Harpledon had decided that it ought to have a village hospital and dispensary, and Cranch was among the first to promise a subscription and to join the committee. A meeting was called at Mrs. Durant’s and after much deliberation it was decided to hold a village fair and jumble sale in somebody’s grounds; but whose? We all hoped Cranch would lend his garden; but no one dared to ask him. We sounded each other cautiously, before he arrived, and each tried to shift the enterprise to his neighbour; till at last Homer Davids, our chief celebrity as a painter, and one of the shrewdest heads in the community, said drily: “Oh, Cranch wouldn’t care about it.”
“How do you know he wouldn’t?” some one queried.
“Just as you all do; if not, why is it that you all want some one else to ask him?”
Mrs. Durant hesitated. “I’m sure—” she began.
“Oh, well, all right, then! You ask him,” rejoined Davids cheerfully.
“I can’t always be the one—”
I saw her embarrassment, and volunteered: “If you think there’s enough shade in my garden....”
By the way their faces lit up I saw the relief it was to them all not to have to tackle Cranch. Yet why, having a garden he was proud of, need he have been displeased at the request?
“Men don’t like the bother,” said one of our married ladies; which occasioned the proper outburst of praise for my unselfishness, and the observation that Cranch’s maids, who had all been for years in his service, were probably set in their ways, and wouldn’t care for the confusion and extra work. “Yes, old Catherine especially; she guards the place like a dragon,” one of the ladies remarked; and at that moment Cranch appeared. Having been told what had been settled he joined with the others in complimenting me; and we began to plan for the jumble sale.
The men needed enlightenment on this point, I as much as the rest, but the prime mover immediately explained: “Oh, you just send any old rubbish you’ve got in the house.”