It was a great vexation to Sir Thomas Oldfield that Mrs Barnes would
neither keep the "Oldfield Arms" open herself, nor let it as a public-
house to any one else. The "Dun Cow" was quite an inferior place
altogether, and nothing but rebuilding it could turn it into anything
like a respectable house; but it did very well for the villagers to sot
in. There was a good fire, and plenty of room in its parlour, so the
"Dun Cow" kept its name, and reigned alone. Sir Thomas, indeed, had no
wish to see the public-houses multiplied, for he highly disapproved of
drunkenness, so there was no encouragement to set up another house in a
fresh place. And, indeed, though there was always custom in abundance
for one such establishment, a second would, at the time of the opening
of our story, have driven but a poor trade; for the example and appeals
of the rector for some seventeen years as a Christian total abstainer,
together with the knowledge that all the rectory household were
consistent water-drinkers, had been greatly blessed in Waterland. Many
had left their drunkenness; a happy change had taken place in several
homes; and a flourishing total abstinence society, which included many
members from other parishes and villages, held its monthly meetings in
the large temperance room under the presidency of Bernard Oliphant.
Sir Thomas Oldfield hated drunkenness, and was very severe upon
drunkards, under ordinary circumstances, when brought before him as a
magistrate. But, on the other hand, he hated total abstinence very
cordially also. He was fond of making sweeping assertions, and knocking
timid opponents down with strong asseverations, which passed for
excellent arguments at assize dinners, and at parties at Greymoor Park;
for it is wonderful what exceedingly loose logic will satisfy even
highly-educated people when employed on the side of their appetites or
prejudices. Once, indeed, the squire was very considerably staggered,
but he never liked a reference to be made afterwards to the occasion.
He was presiding at a harvest-home given to his own tenants, and had
passed from a warm eulogium on temperance and moderation to a vehement
harangue against total abstinence and total abstainers. He was,
however, cut short in the midst of his eloquence by a sturdy-looking
labourer, who struggled forward, beer-jug in hand, and, tottering at
every step, spluttered out,--
"Hooray, hooray, Sir Thomas! Here's long life to the squire--here's
long life to moderation. Hooray lads, hooray! Here's three cheers for
the squire and moderation. Stand fast to your principles, like me; as
for them total abstainers, they haven't got a leg to stand on."
With that he tumbled forward, and, unable to recover his balance, fell
flat on the ground before Sir Thomas, and lay there utterly unable to
rise.
As was the squire, so had he brought up his family.
Greymoor Park was a noble property, which had come down to him through a
long line of ancestors. The house stood on a rocky height, and was
surrounded, but not encumbered, by noble groups of trees, from the midst
of which it looked out over sloping terraced gardens, glowing with
flower-beds, which enamelled the smoothest of turf, across the park from
which the estate took its name. The original house was old, but while
the fine bay-windows, massive porch, stately gables, and wide
staircases, with their carved oak balustrades and pendants, had been
preserved untouched, all such modern improvements had been added as
would soften off the inconveniences of a less luxurious age. The park
itself was remarkable for the size and grouping of its timber, and was
well-stocked with deer. A fine sheet of water also spread itself out
over an open space between the trees, so as to form a delightful variety
to the view from the great bay-windows. Indeed, if the things of the
present life could have made a man happy, Sir Thomas had abundant
grounds for happiness in this world. Yes, _in_ this world, but not
beyond it. For Sir Thomas was just simply and thoroughly a man of the
world, and a most respectable man of the world too. No man could place
his finger on a blot in his character or conduct. He lived for the
world, and the world applauded him. He lived to please self, and to a
considerable extent he succeeded.
Lady Oldfield wished to be something higher. She knew the emptiness of
the world, at least in theory. She wished to be a Christian, but was
not. The glow of a pure gospel faith, caught by intercourse with true
Christians, might be often found in her words, but it went no farther;
as the pavement on which the rich hues of a stained glass window fall,
is but a cold colourless pavement after all, so was her heart cold,
worldly, colourless for God. She was careful to have her children
taught religiously--the Bible lesson, the catechism, were learnt both
regularly and perfectly. No child might omit its prayers night or
morning, nor be absent from the daily family worship. No household was
more strict in its attendance at church; and nothing brought down more
speedily and severely her ladyship's displeasure than negligence to go
to God's house, or irreverence or inattention during the service.
Thomas, the eldest son, and heir to the baronetcy, was at present abroad
with his regiment; the second son, Frank, was just one-and-twenty; the
rest of the children were daughters.
Ever since the coming of Bernard Oliphant to Waterland, there had been
free intercourse between the two families at the hall and the rectory;
for Mr Oliphant was a distant relation of the Oldfields, and it was
through Sir Thomas that he had been presented to the living. So the
young people grew up together, though there was, strictly speaking, more
intimacy than friendship between them, especially as the total
abstinence principles of the rectory were a bar to any great cordiality
on the part of the squire and his lady. On this point the baronet and
his wife were entirely agreed. She was less openly severe, yet quite as
determined and bitter in her opposition as he. So the two families met,
and were civil, and exchanged calls, and the Oliphants dined at the hall
occasionally, and the children of both houses had little gatherings and
feastings together from time to time. Thus had things gone on for some
years after Mr Oliphant had first shown his colours as a total
abstainer; Lady Oldfield jealously watching her children, lest any of
them should be corrupted by the absurd notions, as she counted them, of
the rector and his wife on this subject of total abstinence. She had,
however, nothing to fear on this score, as regarded her eldest son. He
had never taken much to the Oliphants as a boy, and his absence from
home at school and the university had kept him out of the reach of their
influence till he left England with his regiment. It was otherwise with
the second son, Frank, who was specially his mother's idol, and indeed
almost every one else's too. From his earliest boyhood he took people's
hearts by storm, and kept them. No one could see him and not love that
open, generous, handsome face, with its laughing blue eyes, and setting
of rich brown curling hair. No one could hear his joyous, confiding
voice, and the expressions of unaffected and earnest interest with which
he threw himself into every subject which fairly engaged his attention
or affections, without feeling drawn with all the cords of the heart to
the noble boy. There was such a thorough openness and freedom in all
that he did and said, yet without recklessness and without indifference
to the feelings of others. And when, through thoughtlessness or
forgetfulness, as was not unfrequently the case, he happened to find
himself in some awkward scrape or perplexity, he would toss back his
waving hair with a half-vexed half-comical expression, which would
disarm at once his mother's anger, spite of herself, and turn her severe
rebuke into a mild remonstrance. Alas, that sin should ever mar such a
lovely work of God! Frank loved the look of nature that lay open all
around him, but not his own books. He abhorred study, and only
submitted to it from a sense of duty. His father, at Lady Oldfield's
urgent request, kept him at home, and engaged a private tutor for him,
whose office would have been a sinecure but for the concern it gave him
to find his pupil so hard to drag along the most level paths of
learning. Dog's-ears disfigured Frank's books, the result simply of
restless fingers; and dog's heads; executed in a masterly style, were
the subjects of his pen. He loved roaming about, and there was not an
old ruin within many miles round of which he did not know every crevice,
nor any birds of song or prey with whose haunts and habits he was not
intimately acquainted. In fishing, riding, swimming, he was an early
adept, and every outdoor sport was his delight. All the dogs in the
neighbourhood rejoiced in him, and every cottager's wife blessed him
when he flung his bright smiles around him as he passed along. At no
place was he more welcome than at the rectory, nor was there any house
in which he felt so happy, not even excepting his own home. With all
his wildness he felt the most sincere love and respect for Mr and Mrs
Oliphant, and rejoiced in a day spent with their children. And there
was one of these towards whom he was drawn with feelings of peculiar
tenderness. He was not conscious of it, and would have laughed at the
idea had it been suggested to him; yet it was true that when he was but
just sixteen Mary Oliphant had begun to wind herself around his heart
with those numberless invisible cords which would by degrees enchain him
in bonds which no power on earth could break. Mary, of course, mere
child as she then was, and brought up by her parents as a child should
be, obedient, gentle, unobtrusive, delighted in the companionship of the
lively, open-hearted boy, without a thought beyond, and heartily enjoyed
many a happy ramble with him and her brothers among the woods and
meadows. Frank Oldfield could not but be struck by the love and harmony
which reigned in the Oliphant family. He saw the power of a religion
which made itself felt without thrusting itself forward into notice. He
could not but reflect sometimes, and then even _his_ sunny brow was
clouded, that he wanted a something which the children at the rectory
possessed; that he wanted a great reality, without which he could not be
fully happy. He saw also the bright side of total abstinence when he
spent a day with the rector's family. At home there was always
abundance of beer and wine upon the table, and he drank it, like others;
and not only drank it, but thirsted for it, and felt as if he could not
do without it. It was not so when he dined at the rectory, at their
simple one o'clock meal, for he enjoyed his food, and seemed scarcely to
miss the stimulant.
One day, when he was sitting at the rectory table, he said to Mr
Oliphant, looking up with one of his bright smiles,--
"I wish I was a total abstainer."
"Well," said Mr Oliphant in reply, with a smile, "I wish you were; but
why do _you_ wish it just now, my dear boy?"
"Oh, I've been thinking a good deal about it lately. I see you smile,
Hubert, but I really have been thinking--yes, thinking--I've been
thinking that I should like to do as you all do; you're just as happy
without beer and wine, and just as well too."
"And is that your only reason, dear Frank?" asked Mrs Oliphant.
"Oh no! that's not all; the plain truth is this, I can't help thinking
that if I keep getting fonder and fonder of beer and wine, as I'm doing
now, I shall get too fond of it by-and-by."