"It would do so in a great measure," replied Mr. Ware, as they turned homewards. "A man with his wealth could afford to keep all that are now out of labour, well employed. A farmer cannot well afford to pay an old man for the little labour he can give, but a rich landlord can easily find him employment; at a lower rate of wages, of course. Formerly, those who were too old for hard work, were allowed to sweep away the leaves, or clean the weeds from the walks on the estate, which were a few years since beautifully kept. The absence of a rich family in a place where the people have learnt to depend upon them, is a serious loss. You will wonder, perhaps, that I do not instantly, and fully relieve the situation of the old man we visited just now, but the poverty which has prevailed in almost every house during the past year, has been very great; and I have been obliged to divide my charity so as to make it more extensive. Besides, I do not much approve of giving where it can be avoided; and, therefore, husband my means for the scarcity of the coming winter."
"I should have guessed," said his nephew, "that some such motive influenced you, or I know such cases would meet with instant relief—but of one thing, I am certain, Hargrave cannot be aware of this."
"We will hope not," said Mr. Ware, somewhat sadly; "but I have written to him frequently, and if Rogers gave me the proper directions, it is hardly likely my letters have not reached him. It is too probable, that, like many more, he relies too much upon his bailiff."
They had, by this time, reached the rectory, and Clair, exhausted from unusual exercise, threw himself into an arm-chair, and took up a book.
[CHAPTER II.]
From dream to dream, with her to rove,
Like faery nurse, with hermit child,
Teach her to think, to pray, to love,
Make grief less bitter, joy less wild.
These were thy tasks,—.
Church Poetry.
About a quarter of a mile from the rectory, and close to the Church, was the pretty little residence which had attracted Clair's attention in his morning walk. It was an old fashioned little house, with gable front, and latticed windows, with ivy climbing over the walls, and jasmine and honeysuckle creeping in rich luxuriance over the old porch. In front, the grass-plot sloped down, with a wide gravel walk running round it, to the gate, which shut it in from the high road. At the back lay a spacious vegetable garden, irregularly laid out, and interrupted here and there by a rose-bush, or bed of beautiful carnations, as it suited the old gardener's taste—for he had lived in the family so many years, that no one dared dispute his will in the garden—it was conducted on his most approved style of good gardening; and old John would have defended that style against all the world. To have discharged him from her service would have been one of the last things his mistress would have thought of; therefore, the only alternative was to let him have his own way in every thing. One part of his system was to put every thing in the place best suited to its growth, without much regard to order, and the garden often presented a strange medley in consequence; the hottest corners were shared by early lettuces, and rich double stocks, and radish beds, and so on, throughout the garden; but there was something not unpleasing in the mixture, though it looked a little singular, and the general neatness was not to be found fault with—and the turf walks cutting the garden in many directions, were always smoothly cut and rolled.