"You are very kind," replied Clair, "I am sure I feel better already with the fresh country air—and health after sickness is happiness itself, sometimes."
At this moment, Miss Ware opened the glass door which led into the garden. She was dressed, with studied simplicity, in a black silk gown, with white muslin apron, and her cap, looking as white as snow, fastened round the head by a broad lilac ribbon; but the smile upon her face was the best of all, and was never wanting at the breakfast-table, for she always maintained that no one had a right to be dull after a good night's rest, or to anticipate the troubles of the day before they came.
"Good morning, Edmund," said she to her brother, "and good morning, Arthur," giving her hand to her nephew. "I was just preparing to send your breakfast up-stairs, when I heard you had been out for more than two hours."
"I am not sorry to save you the trouble of nursing me, aunt—I have had enough of that in London," said Clair, gaily, as he followed her to the morning-room, where breakfast waited them. The meal was dispatched with cheerfulness, and he amused his aunt by an account of his walk, and the guesses which it had allowed him to make of the character of their poorer neighbours, with whom she was herself well acquainted.
After breakfast, Mr. Ware invited him to join his morning ramble.
"I shall have an opportunity," he said, as they descended the hill leading to the lower part of the village, "of pointing out to you some of the evils of absenteeism—of which you have, doubtless, heard much. I have always noticed, that what we gain from our own observation is worth much more than the information of others. In this little spot, unhappily, you will see very much to condemn. I have already told you that our landlord, Colonel Hargrave, has not been here for more than six years, and before that visit, which was chiefly occupied in field sports, his sojourn here had been very rare, for his talented mind led him to seek the more extensive knowledge to be gained from foreign travel, even before he entered the army. His father, who has now been dead some years, constantly resided here, till the death of his wife, which made Aston a very different place from what it is at present. Poor Mrs. Hargrave was universally beneficent, and was so much loved and respected by the people in this neighbourhood, rich as well as poor, that her name is scarcely ever mentioned without the title of 'good' being added to it. The time when good Mrs. Hargrave lived is always looked back upon with affectionate regret. When she died, however, her husband, who was passionately fond of her, took a distaste to a place which constantly reminded him of his loss, and he only paid very casual visits to it during the remainder of his life, which did not last long after the domestic blow he had sustained. At present, the estate is in the hands of a rapacious bailiff, who amply fulfils that proverb, which says, 'A poor man that oppresseth the poor is like a sweeping rain which leaveth no food.' Unfortunately, I have no influence with him, and as he has to pay me tithe, he regards me in the light of others who are dependent upon him. It is an unhappy state of things, certainly, for the wages of the poor laborers employed on the estate, are, in some cases, kept back for months together. You may easily fancy how difficult it is for men to live under these circumstances, having no other resource beyond the fruit of their labors."
They had, by this time, reached the hollow between the two hills, where a great many cottages were situated. About them was an appearance of neglect, that is, at all times, disagreeable to contemplate. In most parts, the thatch had become blackened by the weather, and here and there pieces of it had been blown off by the high winds, or were kept in place only by heavy stones laid upon the roof. In some places the walls, which bounded the little gardens, had been suffered to crumble down—loose stones lying in the gaps, but no effort seemed to have been made to replace them. A ditch ran along the road, partially covered with long grass and weeds; but the glimpses here and there afforded of it, told that it was used as a receptacle for the drains of that part of the parish—and a noxious stench arose from it exercising a baneful influence, as might be seen by the pale faces of the children who played about it.
Added to this, there was a desponding tone over the general features of the place, which might have accounted for the wastes of ground which might be seen, here and there, covered with weeds, rather than converted to any useful purpose.
"Surely," said Clair, attracting his uncle's attention, "this self-neglect cannot be attributed to Hargrave?"