The Argosy | Page 4

Rose Cottage was a tiny place, and there were not wanting proofs that
the Major's income was commensurate with the scale of his
establishment. A wise economy had to be a guiding rule in Major
Strickland's life, otherwise Mr. George's college expenses would never
have been met, and that young gentleman would not have had a proper
start in life. Deborah was the only servant that the little household
could afford; but then the Major himself was gardener, butler, valet and
page in one. Thus--he cleaned the knives in a machine of his own
invention; he brushed his own clothes; he lacquered his own boots, and
at a pinch could mend them. He dug and planted his own garden, and
grew enough potatoes and greenstuff to serve his little family the year
round. In a little paddock behind his garden the Major kept a cow; in
the garden itself he had half-a-dozen hives; while not far away was a
fowl-house that supplied him with more eggs than he could dispose of,
except by sale. The Major's maxim was, that the humblest offices of
labour could be dignified by a gentleman, and by his own example he
proved the rule. What few leisure hours he allowed himself were
chiefly spent with rod and line on the banks of the Adair.
George Strickland was an orphan, and had been adopted and brought
up by his uncle since he was six years old. So far, the uncle had been
able to supply the means for having him educated in accordance with
his wishes. For the last three years George had been at one of the public
schools, and now he was at home for a few weeks' holiday previously
to going to Cambridge.
It will of course be understood that but a very small portion of what is
here set down respecting Rose Cottage and its inmates was patent to me
at that first visit; much of it, indeed, did not come within my
cognizance till several years afterwards.

When breakfast was over, the Major lighted an immense meerschaum,
and then invited me to accompany him over his little demesne. To a girl
whose life had been spent within the four bare walls of a school-room,
everything was fresh and everything was delightful. First to the
fowl-house, then to the hives, and after that to see the brindled calf in
the paddock, whose gambols and general mode of conducting himself
were so utterly absurd that I laughed more in ten minutes after seeing
him than I had done in ten years previously.
When we got back to the cottage, George was ready to take me on the
river. The Major went down with us and saw us safely on board the
_Water Lily_, bade us good-bye for an hour, and then went about his
morning's business. I was rather frightened at first, the Water Lily was
such a tiny craft, so long and narrow that it seemed to me as if the least
movement on one side must upset it. But George showed me exactly
where to sit, and gave me the tiller-ropes, with instructions how to
manage them, and was himself so full of quiet confidence that my fears
quickly died a natural death, and a sweet sense of enjoyment took their
place.
We were on that part of the river which was below the weir, and as we
put out from shore the scene of my last night's adventure was clearly
visible. There, spanning the river just above the weir, was the
open-work timber bridge on which George was standing when my cry
for help struck his ears. There was the weir itself, a sheet of foaming,
frothing water, that as it fell dashed itself in white-lipped passion
against the rounded boulders that seemed striving in vain to turn it from
its course. And here, a little way from the bottom of the weir, was the
pool of quiet water over which our little boat was now cleaving its way,
and out of which the handsome young man now sitting opposite to me
had plucked me, bruised and senseless, only a few short hours ago. I
shuddered and could feel myself turn pale as I looked. George seemed
to read my thoughts; he smiled, but said nothing. Then bending all his
strength to the oars, he sent the Water Lily spinning on her course. All
my skill and attention were needed for the proper management of the
tiller, and for a little while all morbid musings were banished from my
mind.

Scarcely a word passed between us during the next half-hour, but I was
too happy to care much for conversation. When we had gone a couple
of miles or more, George pointed out a ruinous old house that stood on
a dreary