The Small House at Allington | Page 5

looked like a church, and I can hardly say
so much for all the modern edifices which have been built in my days
towards the glory of God. It looked like a church, and not the less so
because in walking up the passage between the pews the visitor trod
upon the brass plates which dignified the resting-places of the departed
Dales of old.
Below the church, and between that and the village, stood the vicarage,
in such position that the small garden of the vicarage stretched from the
churchyard down to the backs of the village cottages. This was a
pleasant residence, newly built within the last thirty years, and
creditable to the ideas of comfort entertained by the rich collegiate
body from which the vicars of Allington always came. Doubtless we
shall in the course of our sojourn at Allington visit the vicarage now
and then, but I do not know that any farther detailed account of its
comforts will be necessary to us.
Passing by the lane leading to the vicarage, the church, and to the house,
the high road descends rapidly to a little brook which runs through the
village. On the right as you descend you will have seen the "Red Lion,"
and will have seen no other house conspicuous in any way. At the

bottom, close to the brook, is the post-office, kept surely by the crossest
old woman in all those parts. Here the road passes through the water,
the accommodation of a narrow wooden bridge having been afforded
for those on foot. But before passing the stream, you will see a cross
street, running to the left, as had run that other lane leading to the house.
Here, as this cross street rises the hill, are the best houses in the village.
The baker lives here, and that respectable woman, Mrs Frummage, who
sells ribbons, and toys, and soap, and straw bonnets, with many other
things too long to mention. Here, too, lives an apothecary, whom the
veneration of this and neighbouring parishes has raised to the dignity of
a doctor. And here also, in the smallest but prettiest cottage that can be
imagined, lives Mrs Hearn, the widow of a former vicar, on terms,
however, with her neighbour the squire which I regret to say are not as
friendly as they should be. Beyond this lady's modest residence,
Allington Street, for so the road is called, turns suddenly round towards
the church, and at the point of the turn is a pretty low iron railing with a
gate, and with a covered way, which leads up to the front door of the
house which stands there, I will only say here, at this fag end of a
chapter, that it is the Small House at Allington. Allington Street, as I
have said, turns short round towards the church at this point, and there
ends at a white gate, leading into the churchyard by a second entrance.
So much it was needful that I should say of Allington Great House, of
the Squire, and of the village. Of the Small House, I will speak
separately in a further chapter.
CHAPTER II
THE TWO PEARLS OF ALLINGTON
"But Mr Crosbie is only a mere clerk." This sarcastic condemnation
was spoken by Miss Lilian Dale to her sister Isabella, and referred to a
gentleman with whom we shall have much concern in these pages. I do
not say that Mr Crosbie will be our hero, seeing that that part in the
drama will be cut up, as it were, into fragments. Whatever of the
magnificent may be produced will be diluted and apportioned out in
very moderate quantities among two or more, probably among three or

four, young gentlemen--to none of whom will be vouchsafed the
privilege of much heroic action.
"I don't know what you call a mere clerk, Lily. Mr Fanfaron is a mere
barrister, and Mr Boyce is a mere clergyman." Mr Boyce was the vicar
of Allington, and Mr Fanfaron was a lawyer who had made his way
over to Allington during the last assizes. "You might as well say that
Lord de Guest is a mere earl."
"So he is--only a mere earl. Had he ever done anything except have fat
oxen, one wouldn't say so. You know what I mean by a mere clerk? It
isn't much in a man to be in a public office, and yet Mr Crosbie gives
himself airs."
"You don't suppose that Mr Crosbie is the same as John Eames," said
Bell, who, by her tone of voice, did not seem inclined to undervalue the
qualifications of Mr Crosbie. Now John Eames was a young man from
Guestwick, who had been appointed to a clerkship in the Income-tax
Office, with eighty pounds a year, two