Partners of the Out-Trail Part 26

"It's some time since we broke camp on the telegraph line," Carrie remarked. "Do you find having nothing to do comes easy, Jim?"

"I don't expect to be idle long. It's prudent to consider before you begin to move."

Carrie felt that Jim was getting English. He had, of course, been to McGill, but since they reached the Old Country he was dropping his Western colloquialisms. She thought it significant that he did so unconsciously.

"Perhaps I'd better tell you how things are, so far as I understand them," he went on. "To begin with, running a house like Langrigg is expensive, and I doubt if I am rich enough to loaf in proper style."

"If you want to loaf in proper style, you must be born and raised for the job," Jake observed.

"That's true, to some extent," Jim agreed. "I was brought up to work and have got the habit. Well, my farm rents amount to something, but when you have paid taxes and repaired the homesteads they don't leave very much. It seems there are people in England willing to pay for owning land; but that plan's not sound."

"Then, you have another?"

"It's not worked out. The leases of two good farms soon fall in and I may manage them myself. Then I own the marsh, which feeds some sheep and cattle in summer. The soil's good alluvial, like the gumbo on the Manitoba plains, and would grow heavy crops if one could keep out the water. Well, we have seen small homesteaders draining Canadian muskegs, a long haul from a railroad, while we have a good market for all farming truck in two hours' ride. The proposition, however, needs some thought. It might cost me all I've got."

Jake's eyes twinkled. "I reckon that wouldn't stop you if you resolved to d.y.k.e the marsh. You didn't get much money when you got the estate?"

"I did not. I understand Joseph Dearham was not rich, and when he found his health was breaking down he gave some money to his relations.

People here try to get out of the inheritance duties like that; besides, he had not meant to give my father much. However, I have a rich relation, from whom I want nothing, but whom the others think I ought to satisfy."

"Bernard Dearham? d.i.c.k Halliday talked about him."

Jim nodded. "Bernard is my grandfather Joseph's brother. Joseph was satisfied to live quietly at Langrigg like a small country gentleman; Bernard got rich by opening some iron mines not far off. Joseph married twice, and Mrs. Halliday and Mordaunt's mother were his second wife's daughters. She was a widow with two children when she married Joseph. So you see, Mrs. Halliday is not my aunt."

"Then, Evelyn Halliday is not your cousin," Carrie remarked.

"I suppose she's not," said Jim. "Anyhow, since I'm a Dearham, a descendant in the male line, it seems I've a stronger claim on Bernard than the others. I don't mean to urge the claim. He didn't give me Langrigg, he left my father alone, and if I keep the place, I'm going to run it as I like."

"Do you mean to keep Langrigg?" Carrie asked.

Jim looked thoughtful. "I imagine so; I don't know yet. There are drawbacks, but something pulls. I'll wait a bit before I decide." He got up and beckoned Jake. "Let's go and see the farms."

They went off and Carrie turned to Mrs. Winter. "He'll stay; we'll lose him soon. I think I knew we would lose him when you found the advertis.e.m.e.nt------"

She paused and Mrs. Winter remembered that when she had shown the girl the old newspaper Carrie had hesitated for a moment or two. She, however, said nothing and Carrie resumed:

"Well, I wanted to see the Old Country and you needed a rest. The life they live here is fuller than ours; it's something to enjoy it for a time, but we won't stay long, although Jim is kind."

Mrs. Winter gave her a keen glance, but Carrie's face was calm. Then she picked up her sewing and Carrie studied the old house. Langrigg meant much to Jim and she thought would presently mean more. She vaguely understood his feelings and tried to sympathize, although the effort cost her something.

In the meantime, Jim went to see his tenants. He dined with one at noon in an old farm kitchen and afterwards occupied himself by examining horses, buildings, and agricultural machines. On the whole, he puzzled the small farmers, to whom a landlord of his type was new, although they liked his frankness and answered his direct questions, since it was obvious that this was a man who knew how things were done.

Some of the tenants who had known his grandfather talked about Jim afterwards and agreed that he had not much in common with the country gentleman; he was like Bernard Dearham, who opened the famous iron mines.

When they returned in the afternoon across the small turnip and stubble fields, Jim said to Jake, "I've seen enough of the plow land. Let's go across the marsh."

Jake agreed, and by and by Jim, leaning against a gate, indicated the long rows of hedges that ran down the slope and melted into an indistinct ma.s.s on the level plain.

"There's nothing much to be done here in the meantime. These folks are wasting labor and money plowing their little fields, but I reckon they're slow and stubborn. It wouldn't pay to hustle them yet."

"No," said Jake, with a twinkle. "I expect it hurts to feel you must keep your hands off, but you seem to know when you've got to allow for the idiosyncrasies of human nature. It's harder to use men properly than horses and machines."

"Some day, perhaps, I'll grub out these hedges and make room for the tractors to rip a furrow right across the farms. I've no use for wasting land on weeds and thorns."

"You think so now," Jake rejoined. "You haven't been here very long and there's something insidious about the country; its old-time customs get hold of one. Then I don't know if the tractor's picturesque, and cutting down trees and hedges might spoil the landscape. It wouldn't be quite so English after you had done."

Jim looked at him rather hard. "Sometimes you're pretty smart.

Anyhow, I can't spoil the marsh by covering it with good gra.s.s and corn, and if the thing could be done economically, it ought to pay."

"It's possible. Are you keen about the profit? Or do you want a new big job?"

"I'm not going to philosophize; that's your proper line," Jim answered with a laugh. "Let's see if the creeks could be d.y.k.ed."

They went down the hill and plunged into a belt of tall dry gra.s.s, crossed a broad tract of smooth green turf, dotted by thrift and silver weed, and pushed on to the lower flats where the sea-lavender and samphire grew. Then they skirted miry creeks that gradually filled with weeds as they neared dry ground, and went home to Langrigg by the causeway road. Jim was muddy, but happy; although he told himself he had not decided yet, half-formed plans floated through his brain.

A day or two afterwards, d.i.c.k Halliday and Mordaunt came over to Langrigg and were shown into the hall. Jim was not there, but his pipe and some books lay about and the others sat down. Presently d.i.c.k picked up a book and saw it was the old French romance from which Mordaunt had read a pa.s.sage at the telegraph shack. He opened it carelessly and then started when he saw, _Franklin Dearham_, written in faded ink, on the first blank page. He looked across at Mordaunt and hesitated, with a vague suspicion in his mind. It was possible the latter had seen the writing when he opened the book at the shack, and if he had----

"You look as if you have found something interesting," Mordaunt remarked.

"It is interesting," said d.i.c.k, and felt relieved when he heard a step in the pa.s.sage. He did not think Mordaunt, sitting some distance off, knew the book.

Next moment Jim came in and stated that he was alone. Mordaunt lighted a cigarette Jim gave him and asked if his friends were staying long.

"I don't know," said Jim. "We have made no plans yet, but I imagine I shall keep Langrigg."

"Do you mean you had thought about selling the estate?" Mordaunt asked, rather sharply.

"I did think about it, but don't know if I went much farther. The matter's complicated."

"Langrigg is rather an expensive house to manage and the farm rents are low," Mordaunt answered in a thoughtful voice. "Have you any money?

Perhaps I'm blunt, but I'm a relative."

"I have some. Not enough to help me do all I want."

"You mean to do something, then?"

"If I stay, I'm going to put up the farm rents, though I mean to help my tenants pay. I'm going to enlarge the small fields, alter boundaries, and fix things so the land can be worked on the economical Canadian plan. The drawback is it may cost me much and I must wait for the return."

d.i.c.k laughed. "There are other drawbacks and it may cost you more than you know. In this country you can't do what you like, and we resent experiments. If you meddle with old-fas.h.i.+oned customs, you'll raise the neighborhood against you. In a sense, the trees and hedgerows you'd cut down are your neighbors."

"I believe they're mine," Jim rejoined dryly. "However, I don't suppose I'd bother anybody if I d.y.k.ed and drained the marsh."

"Drain the mars.h.!.+" Mordaunt exclaimed. "That's frankly ridiculous!

It's a favorite haunt of the Lag geese and, in a dry autumn, I don't know a better spot for snipe."

"There you are, you see!" d.i.c.k interposed, with a twinkle. "Perhaps you don't understand that it's a serious matter to disturb a few sportsmen."

"Looks as if I might disturb a number of people before I'm through,"

Jim replied. "Anyhow, I haven't made my calculations yet and don't know if my money will go round."