loved his family, and he believed that the sinking of the mine would be a sound proposition, workable in every way, and a benefit to the people and the country. If it meant that he would be able to go to France, to Italy, to Germany, to Russia, to see all the pictures and to hear all the music that he had heard discussed in Oxford, why then, the sooner Hungry Hill was open to pick and shovel and machinery the happier he would be.
His brother John stared out of the window, down to the creek below the house. He and his sister, Jane were the darkest of the family. There was something almost Spanish about their olive skins and their warm brown eyes, a southern gypsy quality that the others lacked.
Mines upon Hungry Hill, he thought, noise and machinery to drive away the wild birds and the rabbits and the hares, and a crowd of wretched devils working underground day after day, glad of the employment to keep themselves from starving, and cursing the master who gave it to them, all in the same breath. He knew how it would be. He had seen it happen before in Doonhaven, whenever his father talked to the people about progress. They were all smiles and civility to his face, and as soon as his back was turned they muttered amongst themselves, and went and broke down a fence, or stole a cow, or lamed one of his horses, in a strange, impotent resentment.
Oh, well, father would have his mine, and they would all become millionaires, and that was that. As long as he, John, was not asked to supervise the work at the mine, or take up any position of responsibility, he did not care, and if they would leave the summit of Hungry Hill untouched so that he could exercise his dogs there, and lie on his back in the sun, and be left alone without feeling all the time that his father was expecting him to do something, then the new company could sink a hundred mines for all he cared.
And Jane, who at eight years old was already the beauty of the family, petted but unspoilt, the darling of them all, with her lively imagination and strange fancies- Jane saw a great stream of copper running down the side of Hungry Hill, the colour of blood, and a crowd of miners dabbling in it like little black devils, with her father seated upon a throne like God in the midst of them.
'When do you propose to start the work, sir?' asked Henry.
'Within the course of the next month,' replied his father. 'The preliminary excavations may begin even sooner. I have someone coming over from Bronsea to supervise matters, and he will bring an engineer with him. We ought to be underground before midsummer, and with luck should have three months' trial of the mine before the autumn sets in. We don't want to lose the top prices, if we have anything to sell. But the return for the first two years is bound to be small, while we are paying off expenses.'
'What about the labour, father?' said Barbara.
'I have engaged a Cornishman named Nicholson to be head captain of the mine,' he answered, 'and he will, of course, bring some of his own people over with him.
After that-well, we shall see.'
There was a pause for a moment, and then Henry, glancing sideways at his father, said gently, 'There will be a certain amount of resentment, sir.'
John Brodrick rose from the table, and cut himself another slice of pig from the sideboard.
'Naturally there will be resentment,' he said shortly. 'There was resentment when the Post Office first came to Doonhaven, there was resentment when the Dispensary was opened. I expect nothing else. But when the people here learn about the wage-packets that the Cornishmen put into their pockets every week, then we shall hear another story. It's been a hard winter, hasn't it? Perhaps they will think about the winter to come.
I rather believe they will. And I shall get them coming up to Hungry Hill, asking for employment.'
His son John frowned, picking at the table-cloth with his fork.
'Well, John, what is your opinion?'
The boy flushed. He was never very articulate in his father's presence.
'Yes, sir,' he said slowly, 'they will come to you for employment all right. But they will be bitter about it.
They will think, 'Why should we be obliged to him to keep us from starving?'' It will make a twist in their minds, don't you see? And they will do their best to obstruct the work of the mine, even though it feeds them.'
'You appear to sympathise with them,' said his father.
'No, sir,' stammered John; 'it's only that, you see, even now, after all this time, we are looked upon as interlopers; there is no denying it.'
'That is ridiculous,' answered his father impatiently; 'we belong to the country as much as they do. Why, your great-grandfather lived here, and your great-uncle before him. There have been Brodricks in. the country back into the sixteenth century.'
'Why did they shoot my great-grandfather, then?' asked John.
'You know very well why they shot him-because he believed in doing his duty to God and the King, and upholding the law. Smuggling was an offence, and he was determined to put an end to it.'
'No, sir,' said John; 'that was just the excuse given. The Donovans shot my great-grandfather because the land here was theirs, before it was his, because the old Donovan chiefs possessed Clonmere, and Doonhaven, and Doon Island when the Brodricks were copying-house clerks in Slane, and they could not forget it. And they haven't forgot' ten it, even to this day. That's why Morty Donovan lets his tenants steal your cattle, and that's why your Cornish miners will stay one season on Hungry Hill, and no longer.'
There was a silence, John Brodrick did not answer. He stared thoughtfully at his second son, while the rest of the family, astonished at their brother's outburst, sat in trepidation, scarlet and ill at ease.
'Very good, John,' he said at length. 'Eton and Brasenose have done more for you than I thought. A few years in London, at Lincoln's Inn, and they will make quite a speaker of you. And now, Barbara dear, if you have finished, I suggest we leave the room for Thomas to clear, and perhaps you will pour out tea in the drawing- room.'
'Yes, father,' said Barbara, and glancing reproachfully at John for the disturbance he had caused, she led the way upstairs to the drawing-room, where the serving-man had already placed the tea-tray in readiness.
'Silly fellow,' said Henry, patting his brother on the shoulder, for their father had not yet come upstairs; 'what induced you to speak so, at such a time? You know the irritation it causes my father just to mention the Donovans. And to damp his ardour, too, about the mine.'
'John dear, it was thoughtless,' said Barbara, 'especially when you were late for dinner too. Now you will be in his bad books for a week at least.'
'Oh, confound everything,' said John wearily, throwing himself into a chair. 'Why do I never do anything right? And why does everyone, myself included, always dislike hearing the truth? You don't think I like the Donovans, do you? Old Morty Donovan's a scoundrel, I know that.'
He held out his arms to Jane, who came and sat on his knee, her arms round his neck.
'What shall we do, sweetheart? Shall we run away together, and build a little cabin on Doon Island?'
'It would be horrid in the winter,' said Jane, laughing, and playing with his collar; 'you would soon become ill-humoured, and vent it upon your Jane.
Henry would endure discomfort better than you.'
'Henry endures everything better than I do,' sighed John, 'don't you, old fellow? You attend all the lectures at Oxford with the greatest equanimity, and are on breakfasting terms with half the dons. He has a visiting list of acquaintances, too, nearly a yard long. The only fellows who visit me in my rooms are tradesmen, or sporting chaps wanting to sell me a dog.'
'Do you suppose,' broke in Eliza, 'that once the copper mine starts paying we shall all be very rich?'
'So rich, Eliza,' said Henry, winking at John, 'that all the impoverished Earls of the country will come from miles around to court you. You had better start planning your wardrobe soon. Poor Mrs. Murphy will have to get in a good stock of needles and thread and material.'
'Mrs. Murphy,' scoffed Eliza; 'thank you very much. I shall purchase my dresses in Bath or Cheltenham, I shall never go to Mrs. Murphy again.'
'That would be rather unkind,' said Barbara. 'We could always allow her to make some of our things. She tries so hard to do her best, poor woman. You could keep your Bath finery a secret from her.'
'Barbara, the peace-maker,' said John, 'who pleases everybody and vexes none; where should we be without you? Jane, stop playing with my collar, you little plague. Isn't it your bed-time? Do you want me to carry you to bed, or will you wait for Martha to fetch you?'
'I haven't said goodnight to father,' said Jane.
