CHAPTER XII
HOME
About forty-eight hours later Godfrey arrived duly at the little Essexstation three miles from Monk's Acre. There was nobody to meet him,which was not strange, as the hour of his coming was unknown. Still,unreasonable as it might be, the contrast between the warmth andaffection that had distinguished his departure, and the cold vacuumthat greeted his arrival, chilled him. He said a few words to thegrumpy old porter who was the sole occupant of the platform, but thatworthy, although he knew him well enough, did not seem to realise thathe had ever been away. During the year in which so many things hadhappened to Godfrey nothing at all had happened to the porter, andtherefore he did not appreciate the lapse of time.
Leaving his baggage to be brought by the carrier's cart, Godfrey tookthe alpenstock that, in a moment of enthusiasm, the guide had given himas a souvenir of his great adventure, and started for home. It was avery famous alpenstock, which this guide and his father before him hadused all their lives, one that had been planted in the topmost snows ofevery peak in Switzerland. Indeed the names of the most unclimbable ofthese, together with the dates of their conquest by its owners,sometimes followed by crosses to show that on such or such anexpedition life had been lost, were burnt into the tough wood with ahot iron. As the first of these dates was as far back as 1831, Godfreyvalued this staff highly, and did not like to leave it to the chancesof the carrier's cart.
His road through the fields ran past Hawk's Hall, of which he observedwith a thrill of dismay, that the blinds were drawn as though in itsomeone lay dead. There was no reason why he should have been dismayed,since he had heard that Isobel had gone away to somewhere in "Ameriky,"as Mrs. Parsons had expressed it in a brief and illspelt letter, andthat Sir John was living in town. Yet the sight depressed him stillfurther with its suggestion of death, or of separation, which is almostas bad, for, be it remembered, he was at an age when such impressionscome home.
After leaving the Hall with its blinded and shuttered windows, hisquickest road to the Abbey House ran through the churchyard. Here thefirst thing that confronted him was a gigantic monument, of which thenew marble glittered in the afternoon sun. It was a confused affair,and all he made out of it, without close examination, was a life-sizedangel with an early-Victorian countenance, leaning against the brokenstump of an oak tree and scattering from a basket, of the kind that isused to collect nuts or windfall apples, on to a sarcophagus beneath aprofusion of marble roses, some of which seemed to have been arrestedand frozen in mid-air. He glanced at the inscription in gold letters.It was "To the beloved memory of Lady Jane Blake, wife of Sir JohnBlake, Bart., J.P., and daughter of the Right Hon. The Earl ofLynfield, whose bereaved husband erected this monument--'Her husband... praiseth her.'"
Godfrey looked, and remembering the gentle little woman whose crumblingflesh lay beneath, shivered at the awful and crushing erection above.In life, as he knew, she had been unhappy, but what had she done todeserve such a memorial in death? Still, she was dead, of that therewas no doubt, and oh! the sadness of it all.
He went on to the Abbey, resisting a queer temptation to enter thechurch and look at the tomb of the Plantagenet lady and her unknownknight, who slept there so quietly from year to year, through spring,summer, autumn and winter, for ever and for ever. The front door waslocked, so he rang the bell. It was answered by a new servant, rather aforbidding, middle-aged woman with a limp, who informed him that Mr.Knight was out, and notwithstanding his explanations, declined to admithim into the house. Doubtless she thought that a young man, wearing aforeign-looking hat and carrying such a strange long stick, must be athief, or worse. The end of it was that she slammed the door in hisface and shot the old-fashioned bolts.
Then Godfrey bethought him of the other door, that which led into theancient refectory, which was now used as a schoolroom. This was open,so he went in and, being tired after his long journey, sat himself downin the chair at the end of the old oak table, that same chair in whichIsobel had kissed him when he was a little boy. He looked about himvaguely; the place, of course, was much the same as it had been for thelast five hundred years, but, as he could see from the names on thecopybooks that lay about, the pupils who inhabited it had changed. Ofthe whole six not one was the same.
Then, perhaps for the first time, he began to understand how variableis the world, a mere passing show in which nothing remains the same,except the houses and the trees. Even these depart, for a cottage withwhich he had been familiar from his earliest infancy, as he could seethrough the open door, was pulled down to make room for "improvements,"and the great old elm, where the rooks used to build, had been torn upin a gale. Only its ugly stump and projecting roots were left.
So he sat musing there, very depressed at heart, till at length Mrs.Parsons came and discovered him in a half-doze. She, too, was somewhatchanged, for of a sudden age had begun to take a hold of her. Her hairwas white now, and her plump, round face had withered like a springapple. Still, she greeted him with the old affection, for which he feltgrateful, seeing that it was the first touch of kindness he had knownsince he set foot on English ground.
"Dear me, Master Godfrey!" she said, "hadn't I heard that you werecoming, I could never have been sure that it was you. Why, you've growninto a regular young gentleman in those foreign parts, and handsome,too, though I sez it. Who could have guessed that you are your father'sson? Why, you'd make two of him. But there, they say that your motherwas a good-looking lady and large built, though, as I never set eyes onher, I can't say for sure. Well, you must be tired after all thistravelling in steamships and trains, so come into the dining-room andhave some tea, for I have got the key to the sideboard."
He went, and, passing through the hall, left his alpenstock in theumbrella-stand. In due course the tea was produced, though for it heseemed to have little appetite. While he made pretence to eat the thickbread and butter, Mrs. Parsons told him the news, such as it was. SirJohn was living in town and "flinging the money about, so it was said,not but what he had got lots to fling and plenty to catch it," sheadded meaningly. His poor, dear lady was dead, and "happy for her onthe whole." Miss Isobel had "gone foreign," having, it was told,quarrelled with her father, and nothing had been heard of her since shewent. She, too, had grown into a fine young lady.
That was all he gathered before Mrs. Parsons was obliged to depart tosee to her business--except that she was exceedingly glad to see him.
Godfrey went up to his bedroom, which he found unprepared, for somebodyelse seemed to be sleeping there. While he was surveying it andwondering who this occupant might be, he heard his father in the hallasking the parlour-maid which of the young gentlemen had left that"ridiculous stick" in the stand. She replied that she did not know,whereupon the hard voice of his parent told her to take it away.Afterwards Godfrey found it thrown into the wood-house to be chopped upfor firewood, though luckily before this happened.
By this time a kind of anger had seized him. It was true that he hadnot said by what train he was coming, for the reason that until hereached London he could not tell, but he had written that he was toarrive that afternoon, and surely some note might have been taken ofthe fact.
He went downstairs and confronted his father, who alone amid so muchchange seemed to be exactly the same. Mr. Knight shook him by the handwithout any particular cordiality, and at once attacked him for nothaving intimated the hour of his arrival, saying that it was too lateto advise the carrier to call at the station for his baggage and that atrap would have to be sent, which cost money.
"Very well, Father, I will pay for it myself," answered Godfrey.
"Oh, yes, I forgot!" exclaimed Mr. Knight, with a sneer, "you have comeinto money somehow, have you not, and doubtless consider yourselfindependent?"
"Yes, and I am glad of it, Father, as now I hope I shall not be anymore expense to you."
"As you have begun to talk business, Godfrey," replied his father in anacid manner, "we may as well go into things and get it over. You have,I pres
ume, made up your mind to go into the Church in accordance withmy wish?"
"No, Father; I do not intend to become a clergyman."
"Indeed. You seem to me to have fallen under very bad influences inSwitzerland. However, it does not much matter, as I intend that youshall."
"I am sorry, but I cannot, Father."
Then, within such limits as his piety permitted, which weresufficiently wide, Mr. Knight lost his temper very badly indeed. Heattacked his son, suggesting that he had been leading an evil life inLucerne, as he had learned "from outside sources," and declared thateither he should obey him or be cast off. Godfrey, whose temper by thistime was also rising, intimated that he preferred the latteralternative.
"What, then, do you intend to do, young man?" asked Mr. Knight.
"I do not know yet, Father." Then an inspiration came to him, and headded, "I shall go to London to-morrow to consult my trustees underMiss Ogilvy's will."
"Really," said Mr. Knight in a rage. "You are after that ill-gottenmoney, are you? Well, as we seem to agree so badly, why not go to-nightinstead of to-morrow; there is a late train? Perhaps it would bepleasanter for both of us, and then I need not send for your luggage.Also it would save my shifting the new boy from your room."
"Do you really mean that, Father?"
"I am not in the habit of saying what I do not mean. Only pleaseunderstand that if you reject my plans for your career, which have beenformed after much thought, and, I may add, prayer, I wash my hands ofyou who are now too old to be argued with in any other way."
Godfrey looked at his father and considered the iron mouth cut straightlike a slit across the face, the hard, insignificant countenance andthe small, cold, grey eyes. He realised the intensity of the pettyanger based, for the most part, on jealousy because he was nowindependent and could not be ordered about and bullied like the rest ofthe little boys, and knew that behind it there was not affection, butdislike. Summing up all this in his quick mind, he became aware thatfather or not, he regarded this man with great aversion. Their natures,their outlook, all about them were antagonistic, and, in fact, had beenso from the beginning. The less that they saw of each other the betterit would be for both. Although still so young, he had ripened early,and was now almost a man who knew that these things were so withoutpossibility of doubt.
"Very well, Father," he said, "I will go. It is better than stoppinghere to quarrel."
"I thought you would, now that your friend, Isobel, who did you so muchharm with her bad influence, has departed to Mexico, where, I have nodoubt, she has forgotten all about you. You won't be able to run afterher money as you did after Miss Ogilvy's," replied Mr. Knight withanother sneer.
"You insult me," said Godfrey. "It is a lie that I ran after MissOgilvy's money, and I will never forgive you for saying such a thing ofme in connection with Isobel," and turning he left the room.
So did his father, for Godfrey heard him go to his study and lock thedoor, doubtless as a sign and a token.
Then Godfrey sought out Mrs. Parsons and told her everything. The oldwoman was much disturbed, and wept.
"I have been thinking of late, Master Godfrey," she said, "that yourfather's heart is made of that kind of stone which Hell is paved with,only with the good intentions left out--it's that hard. Here you arecome back as fine a young man as a body can wish to see, of whom hisbegetter might well be proud, though, for the matter of that, there isprecious little of him in you--and he shuts the door in your face justbecause you won't be a parson and have come into fortune--that's whatrankles. I say that your mother, if she was a fool when she marriedhim, was a wise woman when she died. Parson or not, he will never gowhere she is. Well, it's sad, but you'll be well out of this coldhouse, where there's so much praying but not a spark of love."
"I think so," said Godfrey with a sigh.
"I think so, too, for myself, I mean. But, look here, my boy, I onlystopped on looking after this dratted pack of young gentlemen becauseyou were coming home again. But, as you ain't, I'm out of it; yes, whenthe door shuts on you I give my month's notice, which perhaps will meanthat I leave to-morrow, for he won't be able to abide the sight of meafter that."
"But how will you live, Nurse, till I can help you?"
"Lord bless you, dear, that's all right. I've been a careful woman allmy life, and have hard on L500 put away in the Savings Bank, to saynothing of a bit of Stock. Also, my old brother, who was a builder,died last year and left me with a nice little house down in Hampstead,which he built to live in himself, but never did, poor man, bit by bitwhen he was short of business, very comfortable and in a goodneighbourhood, with first-rate furniture and real silver plate, to saynothing of some more Stock, yes, for L1,000 or more. I let it furnishedby the month, but the tenant is going away, so I shall just move intoit myself, and perhaps take in a lodger or two to keep me from beingidle."
"That's capital!" said Godfrey, delighted.
"Yes, and I tell you what would be capitaller. Mayhap you will have tolive in London for a bit, and, if so, you are just the kind of lodger Ishould like, and I don't think we should quarrel about terms. I'llwrite you down the address of that house, the Grove as it is called,though why, I don't know, seeing there isn't a tree within half a mile,which I don't mind, as there are too many about here, making so muchdamp. And you'll write and let me know what you are going to do, won'tyou?"
"Of course I will."
"And now, look here. Likely you will want a little money till yousquare up things with your trustee people that the master hates somuch."
"Well, I had forgotten it, but, as a matter of fact, I have only tenshillings left, and that isn't much when one is going to London,"confessed Godfrey.
"I thought so; you never were one to think much of such things, and soit's probable that you'll get plenty of them, for it's what we careabout we are starved in, just to make it hot for us poor humans. Takeyour father, for instance; he loves power, he does; he'd like to be abishop of the old Roman sort what could torture people who didn't agreewith them. And what is he? The parson of a potty parish of a couple ofhundred people, counting the babies and the softies, and half of themDissenters or Salvation Army. Moreover, they can't be bullied, becauseif they were they'd just walk into the next chapel door. Of course,there's the young gentlemen, and he takes it out of them, but, Lordbless us! that's like kicking a wool sack, of which any man of spiritsoon gets tired. So, you see, he is sick-hearted, and will be more sonow that you have stood up to him; and, in this way or that, it's thesame with everyone, none of us gets what we want, while of what wedon't want there's always plenty."
While the old lady held forth thus in her little room which, althoughshe did not know it, had once been the penitential cell of the Abbey,wherein for hundreds of years many unhappy ones had reflected in a verysimilar vein, she was engaged in trying key after key upon a stout oakchest. It was part of the ancient furniture of the place, that indeedin former days had served as the receptacle for hair shirts, scourgesand other physical inducements to repentance and piety.
Now it had a different purpose and held Mrs. Parsons' best dresses,also, in a bandbox, an ornament preserved from her wedding-cake, foronce in the far past she was married to a sailor, a very greatblack-guard, who came to his end by tumbling from a gangway when he wasdrunk. Among these articles was a tin tea-canister which, when opened,proved to be full of money; gold, silver and even humble copper, to saynothing of several banknotes.
"Now, there you are, my dear, take what you like," she said, "and payit back if you wish, but if you don't, it might have been worse spent."And she pushed the receptacle, labelled "Imperial Pekoe," towards himacross the table, adding, "Drat those moths! There's another on my bestsilk."
Godfrey burst out laughing and enjoyed that laugh, for it was his firsthappy moment since his return to England.
"Give me what you like," he said.
So she extracted from the tea-tin a five-pound note, four sovereignsand a pound's worth of silver and copper.
&
nbsp; "There," she said, "that will do to begin with, for too much money inthe pocket is a temptation in a wicked place like London, where there'salways someone waiting to share it. If it's wanted there's more wherethat came from, and you've only to write and say so. And now you havegot the address and you've got the cash, and if you want to catch thatlast train it's time you were off. If I took the same to-morrow night,why, it wouldn't surprise me, especially as I want to hear all you'vebeen a-doing in those foreign parts, tumbling over precipices and therest. So good-bye, my dear, and God bless you. Lord! it seems only theother day that I was giving you your bottle."
Then they kissed each other and, having retrieved his alpenstock fromthe stick-house, Godfrey trudged back to the station, where he pickedup his luggage and departed for London. Arriving at Liverpool Streetrather late, he went to the Great Eastern Hotel, and after a good meal,which he needed, slept like a top. His reception in England had beenbitter, but the young soon shake off their troubles, from which,indeed, the loving kindness of his dear old nurse already had extractedthe sting.
On the following morning, while breakfasting at a little table by oneof the pillars of the big dining-room, he began to wonder what heshould do next. In his pocket he had a notebook, in which, at thesuggestion of the Pasteur, he had set down the address of the lawyerswho had written to him about his legacy. It was in a place called thePoultry, which, on inquiry from the hall-porter, he discovered wasquite close by the Mansion House.
So a while later, for the porter told him that it was no use to go tosee lawyers too early, he sallied forth, and after much searchdiscovered the queer spot called the Poultry, also the offices ofMessrs. Ranson, Richards and Son. Here he gave his name to a clerk, whothrust a very oily head out of a kind of mahogany box, and was toldthat Mr. Ranson was engaged, but that, if he cared to wait, perhaps hewould see him later on. He said he would wait, and was shown into astuffy little room, furnished with ancient deed-boxes and a very large,old leather-covered sofa that took up half the place. Here he sat for awhile, staring at a square of dirty glass which gave what light wasavailable, and reflecting upon things in general.
While he was thus engaged he heard a kind of tumult outside, in whichhe recognised the treble of the oily-headed clerk coming in a badsecond to a deep, bass voice. Then the door opened and a big, burlyman, with a red face and a jovial, rolling eye, appeared with startlingsuddenness and ejaculated:
"Damn Ranson, damn Richards, or damn them both, with the Son thrown in!I ask you, young man"--here he addressed Godfrey seated on the cornerof the sofa--"what is the use of a firm of lawyers whom you can neversee? You pay the brutes, but three times out of four they are notvisible, or, as I suspect, pretend not to be, in order to enhance theirown importance. And I sent them a telegram, too, having a train tocatch. What do you think?"
"I don't know, Sir," Godfrey answered. "I never came to a lawyer'soffice before, and I hope I shan't again if this is the kind of roomthey put one into."
"Room!" ejaculated the irate gentleman, "call it a dog kennel, call ita cesspool, for, by heaven, it smells like one, but in the interests oftruth, young man, don't call it a room."
"Now that you mention it, there is a queer odour. Perhaps a dead ratunder the floor," suggested Godfrey.
"Twenty dead rats, probably, since I imagine that this hole has notbeen cleaned since the time of George II. We are martyrs in this world,Sir. I come here to attend to the affairs of some whippersnapper whom Inever saw and never want to see, just because Helen Ogilvy, who was myfirst cousin, chooses to make me a trustee of her confounded will, inwhich she leaves money to the confounded whippersnapper, God knows why.This whippersnapper has a father, a parson, who can write the mostoffensive letters imaginable. I received one of them this morning,accusing the whippersnapper of all sorts of vague things, and me and myfellow trustee, who is at present enjoying himself travelling, ofabetting him. I repeat, damn Ranson, Richards and Son; damn the parson,damn Helen--no, I won't say that, for she is dead--and especially damnthe whippersnapper. Don't you agree with me?"
"Not quite, Sir," said Godfrey. "I don't mind about Ranson, Richardsand Son, or anybody else, but I don't quite see why you should damn me,who, I am sure, never wished to give you any trouble."
"You! And who the Hades may you be?"
"I am Godfrey Knight, and I suppose that you are my trustee, or one ofthem."
"Godfrey Knight, the young man whose father gives us so much trouble,all at our own expense, I may remark. Well, after hearing so much ofyou on paper, I'm deuced glad to meet you in the flesh. Come into thelight, if you can call it light, and let me have a look at you."
Godfrey stepped beneath the dirty pane and was contemplated through aneyeglass by this breezy old gentleman, who exclaimed presently:
"You're all right, I think; a fine figure of a young man, not badlooking, either, but you want drilling. Why the devil don't you go intothe army?"
"I don't know," answered Godfrey, "never thought of it. Are you in thearmy, Sir?"
"No, not now, though I was. Commanded my regiment for five years, andthen kicked out with the courtesy title of Major-General. Cubitte is myname, spelt with two 't's' and an 'e,' please, and don't you forgetthat, since that 'e' has been a point of honour with our family for ahundred years, the Lord knows why. Well, there we are. Do you smoke?"
"Only a pipe," said Godfrey.
"That's right; I hate those accursed cigarettes, still they are betterthan nothing. Now sit down and tell me all about yourself."
Godfrey obeyed, and somehow feeling at ease with this choleric oldGeneral, in the course of the next twenty minutes explained many thingsto him, including the cause of his appearance in that office.
"So you don't want to be a parson," said the General, "and with yourfather's example before your eyes, I am sure I don't wonder. However,you are independent of him more or less, and had better cut out a linefor yourself. We will back you. What do you say to the army?"
"I think I should rather like that," answered Godfrey. "Only, only, Iwant to get out of England as soon as possible."
"And quite right, too--accursed hole, full of fog and politicians. Butthat's not difficult with India waiting for you. I'm an Indian cavalryofficer myself, and could put you up to the ropes and give you a handafterwards, perhaps, if you show yourself of the right stuff, as Ithink you will. But, of course, you will have to go to Sandhurst, passan entrance examination, and so forth. Can you manage that?"
"Yes, Sir, I think so, with a little preparation. I know a good deal ofone sort or another, including French."
"All right, three months' cramming at Scoones' or Wren's, will do thetrick. And now I suppose you want some money?"
Godfrey explained that he did, having only L10 which he had borrowedfrom his old nurse.
Just then the oily-headed clerk announced that Mr. Ranson was atliberty. So they both went in to see him, and the rest may be imagined.The trustees undertook to pay his expenses, even if they had to stretcha point to do so, and gave him L20 to go on with, also a letter ofintroduction to Scoones, whom he was instructed to see and arrange tojoin their classes. Then General Cubitte hustled off, telling him tocome to dine at an address in Kensington two nights later and "reporthimself."
So within less than an hour Godfrey's future career was settled. Hecame out of the office feeling rather dazed but happier than when hewent in, and inquired his way to Garrick Street, where he was informedthat Mr. Scoones had his establishment. He found the place and, by goodluck, found Mr. Scoones also, a kindly, keen, white-haired man, whoread the letter, made a few inquiries and put him through a briefexamination.
"Your information is varied and peculiar," he said, "and not of thesort that generally appeals to Her Majesty's examiners. Still, I seethat you have intelligence and, of course, the French is an asset; alsothe literature to some extent, and the Latin, though these would havecounted more had you been going up for the Indian Civil. I think we canget you through in three months if you will work; it
all depends onthat. You will find a lot of young men here of whom quite seventy percent. do nothing, except see life. Very nice fellows in their way, butif you want to get into Sandhurst, keep clear of them. Now, my termopens next Monday. I will write to General Cubitte and tell him what Ithink of you, also that the fees are payable in advance. Good-bye, gladyou happened to catch me, which you would not have done half an hourlater, as I am going out of town. At ten o'clock next Monday, please."
After this, not knowing what to do, Godfrey returned to the GreatEastern Hotel and wrote a letter to his father, in which, baldlyenough, he explained what had happened.
Having posted it in the box in the hall, he bethought him that he mustfind some place to live in, as the hotel was too expensive for apermanence, and was making inquiries of the porter as to how he shouldset about the matter when a telegram was handed to him. It ran: "All upas I expected. Meet me Liverpool Street 4.30.--Nurse."
So Godfrey postponed his search for lodgings, and at the appointed hourkept the assignation on the platform. The train arrived, and out of it,looking much more like her old self than she had on the previous day,emerged Mrs. Parsons with the most extraordinary collection of bundles,he counted nine of them, to say nothing of a jackdaw in a cage. Sheembraced him with enthusiasm, dropping the heaviest of the parcels,which seemed to contain bricks, upon his toe, and in a flood oflanguage told him of the peculiar awfulness of the row between hisfather and herself which had ensued upon his departure.
"Yes," she ended, "he flung my money at my head and I flung it back athis, though afterwards I picked it up again, for it is no use wastinggood gold and silver. And so here I am, beginning life again, like you,and feeling thirty years younger for it. Now, tell me what you aregoing to do?"
Then they went and had tea in the refreshment room, leaving the jackdawand the other impediments in charge of a porter, and he told her.
"That's first-rate," she said. "I always hated the idea of seeing youwith a black coat on your back. The Queen's uniform looks much better,and I want you to be a man. Now you help me into a cab and by dinnertime to-morrow I'll be ready for you at my house at Hampstead, if Ihave to work all night to do it. Terms--drat the terms. Well, if youmust have them, Master Godfrey, ten shillings a week will be more thanyou will cost me, and I ought to give you five back for your company.Now I'll make a start, for there will be a lot to do before the placeis fit for a young gentleman. I've never seen it but twice, you know."
So she departed, packed into a four-wheeled cab, with the jackdaw onher lap, and Godfrey went to Madame Tussaud's, where he studied theguillotine and the Chamber of Horrors.
On the following morning, having further improved his mind at theTower, he took a cab also, and in due course arrived at Hampstead withhis belongings. The place took some finding, for it was on the top of ahill in an old-fashioned, out of the way part of the suburb, but whenfound proved to be delightful. It was a little square house, built ofstone, on which the old builder had lavished all his skill and care, sothat in it everything was perfect, with a garden both in front andbehind. The floors were laid in oak, the little hall was oak-panelled,there were hot and cold water in every room, and so forth. Moreover, anodd man was waiting to carry in his things, and in one of the frontsitting-rooms, which was excellently furnished, sat Mrs. Parsonsknitting as though she had been there for years.
"Here you are," she said, "just as I was beginning to get tired ofhaving nothing to do. Lord! what a fuss we make about things before weface 'em. After all they ain't nothing but bubbles. Blow them and theyburst. Look here, Master Godfrey," and she waved her hand about thesitting-room. "Pretty neat, ain't it? Well, I thought it would be allof a hugger-mugger. But what did I find? That those tenants had beenjewels and left everything like a new pin, to say nothing ofimprovements, such as an Eagle range. Moreover, the caretaker is apoliceman's wife and a very nice woman always ready to help for atrifle, and that man that brought in your boxes is a relative of herswho does gardening jobs and such-like. Now, come and see your rooms,"and she led him with pride into a capital back apartment with a largewindow, in fact an old Tudor one which the builder had producedsomewhere, together with the panelling on the walls.
"That's your study," she said, "bookshelves and all complete. Now,follow me," and she took him upstairs to a really charming bedroom.
"But," said Godfrey, surveying these splendours, "this must be the bestroom in the house. Where do you sleep?"
"Oh! at the back there, my dear. You see, I am accustomed to a smallchamber and shouldn't be happy in this big one. Besides, you are goingto pay me rent and must be accommodated. And now come down to yourdinner."
A very good dinner it was, cooked by the policeman's wife, which Mrs.Parsons insisted on serving, as she would not sit at the table withhim. In short, Godfrey found himself in clover, a circumstance thatfilled him with some sadness. Why, he wondered, should he always bemade so miserable at home and so happy when he was away? Then heremembered that famous line about the man who throughout life everfound his warmest welcome at an inn, and perceived that it hid muchphilosophy. Frequently enough homes are not what fond fancy paintsthem, while in the bosom of strangers there is much kindliness.