‘If he has none, he is such an old soldier as I have never met,’ said his father mildly. ‘Longer acquaintance will, I suppose, abate his unnatural perfection. But, in any case, we must keep him on until we are sufficiently acclimatised to set up for ourselves.’
‘Quite so, sir! We cannot have our reverend mentor always at beck and call. We want some one here who knows the country and its ways. Guy and I will soon pick up the lie of the land, as he calls it, but at present we are all raw and ignorant together.’
‘Then we had better engage him at once. I suppose he can tell us the proper wages.’
‘Very possibly; but now I think of it, sir, hadn’t you better delegate the executive department to me? Of course to carry out your instructions, but you might do worse than appoint me your responsible minister.’
‘My boy!’ said Effingham, grasping his son’s hand, ‘I should have made the suggestion if you had not anticipated me. I cheerfully yield the management to you, as you will have the laborious part of the work. Many things will need to be done, for which I am unfit, but which you will gradually master. I fully trust you, both as an example to Guy and Selden, and the guardian of your mother and sisters.’
‘As God will help me in my need, they will need no other,’ replied the eldest son. ‘So far I have led a self-indulgent life. But the spur of necessity (you must admit) has been wanting. Now the hour has come. You never refused me a pleasure; trust me to fulfil every duty.’
‘I never have doubted it, my boy! I always knew that higher qualities were latent in your nature. As you say, the hour has come. We were never laggards when the trumpet-call sounded. And now, let us join the family party.’
As they reached the house, from which they had rambled some distance, the sun was two hours high, and the smoke issuing from the kitchen chimney denoted that culinary operations were in progress. At that moment a serviceable-looking dogcart, drawn by a wiry, roan horse, trotted briskly along the track from the main road, and in drawing up, displayed in the driver the welcome presentment of the Rev. Harley Sternworth.
‘How do, Howard? How are you, Wilfred, my boy? Welcome to Warbrok—to Warbrok Chase, that is. I shall learn it in time. Very proper addendum; suits the country, and gratifies the young ladies’ taste. Thought I’d catch you at your first breakfast. Here, Dick, you old rascal—that is, you deserving veteran—take Roanoke.’
The somewhat decided features of the old army chaplain softened visibly as, entering the bare uncarpeted apartment, he descried Mrs. Effingham and her daughters sitting near the breakfast table, evidently awaiting the master of the house. His quick eye noticed at once the progress of feminine adaptation, as well as the marked air of comfort produced with such scanty material.