CHAPTER XXX.

OLD WAYS AND NEW WAYS.

[Illustration (untitled)]

Mr. Preston was now installed in his new house at Hollingford; Mr.

Sheepshanks having entered into dignified idleness at the house of

his married daughter, who lived in the county town. His successor

had plunged with energy into all manner of improvements; and

among others, he fell to draining a piece of outlying waste and

unreclaimed land of Lord Cumnor's, which was close to Squire Hamley's

property--that very piece for which he had had the Government grant,

but which now lay neglected, and only half drained, with stacks of

mossy tiles, and lines of upturned furrows telling of abortive plans.

It was not often that the Squire rode in this direction now-a-days;

but the cottage of a man who had been the squire's gamekeeper

in those more prosperous days when the Hamleys could afford to

"preserve," was close to the rush-grown ground. This old servant and

tenant was ill, and had sent a message up to the Hall, asking to see

the Squire: not to reveal any secret, or to say anything particular,

but only from the feudal loyalty, which made it seem to the dying man

as if it would be a comfort to shake the hand, and look once more

into the eyes of the lord and master whom he had served, and whose

ancestors his own forbears had served for so many generations. And

the Squire was as fully alive as old Silas to the claims of the tie

that existed between them. Though he hated the thought, and still

more, should hate the sight of the piece of land, on the side of

which Silas's cottage stood, the Squire ordered his horse, and rode

off within half-an-hour of receiving the message. As he drew near

the spot he thought he heard the sound of tools, and the hum of

many voices, just as he used to hear them a year or two before. He

listened with surprise. Yes! Instead of the still solitude he had

expected, there was the clink of iron, the heavy gradual thud of the

fall of barrows-ful of soil--the cry and shout of labourers. But not

on his land--better worth expense and trouble by far than the reedy

clay common on which the men were, in fact, employed. He knew it was

Lord Cumnor's property; and he knew Lord Cumnor and his family had

gone up in the world ("the Whig rascals!"), both in wealth and in

station, as the Hamleys had gone down. But all the same--in spite

of long known facts, and in spite of reason--the Squire's ready

anger rose high at the sight of his neighbour doing what he had been

unable to do, and he a Whig, and his family only in the county since

Queen Anne's time. He went so far as to wonder whether they might

not--the labourers he meant--avail themselves of his tiles, lying so

conveniently close to hand. All these thoughts, regrets, and wonders

were in his mind as he rode up to the cottage he was bound to, and

gave his horse in charge to a little lad, who had hitherto found his

morning's business and amusement in playing at "houses" with a still

younger sister, with some of the Squire's neglected tiles. But he

was old Silas's grandson, and he might have battered the rude red

earthenware to pieces--a whole stack--one by one, and the Squire

would have said little or nothing. It was only that he would not

spare one to a labourer of Lord Cumnor's. No! not one.

Old Silas lay in a sort of closet, opening out of the family

living-room. The small window that gave it light looked right on to

the "moor," as it was called; and by day the check curtain was drawn

aside so that he might watch the progress of the labour. Everything

about the old man was clean, if coarse; and, with Death, the

leveller, so close at hand, it was the labourer who made the first

advances, and put out his horny hand to the Squire.

"I thought you'd come, Squire. Your father came for to see my father

as he lay a-dying."

"Come, come, my man!" said the Squire, easily affected, as he always

was. "Don't talk of dying, we shall soon have you out, never fear.

They've sent you up some soup from the Hall, as I bade 'em, haven't

they?"

"Ay, ay, I've had all as I could want for to eat and to drink. The

young squire and Master Roger was here yesterday."

"Yes, I know."

"But I'm a deal nearer Heaven to-day, I am. I should like you to look

after th' covers in th' West Spinney, Squire; them gorse, you know,

where th' old fox had her hole--her as give 'em so many a run. You'll

mind it, Squire, though you was but a lad. I could laugh to think on

her tricks yet." And, with a weak attempt at a laugh, he got himself

into a violent fit of coughing, which alarmed the squire, who thought

he would never get his breath again. His daughter-in-law came in

at the sound, and told the Squire that he had these coughing-bouts

very frequently, and that she thought he would go off in one of them

before long. This opinion of hers was spoken simply out before the

old man, who now lay gasping and exhausted upon his pillow. Poor

people acknowledge the inevitableness and the approach of death in

a much more straightforward manner than is customary among more

educated folk. The Squire was shocked at her hard-heartedness, as

he considered it; but the old man himself had received much tender

kindness from his daughter-in-law; and what she had just said was no

more news to him than the fact that the sun would rise to-morrow. He

was more anxious to go on with his story.

"Them navvies--I call 'em navvies because some on 'em is strangers,

though some on 'em is th' men as was turned off your own works,

squire, when there came orders to stop 'em last fall--they're

a-pulling up gorse and brush to light their fire for warming up their

messes. It's a long way off to their homes, and they mostly dine

here; and there'll be nothing of a cover left, if you don't see after

'em. I thought I should like to tell ye afore I died. Parson's been

here; but I did na tell him. He's all for the earl's folk, and he'd

not ha' heeded. It's the earl as put him into his church, I reckon,

for he said what a fine thing it were for to see so much employment

a-given to the poor, and he never said nought o' th' sort when your

works were agait, Squire."

This long speech had been interrupted by many a cough and gasp for

breath; and having delivered himself of what was on his mind, he

turned his face to the wall, and appeared to be going to sleep.

Presently he roused himself with a start:--

"I know I flogged him well, I did. But he were after pheasants' eggs,

and I didn't know he were an orphan. Lord, forgive me!"

"He's thinking on David Morton, the cripple, as used to go about

trapping vermin," whispered the woman.

"Why, he died long ago--twenty year, I should think," replied the

Squire.

"Ay, but when grandfather goes off i' this way to sleep after a bout

of talking he seems to be dreaming on old times. He'll not waken up

yet, sir; you'd best sit down if you'd like to stay," she continued,

as she went into the house-place and dusted a chair with her apron.

"He was very particular in bidding me wake him if he were asleep, and

you or Mr. Roger was to call. Mr. Roger said he'd be coming again

this morning--but he'll likely sleep an hour or more, if he's let

alone."

"I wish I'd said good-by, I should like to have done that."

"He drops off so sudden," said the woman. "But if you'd be better

pleased to have said it, Squire, I'll waken him up a bit."

"No, no!" the Squire called out as the woman was going to be as good

as her word. "I'll come again, perhaps to-morrow. And tell him I was

sorry; for I am indeed. And be sure and send to the Hall for anything

you want! Mr. Roger is coming, is he? He'll bring me word how he is,

later on. I should like to have bidden him good-by."

So, giving sixpence to the child who had held his horse, the Squire

mounted. He sate still a moment, looking at the busy work going on

before him, and then at his own half-completed drainage. It was a

bitter pill. He had objected to borrowing from Government, in the

first instance; and then his wife had persuaded him to the step; and

after it was once taken, he was as proud as could be of the only

concession to the spirit of progress he ever made in his life. He had

read and studied the subject pretty thoroughly, if also very slowly,

during the time his wife had been influencing him. He was tolerably

well up in agriculture, if in nothing else; and at one time he had

taken the lead among the neighbouring landowners, when he first began

tile-drainage. In those days people used to speak of Squire Hamley's

hobby; and at market ordinaries, or county dinners, they rather

dreaded setting him off on long repetitions of arguments from the

different pamphlets on the subject which he had read. And now the

proprietors all around him were draining--draining; his interest

to Government was running on all the same, though his works were

stopped, and his tiles deteriorating in value. It was not a soothing

consideration, and the Squire was almost ready to quarrel with his

shadow. He wanted a vent for his ill-humour; and suddenly remembering

the devastations on his covers, which he had heard about not a

quarter of an hour before, he rode towards the men busy at work on

Lord Cumnor's land. Just before he got up to them he encountered

Mr. Preston, also on horseback, come to overlook his labourers. The

Squire did not know him personally, but from the agent's manner

of speaking, and the deference that was evidently paid to him, Mr.

Hamley saw that he was a responsible person. So he addressed the

agent:--"I beg your pardon, I suppose you are the manager of these

works?"

Mr. Preston replied,--"Certainly. I am that and many other things

besides, at your service. I have succeeded Mr. Sheepshanks in the

management of my lord's property. Mr. Hamley of Hamley, I believe?"

The Squire bowed stiffly. He did not like his name to be asked or

presumed upon in that manner. An equal might conjecture who he was,

or recognize him, but, till he announced himself, an inferior had no

right to do more than address him respectfully as "sir." That was the

Squire's code of etiquette.

"I am Mr. Hamley of Hamley. I suppose you are as yet ignorant of the

boundary of Lord Cumnor's land, and so I will inform you that my

property begins at the pond yonder--just where you see the rise in

the ground."

"I am perfectly acquainted with that fact, Mr. Hamley," said Mr.

Preston, a little annoyed at the ignorance attributed to him. "But

may I inquire why my attention is called to it just now?"

The Squire was beginning to boil over; but he tried to keep his

temper in. The effort was very much to be respected, for it was a

great one. There was something in the handsome and well-dressed

agent's tone and manner inexpressibly irritating to the squire, and

it was not lessened by an involuntary comparison of the capital

roadster on which Mr. Preston was mounted with his own ill-groomed

and aged cob.

"I have been told that your men out yonder do not respect these

boundaries, but are in the habit of plucking up gorse from my covers

to light their fires."

"It is possible they may!" said Mr. Preston, lifting his eyebrows,

his manner being more nonchalant than his words. "I daresay they

think no great harm of it. However, I'll inquire."

"Do you doubt my word, sir?" said the Squire, fretting his mare till

she began to dance about. "I tell you I've heard it only within this

last half-hour."

"I don't mean to doubt your word, Mr. Hamley; it's the last thing

I should think of doing. But you must excuse my saying that the

argument which you have twice brought up for the authenticity of your

statement, 'that you have heard it within the last half-hour,' is not

quite so forcible as to preclude the possibility of a mistake."

"I wish you'd only say in plain language that you doubt my word,"

said the Squire, clenching and slightly raising his horsewhip. "I

can't make out what you mean--you use so many words."

"Pray don't lose your temper, sir. I said I should inquire. You have

not seen the men pulling up gorse yourself, or you would have named

it. I, surely, may doubt the correctness of your information until

I have made some inquiry; at any rate, that is the course I shall

pursue, and if it gives you offence, I shall be sorry, but I shall

do it just the same. When I am convinced that harm has been done to

your property, I shall take steps to prevent it for the future, and

of course, in my lord's name, I shall pay you compensation--it may

probably amount to half-a-crown." He added these last words in a

lower tone, as if to himself, with a slight contemptuous smile on his

face.

"Quiet, mare, quiet," said the Squire, totally unaware that he was

the cause of her impatient movements by the way he was perpetually

tightening her reins; and also, perhaps, he unconsciously addressed

the injunction to himself.

Neither of them saw Roger Hamley, who was just then approaching them

with long, steady steps. He had seen his father from the door of old

Silas's cottage, and, as the poor fellow was still asleep, he was

coming to speak to his father, and was near enough now to hear the

next words.

"I don't know who you are, but I've known land-agents who were

gentlemen, and I've known some who were not. You belong to this last

set, young man," said the squire, "that you do. I should like to try

my horsewhip on you for your insolence."

"Pray, Mr. Hamley," replied Mr. Preston, coolly, "curb your temper a

little, and reflect. I really feel sorry to see a man of your age in

such a passion:"--moving a little farther off, however, but really

more with a desire to save the irritated man from carrying his threat

into execution, out of a dislike to the slander and excitement it

would cause, than from any personal dread. Just at this moment Roger

Hamley came close up. He was panting a little, and his eyes were very

stern and dark; but he spoke quietly enough.

"Mr. Preston, I can hardly understand what you mean by your last

words. But, remember, my father is a gentleman of age and position,

and not accustomed to receive advice as to the management of his

temper from young men like you."

[Illustration: THE BURNING OF THE GORSE.]

"I desired him to keep his men off my land," said the Squire to

his son--his wish to stand well in Roger's opinion restraining his

temper a little; but though his words might be a little calmer, there

were all other signs of passion present--the discoloured complexion,

the trembling hands, the fiery cloud in his eyes. "He refused, and

doubted my word."

Mr. Preston turned to Roger, as if appealing from Philip drunk to

Philip sober, and spoke in a tone of cool explanation, which, though

not insolent in words, was excessively irritating in manner.

"Your father has misunderstood me--perhaps it is no wonder," trying

to convey, by a look of intelligence at the son, his opinion that the

father was in no state to hear reason. "I never refused to do what

was just and right. I only required further evidence as to the past

wrong-doing; your father took offence at this," and then he shrugged

his shoulders, and lifted his eyebrows in a manner he had formerly

learnt in France.

"At any rate, sir! I can scarcely reconcile the manner and words

to my father, which I heard you use when I first came up, with the

deference you ought to have shown to a man of his age and position.

As to the fact of the trespass--"

"They are pulling up all the gorse, Roger--there'll be no cover

whatever for game soon," put in the Squire.

Roger bowed to his father, but took up his speech at the point it was

at before the interruption.

"I will inquire into it myself at a cooler moment; and if I find that

such trespass or damage has been committed, of course I shall expect

that you will see it put a stop to. Come, father! I am going to

see old Silas--perhaps you don't know that he is very ill." So he

endeavoured to wile the Squire away to prevent further words. He was

not entirely successful.

Mr. Preston was enraged by Roger's calm and dignified manner,

and threw after them this parting shaft, in the shape of a loud

soliloquy,--

"Position, indeed! What are we to think of the position of a man who

begins works like these without counting the cost, and comes to a

stand-still, and has to turn off his labourers just at the beginning

of winter, leaving--"

They were too far off to hear the rest. The Squire was on the point

of turning back before this, but Roger took hold of the reins of the

old mare, and led her over some of the boggy ground, as if to guide

her into sure footing, but, in reality, because he was determined to

prevent the renewal of the quarrel. It was well that the cob knew

him, and was, indeed, old enough to prefer quietness to dancing; for

Mr. Hamley plucked hard at the reins, and at last broke out with an

oath,--"Damn it, Roger! I'm not a child; I won't be treated as such.

Leave go, I say!"

Roger let go; they were now on firm ground, and he did not wish any

watchers to think that he was exercising any constraint over his

father; and this quiet obedience to his impatient commands did more

to soothe the Squire than anything else could have effected just

then.

"I know I turned them off--what could I do? I'd no more money for

their weekly wages; it's a loss to me, as you know. He doesn't know,

no one knows, but I think your mother would, how it cut me to turn

'em off just before winter set in. I lay awake many a night thinking

of it, and I gave them what I had--I did, indeed. I hadn't got money

to pay 'em, but I had three barren cows fattened, and gave every

scrap of meat to the men, and I let 'em go into the woods and gather

what was fallen, and I winked at their breaking off old branches, and

now to have it cast up against me by that cur--that servant. But I'll

go on with the works, by ----, I will, if only to spite him. I'll

show him who I am. My position, indeed! A Hamley of Hamley takes a

higher position than his master. I'll go on with the works, see if

I don't! I'm paying between one and two hundred a year interest on

Government money. I'll raise some more if I go to the Jews; Osborne

has shown me the way, and Osborne shall pay for it--he shall. I'll

not put up with insults. You shouldn't have stopped me, Roger! I wish

to heaven I'd horsewhipped the fellow!"

He was lashing himself again into an impotent rage, painful to a son

to witness; but just then the little grandchild of old Silas, who

had held the Squire's horse during his visit to the sick man, came

running up, breathless:

"Please, sir, please, squire, mammy has sent me; grandfather has

wakened up sudden, and mammy says he's dying, and would you please

come; she says he'd take it as a kind compliment, she's sure."

So they went to the cottage, the Squire speaking never a word, but

suddenly feeling as if lifted out of a whirlwind and set down in a

still and awful place.