That Stick

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That Stick, by Charlotte M. Yonge

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Title: That Stick
Author: Charlotte M. Yonge

Release Date: January 9, 2007 [eBook #20323]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THAT STICK***
Credit

This eBook was prepared by Les Bowler.

THAT STICK
BY CHARLOTTE M. YONGE AUTHOR OF 'THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE', 'UNKNOWN TO HISTORY', ETC.
[Picture: She was a little brown mouse of a woman, with soft dark eyes, smooth hair, and a clear olive complexion]
London MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK
1892
All rights reserved
Chap. Page
1 HONOURS 1 2 HONOURS REFLECTED 9 3 WHAT IS HONOUR? 20 4 HONOURS WANING 25 5 THE PEER 29 6 THE WEIGHT OF HONOURS 36 7 MORTONS AND MANNERS 41 8 SECOND THOUGHTS 49 9 THE HEIR-PRESUMPTUOUS 53 10 COMING HONOURS 64 11 POSSESSION 70 12 THE BURTHEN OF HONOURS 77 13 THE DOWER HOUSE 81 14 WESTHAVEN VERSIONS OF 88 HONOURS 15 THE PIED ROOK 99 16 WHAT IS REST? 107 17 ON THE SURFACE 114 18 DESDICHADO 120 19 THE DOLOMITES 129 20 RATZES 137 21 THE HEIR-APPARENT 143 22 OUT OF JOINT 147 23 VELVET 155 24 THE REVENGE OF SORDID 163 SPIRITS 25 THE LOVE 169 26 IDA'S WARNING 175 27 THE YOUNG PRETENDER 180 28 TWO BUNDLES OF HAY 187 29 JONES OR RATTLER 193 30 SCARLET FEVER 202 31 MITE 208 32 A SHOCK 216 33 DARKNESS 223 34 THE PHANTOM OF THE 230 STATION 35 THE QUEST 239 36 IDA'S CONFESSION 247 37 HOPE 252 38 THE CLUE 262 39 THE HONOURABLE PAUPER 270 40 JOY WELL-NIGH 277 INCREDIBLE 41 THE CANADIAN NORTHMOOR 284 42 HUMBLE PIE 290 43 THE STAFF 295
CHAPTER I
HONOURS
'Oh, there's that stick. What can he want?' sighed one of a pair of dignified elderly ladies, in black silk, to the other, as in a quiet country-town street they saw themselves about to be accosted by a man of about forty, with the air of a managing clerk, who came up breathlessly, with a flush on his usually pale cheeks.
'Miss Lang; I beg pardon! May I be allowed a few words with Miss Marshall? I know it is unusual, but I have something unusual to tell her.'
'Nothing distressing, I hope, Mr. Morton,' said one of the ladies, startled.
'Oh no, quite the reverse,' he said, with a nervous laugh; 'in fact, I have unexpectedly come into a property!'
'Indeed!' with great astonishment, 'I congratulate you,' as the colour mounted in his face, pleasant, honest, but with the subdued expression left by long years of patience in a subordinate position.
'May I ask--' began the other sister.
'I hardly understand it yet,' was the answer; 'but I must go to town by the 5.10 train, and I should like her to hear it from myself.'
'Oh, certainly; it does you honour, Mr. Morton.'
They were entering the sweep of one of those large substantial houses on the outskirts of country towns that have a tendency to become boarding-schools, and such had that of the Misses Lang been long before the days of the High School.
'Fortunately it is recreation-time,' said Miss Lang, as she conducted Mr. Morton to the drawing-room, hung round with coloured drawings, in good taste, if stiff, and chiefly devoted to interviews with parents.
'Poor little Miss Marshall!' murmured one sister, when they had shut him in.
'What a loss she will be!'
'She deserves any good fortune.'
'She does. Is it not twenty years?'
'Twenty-two next August, sister.'
Yes, it was twenty-two years since Mary Marshall had been passed from the Clergy Orphan Asylum to be English governess at Miss Lang's excellent school at Hurminster. In that town resided, with her two sons, Mrs. Morton, the widow of a horse-dealing farmer in the late Mr. Marshall's parish. On discovering the identity of the English governess with the little girl who had admired the foals, lambs, and chickens in past times, Mrs. Morton gave invitations to tea. She was ladylike, the sons unexceptionable, and no objection could reasonably be made by the Misses Lang, though the acquaintance was regretted by them.
Mr. Morton, the father, had died in debt and distress, and the eldest son had been thankful for a clerkship in the office of Mr. Burford, a solicitor in considerable practice, and man of business to several of the county magnates. Frank Morton was not remarkable for talent or enterprise, but he was plodding and trustworthy, methodical and accurate, and he had continued in the same position, except that time had made him senior instead of junior clerk. Partly from natural disposition, partly from weight of responsibility, he had always been