SQUIRE GOODALL

Ashburton Guardian, Volume 68, Issue 141, 27 March 1948, Page 7

SQUIRE GOODALL

Serial Story ||

By W. RILEY §

(Copyright). ||

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN THE ROCK GARDEN Old Tommy’s funei'al attracted to the church and burial ground a great company of villagers. The rectoi'’s voice faltered more than once during the service at the graveside, and men to whom tears were strangers found their eyes become moist and were not ashamed of their emotion. “In terms of money,” said the rector to Squire Goodall as they walked up the street together a little later, “he was one of the poorest men in the parish, and it was' reckless, open-hand-ed generosity that kept him poor. If money was given him it was immediately dispensed on others whom he considered more needy than himself. But taking the larger view he was perhaps our richest parishioner. You remember Paul’s words, Goodall —‘as poor, yet making many rich; ae having nothing, and yet possessing all things? That exactly describes old Tommy.” “I know,” said Squire Goodall. “He warmed my heart the first time I heard him. No man from a pulpit ever preached to me as old Tommy did from the bench on the green below. His words were like a summons to me to build up the walls that were broken down, and seek help where he found it.” -

“He was far away the most influential man In the village,” he rector continued, “and his influence was always for good. Everybody trusted him and no-one would knowingly grieve old Tommy. The again his charity was boundless, in the dark days when Sir Stephen reigned at The Towers his calm assurance that all would be well put me to shame. I’m not cure that he ever lost hope of Sir Stephen’s reformation.”

’’Yes,’ replied Squire Goodall,” he lost hope of that. His prayers came back tp him, he told me. I’ve kept to myself wlias he said to me amout my daughter, Lina, and Sir Stephen, but you Shall hear.” The rector wassilent during the narration and by .the time it ended the Rectory was in sight.

“Will you come indoors?” Mr Dalroy asked, but Squire Goodall shook his head. ’

“We’ll go into your rpck-garden,” he said.- “It’s always quiet there.” “Tm in trouble, Dalroy,” he continued when they stood on the path that ran at the foot of the great rocks that rose 50 feet above their heads, with the level stretch of the park on the other hand. “I'm worried about that lass of mine.” Then his voice brightened. “You’ve got rid of your worry, by the way. Jim told me he had made a clean breast of it.”

It was characteristic that he could so readily lay aside his own load and turn to congratulate somebody else on the loss of his burden, and the rector recognised the generosity and responded to it.

“Yes, we were all tremendously relieved, and especially mother. But with the relief there has come a good deal of heartache, Goodall. We had thought to have our girl with us, always at hand. We had thought that she would be well provided for, and live a life free from care among these people whom she loves and who love her. All that is changed.” His voice took on a sadder note which' deepened as he continued. “We shall lose her now. It may be merely for a short time —God only knows. Wilfred’s zeal is nearly fanaticism. He will burn out quickly, I feax - , for he won’t spare himself—nor his wife. We are still troubled, mother and I, but we would not interfere. Pat is very happy, and all sec*ns to be ordered from above. We shall not rebel. I wish T had words of comfort for you, but conventional words would he a mockery. I am sorely ti’oubled, too, about this tangle of yours and I have given it a great deal of thought. What will happen, do you think?” “I have written the man,” Squire Goodall answered. “I thought of seeing him, Jxut after weighing things up carefully I decided to put what I had to say into , black and white. He knows that I definitely refuse my consent to this union, and that I shall make my daughter only a small allowance if they marry without it. I have told him, too, that no further provision will be made for her in my will.” “Will he believe you?”

“Lina Aviil. She knows me. I’m as immovable as that rock, Dalroy, when I have made up my mind.” “And what about your daughter?” “That’s what Tm asking myself—what about Lina? More and more clearly I realise that I’ve made a mistake with that girl, Dalroy. I’ve let her see that I was proud of her, ever from her being a child. I’m proud of her yet. She’s one of the cleverest, one of the ablest women I’ve ever met; indeed, I’ve never come across her equal. You’ve seen something of her —do you think I’m exaggerating?” “No,” said the rector; “she’s a very remarkable woman: a wonderfully talented woman.”

“Well,” continued Squire Goodall, “it flattered me, you see, to find these qualities in her and I let her see it. That’s' where I blundered. I used to think she loved me. I used to think she must love me more than the other two did because she owed me more. I’m afraid I thought more of her than of them —I’m afraid 1 did, I’m even afraid I do. I bought this place for her. It was a freak purchase; it was a joke I could afford to indulge. I don’t want a big estate. I tell you plainly; Dalroy, I should be just as happy in old Tommy’s cottage as I am over yonder—every bit. You mayn’t believe it, and I don’t blame you, but it’s true. Luxury! It’s wasted on me.”

“I believe you,” said the vector quietly. “I took your measure long ago.” “I’ll tell you, Dalroy, what nobody else knows and is to know. They offered me a barony a week ago—sounded me about it, anyway—and I told ’em that plain ‘Mister’ was good enough for me. And so it is; but plain ‘missus’ isn’t good enough for Lina, and that’s where we differ. She thinks I’m letting her down, and I’m not going to allow her to let either herself or me down, if I can help it- I’m afraid the lass doesn’t love me; I don’t believe she ever has loved me; she loves only herself. God pity the lass, she loves nobody but herself!”

“Don’t be too sure of that, Goodall,” the rector replied. “Don’t lose faith in her or she will see it, and become still more reckless. She knows you—that you are a hard man, and hardness begets hardness. Humble your-

self to her; appeal to the best that is in her. She is young and she is ambitious; but a thoughtful man has said that ambition is not a vice of little people, and there may be more real greatness in your daughter than you imagine. She must have some love for you, knowing you so well, knowing that your hardness is only the shell that covers a warm and tender heart.”

“It is not easy for me to humble myself,” said Squire Goodall. “I’ve never graduated in that school, and I don’t know that I’m prepared to humble myself to my daughter.” “It isn’t the easy jobs you have been accustomed to tackle,” the rector answered quietly. “You’ve yot to save a life from ruin and to gain your daughter’s heart. Isn’t the disagreeable thing worth while if it gains the end? Can the camel get through the needle’s eye unless it stoops? Love makes saci'ifice possible and easy. This is the time fo your heaviest trial. You must stoop to conquer; you must take the yoke upon your shoulders. Your daughter’s welfare is worth the price of humility, Goodall.” Several times they had paced to and fro the full length of the path, and Squire Goodall turned again, heedless of the tea hour.

“I’ll think it over, Dalroy. You’re a good fellow,' and I know you mean well by me —”

“By you both, Goodall.” “By us both. But; I’m hopeless. Lina isn’t Millie. I could have Millie round my neck in five minutes, but Lina is a tough nut to crack. 'lf I seem to soften she’ll think she’s won. T’m afraid, Dalroy, and that’s the most humiliating confession I’ve ever made —l’m afraid for her.” “Of what are you afraid?” “I’m afraid of her cleverness; that she’ll do something rash —perhaps marry him in spite of everything —•” The rector shook his head. “Sir Stephen won’t marry her on your terms,” he said confidently. “Unless, indeed,” he added, “the Ethiopian can change his skin. I wonder sometimes if Lina will change it for him,” Squire Goodall said reflectively. “I believe she fascinates the fellow, and if she makes up her mind to marry him he’ll- have a hai’d fight to get out of it. I know Lina. All the same I think they’ll both look a long time before they take the jump.” “Couldn’t you. get her to go. away for a time?” the rector suggested. “In other surroundings she might see things more clearly. Couldn’t you take her away. Winter is approaching, the Riviera, Egypt the Canaries; wdxy not travel? You have never taken them abroad, I believe?” Squire Goodall stood still. “By jove, Dalroy, there’s something in that! I must think that over. Thanks; that would give us a breathing-space at any rate. It had never occurred, to me." He turned the suggestion over in his mind and his face brightened a little. “I’ll try it,” he said. “There’s another thing intei’ests me, Goodall,” said the rector. “Jim Morton wants to mari’y Millie, how is that going to affect your elder daughter? I am assuming, not unwarrantably, I hope, that you don’t intend to oppose, that engagement?” He glanced rather anxiously at his companion’s face as he put the question.

“That consummation,” he continued, “is all that is necessary to complete our satisfaction—l speak for my wife and Pat as well as for myself. Poor Jim! We have been gi’eatly worried on his account.”

Squire Goodall’s smile was rather grim.

“I’ve told poor Jim,” he implied, “that he’ll have to exercise a little restraint for a few months until he is quite sure, and has made me quite sure, that he knows his mind. I haven’t spoken to Millie about it yet, and she has given me no hint of her feelings although we are excellent friends. I’m afraid I don’t read her as easily as I do Lina. For anything I know she may turn Jim down.” “I hope she won’t,” the rector replied. “If she doesn’t Squire Goodall went on, “I shall put no difficulties in the way, I like Jim, and I like his mother.”

“Won’t it be a heavy blow to Miss Goodall in the circumstances?”

“It’ll give her a taste of hell; it’ll be torture! To see her sister in the place she has schemed to occupy will humiliate her to the dust. I tell you, Dalroy, I’ve dwelt on this at night and day until it has been torture to me and I’ve nearly wished that blow on the head had finished me. I'm confessing to you now; I’m taking the lid off and letting you see into my heart. Do you realise that I would a hundred times sooner see Lina mistress of The Towers than Millie. She’s made for the part. It would fit her like a glove. I should be proud to see her standing like a queen among those who would love to patronise her, and who would know they were beaten at their own game. Man! ! It hurts me to see Millie there and Lina pushed into the corner, though I love Millie—l have never loved her as much as 1 do now—and the lass loves me—” He paused for a second before he concluded—“yet that’s how things will be unless Lina changes her mind.” “Your standards are faulty, my good friend,” said the rector, “and yet I am sorry, I am very sorry for your disappointment. Does Miss Goodall suspect anything of this sort?”

“No. Lina is self-centred and blind just now. She has no time to spare for Millie. It will be a fearful knock when it comes—if it does come.”

They had aproached the house again, and Pat caught sight of them and ran out to bring them in. “We thought you were at The Towers,” she said. ‘Come in at once, and you shall have some fresh tea.” They obeyed without protest and Squire Goodall was surprised to find how tired he was when he sank into the soft cushions of the easy chair Wilfred drew forward. There was weariness of mind as well as of body, but he was not too exhausted to scan the features of his companions and to draw inferences from what lie saw. Mrs Dalroy’s eyes were heavy and care sat again on her brow though her smile was as gentle and gracious as ever. She noticed that her guest was tired and therefore abstained from questioning him. Wilfred returned to the small table that was littered with maps and books, and began to study them afresh; but when Pat returned and the two older 1 men were sipping thentea he raised his head, and ignoring Pat’s look of appeal said—“Mr Goodall will excuse me for saying in his presence, father, what I am very anxious to get off my mind. We’ve been talking things over while you were out and have come to a conclusion—” “Hardly that, Wilfred,” Mrs Dalroy interposed. (To Be Continued).