“I wouldn’t worry him with gratitude,” remarked Florry the philosopher. “I would just clear a corner for him and ask him to occupy it. I fancy he would like that better than thankings.”
CHAPTER XII.
A GENTLEMAN-BLACKSMITH.
The energy of the Altruists languished a good deal during the long summer vacation. Edward and Muriel Carlyon went on a six-weeks’ visit to a relative in the north, and enjoyed themselves mightily after a year of hard work. Edward’s black coat did not hinder him from tasting the happiness peculiar to the sportsman-naturalist; and Muriel’s governessing had not taken the charm from her tramps through heather and bracken. A good many of the younger Altruists were off to the seaside: those that remained in Woodend voted it ridiculous to attend meetings over which there was nobody in particular to preside.
Florry Fane received a long-hoped-for invitation to visit an aunt who had settled in Normandy, whence she was in the habit of making frequent excursions to continental cities. The chance of seeing Paris, Rome, and Florence was suddenly flashed before Florry’s dazed eyes, and her parents prepared to miss for a couple of months, at least, the light of their quiet home. Frances Morland did not learn till long afterwards that Florry had turned resolutely from the offered treat because she would not leave her friend in the hour of trouble.
“Paris must wait,” said Florry, “till Frances is happy again.”
The self-denying little Altruist proved that no meetings were necessary to hold her to the accepted motto of her Society. Hardly a day passed without the appearance at Rowdon of her bright face and helpful hands. Jim’s heart grew lighter directly he heard “Miss Fane’s” voice. It was good to hear for its own sake, and then it meant the best of comradeship for Frances.
The Society sent another delegate to do its work at the smithy. Max and Florry frequently travelled the three miles together, arguing as they went with a vivacity learned at the school “symposia”. They never convinced one another, but it was all the better to be able to look forward to a fresh bout of disagreeing next time. Sometimes they walked, sometimes they rode with a friendly farmer or begged a lift in the Doctor’s trap. Journey as they might, they always turned up smiling, contented, and in hot dispute.
It was Max’s fair season at Woodend; the season when his many public concerns made least demand on him, and he was most free to remember private interests. His invalids were at their best; his poor folk were recovering from the effects of the burning heat in their stuffy rooms, and were still independent of warm clothing. Moreover, a wealthy valetudinarian had bought Elveley, and was demanding a daily visit from Dr. Brenton. Max ventured to anticipate the consequent fees, and on his own responsibility borrowed from the “Examinations” fund the wherewithal to present the dog-cart with a new rug and its owner with a new overcoat. Dr. Brenton retaliated by ordering for Max a trim Eton suit—challenging the chancellor of the exchequer to refuse to pay for it, and in so doing to ruin his father’s credit. Then the unconventional pair attired themselves festively, and beamed at each other in the joy of their reciprocal liberality.
Max and Austin were always merry at the smithy, and they did their best to make Jim merry likewise. With fervent good-will they wielded the hammer, and smote the anvil, and practised horse-shoeing until their teacher pronounced them adepts. Sometimes they dragged Jim off to the common, where they had cut and rolled a decent pitch for their cricket. Jim could play, of course, but his science was behind theirs. It seemed to the boys a fair return for lessons in horse-shoeing when their hints, added to natural quickness of eye and hand, had made of Jim a most respectable bowler.
The Morland family had by this time fairly settled at Rowdon, and accepted, after their varying fashion, the fresh order of their lives. The first excitement of change and bustle was over, and with it had gone the impression of relief from pressing disaster, as well as the sense of unrest and adventure which had served to dispel fruitless broodings and cast a glamour of romance over the new cottage-home. Frances and Austin were too busy and too active to sink back into despondency; but their mother suffered acutely—all the more acutely because she shut herself and her gloom out of the reach of the kindliest sympathizers.