
rapidity with which it had all been done.
"You'll run up the village like the Americans," she said laughingly;
"and yet I think the English labourer will keep you back. You won't
move him quickly, and both you and Stuart must reserve a good stock of
patience for when you come to deal with them."
"Do you know that people have got ear of it, and I have already fifty
applications for my cottages."
"Not fifty disabled soldiers?"
"No; a few others have thought fit to apply, being relatives of
disabled soldiers. Two or three widows want to come. But my village is
for married couples—and I make no exceptions."
Damaris took a great interest in the scheme. Sir Mark laughed at it, as
did many of the neighbouring gentry. Barbara approved of it, and her
advice and sympathy were very welcome to both Lord Ennismore and Stuart.
Then Mrs. Dashwood returned to the village with her little boy, and
Damaris was not long in renewing her acquaintance with her.
She spent a long day at the Rectory soon after her return, and told her
of the talk she had had with Mrs. Patch.
"It has made a big change in my life," Damaris said. "I have been
longing to talk to some one about it. Aunt Barbara would not
understand. I am always shy of speaking to her about serious things,
but it seems the most natural thing in the world when am I with you."
"That's as it should be," said Mrs. Dashwood, with her charming smile,
"for it is what matters most to us."
"And I'm longing to talk to you about my life," went on Damaris
earnestly. "You know, in London, I felt almost in prison—I could do
nothing, go nowhere. Here it is different, my grandfather is so good to
me. He is always saying he wants me to enjoy myself; but I feel I am
leading a very idle lazy life at present. I don't want to circle round
myself. I want to do something really useful—something for God. What
can I do?"
"Are you looking about for a big thing, or would you be content to do
the little things close at hand?"
"I think I should like a big thing best," said Damaris frankly.
"Why not begin with small things? Take a Sunday class and talk to the
children about the love of our Lord for them? Take one or two of our
sick people in your charge and visit them and talk to them, and don't
be afraid to pray with them. I can give you lots of work. My husband is
not strong, as you know, and I love to imagine myself his curate."
Damaris did not look satisfied.
"You don't know what a longing I have to go out into the world and
work?" she said. "All through the war, I had to sit still and see and
read about all the splendid work that other girls were doing. And I
am not really wanted at the Hall—Aunt Barbara does the housekeeping
and helps grandfather with some of his accounts. They are very good to
me—but they don't really want me."
"And what work would you like to do?"
"I don't know. I want you to tell me. I don't think I could be a
missionary, for I am so stupid at languages."
"We must think about it. You young things always want to start out
at once and attack giants! Meanwhile, till this big bit of work is
developed, will you take a Sunday class and help me a little in the
village?"
"Yes; I will do my best. You will help me, I know."
Damaris found that with Mrs. Dashwood at home there was always plenty
going on. She started her class and helped as much as she could in
village matters.
Barbara made no comment. As she had truly said to Damaris, her motto
was, "Live and let live." She and her father were hunting now; and
Damaris saw little of them on their hunting days.
Sir Mark had wanted to give her a horse, but at present Damaris was shy
of learning to ride. She had never been accustomed to horses and was
nervous of them. Her grandfather told her when the hunting season was
over, he would take her in hand himself and teach her how to ride.
And Damaris was very happy in her quiet way. She rather enjoyed the
days when she had the Hall to herself. Sometimes Eddie Dashwood came
up and spent the day with her. More often she went to the Rectory. And
when she was not busy, she would take the dog out for a run over the
common, and thoroughly enjoy herself.