CHAPTER XXXVI.
FOR EVER AFTER?
Twelve months later an old year was passing away in perfect calm. If it had been memorable for no other reason, the weather would have made it so, for no year had been more stormy or wrought more violently than this; now, however, as if it knew a late repentance, and had grown ashamed and sorry for the excesses of its hot youth, it seemed to be caring for nothing but to take and give the kiss of peace before it died. Nature was in a mood of profound sympathy. Enough snow had fallen to beautify all rugged and unlovely things; the wind had ceased its loud tones, and only spoke in whispers; the moon spread its light over the restful world, and the stars shone in the blue heavens like lamps of gold.
There were thousands of people waiting in the expectancy of faith and hope, who felt that an augury of good had come to them with that night.
There was a gathering of notable people in John Dallington’s house at Darentdale, who intended together to see the old year out and the new year in. Arthur Knight had issued an invitation to them all to meet at Brent House in London, the home of his boyhood, but if they had done so the meeting must have been without Margaret, for she declared that not for all the friends she had would she leave her baby, or run the risk of his taking cold on a journey, and therefore the meeting was at Darentdale, since Margaret’s absence was not to be tolerated.
It was a representative gathering, and Arthur Knight called it a “stock-taking supper,” for they had met, not only to see one another, but to consider their gains and losses. He was the first to arrive, and Dr. Stapleton came next. Then followed Mr. Collinson, known all over England now as the Children’s Pastor, because he had insisted that a minister’s first duty was to the young of the congregation. Mr. Stapleton, the builder, was also there; so was Mr. Emerson, the vicar of Darentdale; and also Miss Wentworth and Mary Wythburn, besides Mr. Whitwell and his daughter Tom, with several other friends and helpers, among them a man who was ready to give his life for Arthur Knight, a servant and companion, who always spoke of himself as “the boy who threw the stone at the Knight.” There were also one visitor from America and one from Germany.
Darentdale presented a different appearance from that which it revealed on the morning after its master had returned from his travels. There were now no leaves on the trees nor primroses in the woods; and yet, as he glanced over the scene, he thought it more lovely than ever. One reason was that he had kept his resolution and redeemed the land. It was a happy day to him, as well as to his uncle and cousin, when he paid off the mortgage which had always been a trouble to him. And the means by which he had been enabled to do this had in themselves been reasons of rejoicing. He had been quite determined not to use a penny of his wife’s money, even for so good an end. Equally determined was he that the labourers on his farm should not suffer because he had a debt to pay. The way out of his difficulty had been one proposed by his friend Knight, who had come to him one day with a proposition. “Since your land is so dear to you,” he said, “I do not ask you to sell it; but will you let me have a few fields on a long lease that I may plant a factory and some workmen’s houses upon it?”
Dallington was only too glad to do this. There was a waste piece of land that only grew gorse and bushes, and that land was now covered with pretty houses, of which Dallington was as proud as Knight.
The latter had conducted the American visitor over this place in the morning, and he wanted to talk of nothing else.
“Will you explain to me, Mr. Knight, what you mean by calling this new colony of yours a Missionary Settlement?” he asked.
“Certainly. It has been built wholly at the request of some of my Craighelbyl people, whose money is invested in it. They are men who have made the Welsh place a success, and who, happy in their new life, have not forgotten their old companions in London. They petitioned me to advance the money, and allow them to take it up in shares and manage it. It is really a co-operative concern, as the Craighelbyl place is fast becoming now. The factory is to produce second-class goods—that is, articles which are to be worth every penny asked for them, and warranted to wear, but without the finish, the polish, for which our other goods are—if you will excuse the egotism of a manufacturer—known all over the world. These men of mine are themselves conducting this factory, and every man whom they employ is one who has been rescued from drunkenness or some other wrongdoing. So, you see, it is more than a factory—it is a mission of usefulness. Every foreman or manager is pledged to patience and watchfulness. No one has been allowed to help in this matter who is not known to be a strong and consistent Christian man. Of course, they have had some disappointments. They told me to-day that already they have had to send to the Asylum for drunkenness as incurable six men and seven women; but they are hopeful that these will prove the only ones who need go; and that the workpeople, brought away from the temptations of London, will live sober and godly lives.”