“I know which has the right without any more finding out,” said Larry. “The shortest way to his house is by the ride through the wood, Mr. Morton. It takes you out on his land on the other side. But I don’t think you’ll find him there. One of my men told me that he had made himself scarce.” Then he added as the two were going on, “I should like to have just a word with you, Mr. Morton. I’ve been thinking of what you said, and I know it was kind. I’ll take a month over it. I won’t talk of selling Chowton till the end of February;—but if I feel about it then as I do now I can’t stay.”
“That’s right, Mr. Twentyman;—and work hard, like a man, through the month. Go out hunting, and don’t allow yourself a moment for moping.”
“I will,” said Larry, as he retreated to the house, and then he gave directions that his horse might be ready for the morrow.
They went in through the wood, and the Senator pointed out the spot at which Bean the gamekeeper had been so insolent to him. He could not understand, he said, why he should be treated so roughly, as these men must be aware that he had nothing to gain himself. “If I were to go into Mickewa,” said Morton, “and interfere there with the peculiarities of the people as you have done here, it’s my belief that they’d have had the eyes out of my head long before this.”
“That only shows that you don’t know Mickewa,” said the Senator. “Its people are the most law-abiding population on the face of the earth.”
They passed through the wood, and a couple of fields brought them to Goarly’s house. As they approached it by the back the only live thing they saw was the old goose which had been so cruelly deprived of her companions and progeny. The goose was waddling round the dirty pool, and there were to be seen sundry ugly signs of a poor man’s habitation, but it was not till they had knocked at the window as well as the door that Mrs. Goarly showed herself. She remembered the Senator at once and curtseyed to him; and when Morton introduced himself she curtseyed again to the Squire of Bragton. When Goarly was asked for she shook her head and declared that she knew nothing about him. He had been gone, she said, for the last week, and had left no word as to whither he was going;—nor had he told her why. “Has he given up his action against Lord Rufford?” asked the Senator.
“Indeed then, sir, I can’t tell you a word about it.”
“I’ve been told that he has taken Lord Rufford’s money.”
“He ain’t ’a taken no money as I’ve seed, sir. I wish he had, for money’s sore wanted here, and if the gen’leman has a mind to be kindhearted—” Then she intimated her own readiness to take any contribution to the good cause which the Senator might be willing to make at that moment. But the Senator buttoned up his breeches pockets with stern resolution. Though he still believed Lord Rufford to be altogether wrong, he was beginning to think that the Goarlys were not worthy his benevolence. As she came to the door with them and accompanied them a few yards across the field she again told the tragic tale of her goose;—but the Senator had not another word to say to her.
On that same day Morton drove Mr. Gotobed into Dillsborough and consented to go with him to Mr. Bearside’s office. They found the attorney at home, and before anything was said as to payment they heard his account of the action. If Goarly had consented to take any money from Lord Rufford he knew nothing about it. As far as he was aware the action was going on. Ever so many witnesses must be brought from a distance who had seen the crop standing and who would have no bias against the owner—as would be the case with neighbours, such as Lawrence Twentyman. Of course it was not easy to oppose such a man as Lord Rufford and a little money must be spent. Indeed such, he said, was his interest in the case that he had already gone further than he ought to have done out of his own pocket. Of course they would be successful—that is if the matter were carried on with spirit, and then the money would all come back again. But just at present a little money must be spent. “I don’t mean to spend it,” said the Senator.
“I hope you won’t stick to that, Mr. Gotobed.”
“But I shall, sir. I understand from your letter that you look to me for funds.”
“Certainly I do, Mr. Gotobed;—because you told me to do so.”
“I told you nothing of the kind, Mr. Bearside.”
“You paid me £15 on account, Mr. Gotobed.”
“I paid you £15 certainly.”
“And told me that more should be coming as it was wanted. Do you think I should have gone on for such a man as Goarly—a fellow without a shilling—unless he had someone like you to back him? It isn’t likely. Now, Mr. Morton, I appeal to you.”
“I don’t suppose that my friend has made himself liable for your bill because he paid you £15 with the view of assisting Goarly,” said Morton.
“But he said that
