"He lives in a wild whirl of gaiety--a social vortex," said Betty to Lady Anstruthers, after one of her visits."He is actually rejuvenated.I must order some new white smocks for him to receive his visitors in.Someone brought him an old copy of the Illustrated London News last night.We will send him illustrated papers every week."In the dull old brain, God knows what spark of life had been relighted.Young Mrs.Doby related with chuckles that granddad had begged that his chair might be dragged to the window, that he might sit and watch the village street.Sitting there, day after day, he smoked and looked at his pictures, and dozed and dreamed, his pipe and tobacco jar beside him on the window ledge.At any sound of wheels or footsteps his face lighted, and if, by chance, he caught a glimpse of Betty, he tottered to his feet, and stood hurriedly touching his bald forehead with a reverent, palsied hand.
" 'Tis 'urr," he would say, enrapt."I seen 'urr--I did."And young Mrs.Doby knew that this was his joy, and what he waited for as one waits for the coming of the sun.
" 'Tis 'urr! 'Tis 'urr!"
The vicar's wife, Mrs.Brent, who since the affair of John Wilson's fire had dropped into the background and felt it indiscreet to present tales of distress at the Court, began to recover her courage.Her perfunctory visits assumed a new character.The vicarage had, of course, called promptly upon Miss Vanderpoel, after her arrival.Mrs.Brent admired Miss Vanderpoel hugely.
"You seem so unlike an American," she said once in her most tactful, ingratiating manner--which was very ingratiating indeed.
"Do I? What is one like when one is like an American?
I am one, you know."
"I can scarcely believe it," with sweet ardour.
"Pray try," said Betty with simple brevity, and Mrs.Brent felt that perhaps Miss Vanderpoel was not really very easy to get on with.
"She meant to imply that I did not speak through my nose, and talk too much, and too vivaciously, in a shrill voice,"Betty said afterwards, in talking the interview over with Rosy.
"I like to convince myself that is not one's sole national characteristic.Also it was not exactly Mrs.Brent's place to kindly encourage me with the information that I do not seem to belong to my own country."Lady Anstruthers laughed, and Betty looked at her inquiringly.
"You said that just like--just like an Englishwoman.""Did I?" said Betty.
Mrs.Brent had come to talk to her because she did not wish to trouble dear Lady Anstruthers.Lady Anstruthers already looked much stronger, but she had been delicate so long that one hesitated to distress her with village matters.
She did not add that she realised that she was coming to headquarters.The vicar and herself were much disturbed about a rather tiresome old woman--old Mrs.Welden--who lived in a tiny cottage in the village.She was eighty-three years old, and a respectable old person--a widow, who had reared ten children.The children had all grown up, and scattered, and old Mrs.Welden had nothing whatever to live on.No one knew how she lived, and really she would be better off in the workhouse.She could be sent to Brexley Union, and comfortably taken care of, but she had that singular, obstinate dislike to going, which it was so difficult to manage.She had asked for a shilling a week from the parish, but that could not be allowed her, as it would merely uphold her in her obstinate intention of remaining in her cottage, and taking care of herself--which she could not do.Betty gathered that the shilling a week would be a drain on the parish funds, and would so raise the old creature to affluence that she would feel she could defy fate.And the contumacity of old men and women should not be strengthened by the reckless bestowal of shillings.
Knowing that Miss Vanderpoel had already gained influence among the village people, Mrs.Brent said, she had come to ask her if she would see old Mrs.Welden and argue with her in such a manner as would convince her that the workhouse was the best place for her.It was, of course, so much pleasanter if these old people could be induced to go to Brexley willingly.
"Shall I be undermining the whole Political Economy of Stornham if I take care of her myself?" suggested Betty.
"You--you will lead others to expect the same thing will be done for them.""When one has resources to draw on," Miss Vanderpoel commented, "in the case of a woman who has lived eighty-three years and brought up ten children until they were old and strong enough to leave her to take care of herself, it is difficult for the weak of mind to apply the laws of Political Economics.I will go and see old Mrs.Welden."If the Vanderpoels would provide for all the obstinate old men and women in the parish, the Political Economics of Stornham would proffer no marked objections."A good many Americans," Mrs.Brent reflected, "seemed to have those odd, lavish ways," as witness Lady Anstruthers herself, on her first introduction to village life.Miss Vanderpoel was evidently a much stronger character, and extremely clever, and somehow the stream of the American fortune was at last being directed towards Stornham--which, of course, should have happened long ago.A good deal was "being done," and the whole situation looked more promising.So was the matter discussed and summed up, the same evening after dinner, at the vicarage.
Betty found old Mrs.Welden's cottage.It was in a green lane, turning from the village street--which was almost a green lane itself.A tiny hedged-in front garden was before the cottage door.A crazy-looking wicket gate was in the hedge, and a fuschia bush and a few old roses were in the few yards of garden.There were actually two or three geraniums in the window, showing cheerful scarlet between the short, white dimity curtains.