“The word is mine, not yours,” said Sir Roderick, allowing his eyes to wander. “Well, Aldom, we can give you a piece of news. We shall be able to buy the farm from your mother.”
There was a pause.
“You will, Sir Roderick?”
“Your mother will rejoice to hear it.”
“Well, Sir Roderick, she was thinking of selling it.”
“I thought she was anxious to do so.”
“Well, she thought she might, Sir Roderick, if it turned out to be to her advantage.”
“I thought she wanted to set up a shop in the village.”
“She has spoken about it, Sir Roderick. It seemed that it might be a change. Only when you have done a thing for a good many years, it seems you might as well go on with it.”
“Has your mother changed her mind?”
“Well, not to say that, Sir Roderick. It is only that things look different, the more you think about them. And when you have led a life for so long, it cannot be gainsaid.”
“She has never made up her mind, I suppose. I got a wrong impression.”
“Well, a shop in the village would suit her, and suit her health. She finds the farm life rough-and-ready, with her being withdrawn and reserved.”
“She must be past the age for heavy work.”
“Well, Sir Roderick, it is contrived to spare her. And she shows no sign of her years, as she has herself remarked. The words have passed her lips.”
“And what is your view of the matter?”
“Well, I sometimes feel that I have the easy life, and she the hard one, which is not your choice when you have been a good son. Though neither her work nor mine is of the kind that is ever done. And she might miss the country life, if she were to leave it.”
“You would be nearer to each other, if she were in the village.”
“Yes, Sir Roderick, though distance is soon covered. And the shop suits our requirements, though the rooms are what we see as dark and small. It might have been made for us, as we say. And so the matter goes on. And we often say we may as well continue as we are.”
“Perhaps your mother will come and see me.”
“Well, Sir Roderick, it is the quiet season. And if you are going to leave a place, why go on putting your strength into it when you have put in enough? It is like throwing good money after bad.”
“Dear, dear, people should be educated,” said Lesbia, as Aldom left them. “Roderick and I must be one of mind at last.”
“Oh, the question of education does not fill the whole of my horizon.”
“It ought to have its place in it,” said Lesbia, just shaking her head, as she rose and passed from the room. “No, do not be afraid; I have said all I have to say.”
“We do not often have a chance of doing that,” said Sir Roderick. “But I do not grudge it to Lesbia. She has so much more to grudge to me.”
Chapter VI
“Something Normal Is going to happen to me to-day,” said Oliver.
“Do not normal things usually happen?” said Maria.
“Surely you have noticed they do not. It is easy to see I have no mother.”
“Well, what is to happen?”
“Thank you for trying to fill the place. I do like swift compunction. Well, the friend I made at the school is coming to see me. It may be an odd way to make a friend, but otherwise the incident is ordinary. He is returning to the school early, and coming to see me on his way.”
“Well, he is welcome,” said Sir Roderick.
“That shows how you see the occasion. What a thing to say about a guest! It shows that the shock and effort of having him might have been too much.”
“That could hardly occur to any of us,” said Lesbia, “when we are housed and sustained without sign of either.”
“I have been grateful for the echo of my own home life,” said Mr. Firebrace.
“I have felt uneasy,” said Juliet. “I have not the generosity that can accept. It seems to give someone else the superior place. I believe it does.”
“The young man, Oliver Spode, the only son of his mother, and she a widow,” said Mr. Firebrace, in a rapid undertone. “To say the truth, my thoughts have run on that young man. I think he may owe me his name, as Oliver does. The name has stirred my memories. His mother is an old friend of mine, unless I mistake. And I do not see why I do so.”
“Someone you have not seen for years, or wanted to see, and would not have thought of by yourself,” said Oliver. “That is what an old friend is. I would not ask an old friend to my home. This friend is new enough to be made a stranger of, and what could be nicer for him, or become us better? It is dreadful to do things on the ground of having known some one for so long.”
“His mother and I were hardly such ships in the night. We served a purpose for each other. It was after your grandmother died, when you were young. I came to this house, feeling alone and homeless, though I was given a home. That is the truest homelessness.”
“How can you be so absurd, Grandpa? The truest homelessness is not to be given one.”
“Well, I was glad of a friend who wanted something from me, whom I could know on terms of give-and-take.”
“It was on terms of give, wasn’t it?” said Sir Roderick. “I remember the matter now. You made over some money to the lady; a Miss Spode; yes, that was the name. She must have been in some sort of trouble. In one sort anyhow.”
“You made it easy for me. And I did not know then that for you it was not so. I had the poor man’s ignorance. It was a Mrs. Spode, whose husband died a little later. We came together and went apart. As the boy says, we name that an old friendship.”
“You were a friend in need,” said Juliet. “That would lead to going apart. When the need is ended, both sides want a different sort of friend. And one sees the reasons.”
“A sense of obligation seems a hard thing to carry,” said Lesbia. “I have always found the benefit worth it. I have not that sort of pride. When gratitude has been the payment I could make, I have made it willingly. Not that I have felt the other side was so much richer for it.”
“But you yourself were richer,” said her father. “You had paid your debt.”
“Of course she had not,” said Oliver.
“I shall like to see this young man and send my word to his mother,” said Mr. Firebrace, moving to a desk. “There is a trinket that I will send to her, an old jewel that I have by me, an old earring that has lain idle through the years. I gave her its fellow the last time I saw her. It was a parting token. This one can be a greeting.”
“Oh, Spode has sold that earring,” said Oliver. “He showed it to me and said it was unique, but I knew I had seen one like it. Of course it was the one I played with as a child. He took it to a shop near the school, that deals in such things. Someone came in while he was there, and said she had a duplicate of it, and the man said the pair would fetch a price, and it worked out well. It must really be a stock design. Spode was very pleased, as his mother was in debt, and if the earring had not got her out of it, he might have had to do so. It sounds as if she is still the person she was.”
“How soon will he be coming?” said Maria.
“By the afternoon train. He will not be here yet.”
“He is right that the earring is unique,” said Mr. Firebrace, searching in the desk. “The one supposed to be a duplicate cannot be the same. This one of mine is its mate. They were made for my family, to a special design and of rare stones, but, of course, in the fashion of the day. One might be found that could be used to make a pair. So she still lets the money slip through her hands. She never kept a hold on it. I will send this earring to take the place of the other. One does as well as two. They are too large to wear as the fashion goes, and it can be made to hang on a chain. That is its natural destiny.”