Short Fiction

for the better. But in truth the ill-humour both of Mr. Greenmantle and of Mr. Peppercorn had increased to such a pitch as to add an additional blackness to the general haziness and drizzle and gloom of the November weather. It was now the end of November, and Dr. Freeborn was becoming a little uneasy because the Christmas attributes for which he was desirous were still altogether out of sight. He was a man specially anxious for the mundane happiness of his parishioners and who would take any amount of personal trouble to insure it; but he was in fault perhaps in this, that he considered that everybody ought to be happy just because he told them to be so. He belonged to the Church of England certainly, but he had no dislike to Papists or Presbyterians, or dissenters in general, as long as they would arrange themselves under his banner as “Freebornites.” And he had such force of character that in Plumplington⁠—beyond which he was not ambitious that his influence should extend⁠—he did in general prevail. But at the present moment he was aware that Mr. Greenmantle was in open mutiny. That Peppercorn would yield he had strong hope. Peppercorn he knew to be a weak, good fellow, whose affection for his daughter would keep him right at last. But until he could extract that poker from Mr. Greenmantle’s throat, he knew that nothing could be done with him.

At the end of the fortnight Mr., Greenmantle called at the Rectory about half an hour before dinner time, when he knew that the Doctor would be found in his study before going up to dress for dinner. “I hope I am not intruding, Dr. Freeborn,” he said. But the rust of the poker was audible in every syllable as it fell from his mouth.

“Not in the least. I’ve a quarter of an hour before I go and wash my hands.”

“It will be ample. In a quarter of an hour I shall be able sufficiently to explain my plans.” Then there was a pause, as though Mr. Greenmantle had expected that the explanation was to begin with the Doctor. “I am thinking,” the banker continued after a while, “of taking my family abroad to some foreign residence.” Now it was well known to Dr. Freeborn that Mr. Greenmantle’s family consisted exclusively of Emily.

“Going to take Emily away?” he said.

“Such is my purpose⁠—and myself also.”

“What are they to do at the bank?”

“That will be the worst of it, Dr. Freeborn. The bank will be the great difficulty.”

“But you don’t mean that you are going for good?”

“Only for a prolonged foreign residence;⁠—that is to say for six months. For forty years I have given but very little trouble to the Directors. For forty years I have been at my post and have never suggested any prolonged absence. If the Directors cannot bear with me after forty years I shall think them unreasonable men.” Now in truth Mr. Greenmantle knew that the Directors would make no opposition to anything that he might propose; but he always thought it well to be armed with some premonitory grievance. “In fact my pecuniary matters are so arranged that should the Directors refuse I shall go all the same.”

“You mean that you don’t care a straw for the Directors.”

“I do not mean to postpone my comfort to their views⁠—or my daughter’s.”

“But why does your daughter’s comfort depend on your going away? I should have thought that she would have preferred Plumplington at present.”

That was true, no doubt. And Mr. Greetmantle felt;⁠—well; that he was not exactly telling the truth in putting the burden of his departure upon Emily’s comfort. If Emily, at the present crisis of affairs, were carried away from Plumplington for six months, her comfort would certainly not be increased. She had already been told that she was to go, and she had clearly understood why. “I mean as to her future welfare,” said Mr. Greenmantle very solemnly.

Dr. Freeborn did not care to hear about the future welfare of young people. What had to be said as to their eternal welfare he thought himself quite able to say. After all there was something of benevolent paganism in his disposition. He liked better to deal with their present happiness⁠—so that there was nothing immoral in it. As to the world to come he thought that the fathers and mothers of his younger flock might safely leave that consideration to him. “Emily is a remarkably good girl. That’s my idea of her.”

Mr. Greenmantle was offended even at this. Dr. Freeborn had no right, just at present, to tell him that his daughter was a good girl. Her goodness had been greatly lessened by the fact that in regard to her marriage she was anxious to run counter to her father. “She is a good girl. At least I hope so.”

“Do you doubt it?”

“Well, no;⁠—or rather yes. Perhaps I ought to say no as to her life in general.”

“I should think so. I don’t know what a father may want⁠—but I should think so. I never knew her miss church yet⁠—either morning or evening.”

“As far as that goes she does not neglect her duties.”

“What is the matter with her that she is to be taken off to some foreign climate for prolonged residence?” The Doctor among his other idiosyncrasies entertained an idea that England was the proper place for all Englishmen and Englishwomen who were not driven out of it by stress of pecuniary circumstances. “Has she got a bad throat or a weak chest?”

“It is not on the score of her own health that I propose to move her,” said Mr. Greenmantle.

“You did say her comfort. Of course that may mean that she likes the French way of living. I did hear that we were to lose your services for a time, because you could not trust your own health.”

“It is failing me a little, Dr. Freeborn. I am already very near sixty.”

“Ten years my junior,” said