The Squire's Daughter. Hocking Silas Kitto
be a good farm, and what is more, it is a good farm," the squire said fiercely. "Upon my soul, I believe I've let it too cheap!"
"You've done what, sir?" David questioned, lifting his head suddenly.
"I said I believed I had let it too cheap. It's worth more than I am going to get for it."
"Do you mean to say you have let it?" David said, in a tone of incredulity.
"Of course I have let it. I could have let it five times over, for there's no denying it's an exceedingly pretty and compact little farm."
At this point Ralph came forward with white face and trembling lips.
"Did I hear you tell father that you had let this farm?" he questioned, bringing the words out slowly and with an effort.
"My business is with your father only," the squire said stiffly, and with a curl of the lip.
"What concerns my father concerns me," Ralph answered quietly, "for my labour has gone into the farm as well as his."
"That's nothing to the point," the squire answered stiffly. And he turned again to David, who stood with blanched face and downcast eyes.
"I want to make it as easy and pleasant for you as possible," the squire went on. "So I have arranged that you can stay here till Michaelmas without paying any rent at all."
David looked up with an expression of wonder in his eyes, but he did not reply.
"Between now and Michaelmas you will be able to look round you," the squire continued, "and, in case you don't intend to take a farm anywhere else, you will be able to get your corn threshed and such things as you don't want to take with you turned into money. William Jenkins, I understand, is willing to take the root crops at a valuation, also the straw, which, by the terms of your lease, cannot be taken off the farm."
"So William Jenkins is to come here, is he?" David questioned suddenly.
"I have let the farm to him," the squire replied pompously, "and, as I have before intimated, he will take possession at Michaelmas."
"It is an accursed and a cruel shame!" Ralph blurted out vehemently.
The squire started and looked at him.
"And why could you not have let the farm to me?" David questioned mildly, "or, at any rate, given me the refusal of it? You said just now that you were sorry for me. Is this the way you show your sorrow? Is this doing to others as you would be done by?"
"I have surely the right to let my own farm to whomsoever I please," the squire said, in a tone of offended dignity.
"This farm was not yours to start with," Ralph said, flinging himself in front of the squire. "Before you enclosed it, it was common land, and belonged to the people. You had no more right to it than the man in the moon. But because you were strong, and the poor people had no power to oppose you, you stole it from them."
"What is that, young man?" Sir John said, stepping back and striking a defiant attitude.
"I said you stole Polskiddy Downs from the people. It had been common land from time immemorial, and you know it." And Ralph stared him straight in the eyes without flinching. "You took away the rights of the people, shut them out from their own, let the land that did not belong to you, and pocketed the profits."
"Young man, I'll make you suffer for this insult," Sir John stammered, white with passion.
"And God will make you suffer for this insult and wrong to us," Ralph replied, with flashing eyes. "Do you think that robbing the poor, and cheating honest people out of their rights, will go unpunished?"
Sir John raised his riding-crop suddenly, and struck at Ralph with all his might. Ralph caught the crop in his hand, and wrenched it from his grasp, then deliberately broke it across his knee and flung the pieces from him.
For several moments the squire seemed too astonished either to speak or move. In all his life before he had never been so insulted. He glowered at Ralph, and looked him up and down, but he did not go near him. He was no match for this young giant in physical strength.
David seemed almost as much astonished as the squire. He looked at his son, but he did not open his lips.
The squire recovered his voice after a few moments.
"If I had been disposed to deal generously with you – " he began.
"You never were so disposed," Ralph interposed bitingly. "You did your worst before you came. We understand now why you kept away so long. I wonder you are not ashamed to show your face here now."
"Cannot you put a muzzle on this wild beast?" the squire said, turning to David.
"He has not spoken to you very respectfully," David replied slowly, "but there's no denying the truth of much that he has said."
"Indeed! Then let me tell you I am glad you will have to clear out of the parish."
"You would have been glad if I could have been cleared out of the parish before the last election," David said insinuatingly.
"I have never interfered with your politics since you came."
"You had no right to; but you've intimidated a great many others, as everybody in the division knows."
Sir John grew violently red again, and turned on his heel. He had meant to be conciliatory when he came, and to prove to David, if possible, that he had dealt by him very considerately, and even generously. But the tables had been turned on him unexpectedly, and he had been insulted to his face.
"This is the result of the Board schools," he reflected to himself angrily. "I always said that education would be the ruin of the working classes. They learn enough to make them impertinent and discontented, and then they are flung adrift to insult their betters and undermine our most sacred institutions. That young fellow will be a curse to society if he's allowed to go on. If I could have my way, I'd lock him up for a year. He's evidently infected his father with his notions, and he'll go on infecting other people." And he faced round again, with an angry look in his eyes.
"I'm sorry I took the trouble to come and speak to you at all," he said. "I did it in good part, and with the best intentions. I wanted to show you that my action is strictly within the law, and that in letting you remain till Michaelmas I was doing a generous thing. But clearly my good feeling and good intentions are thrown away."
"Good feelings are best shown in kind deeds," David said quietly. "If you had come to me and said, 'David, you are unfortunate, but as your loss is my gain, I won't insist on the pound of flesh the law allows me, but I'll let you have the farm for another eight or ten years on the ground rent alone, so that you can recoup yourself a little for all your expenditure' – if you had said that, sir, I should have believed in your good feelings. But since you have let the little place over my head, and turned me out of the house I built and paid for out of my own earnings, I think, sir, the less said about your good feelings the better."
"As you will," the squire replied stiffly, and in a hurt tone. "As you refuse to meet me in a friendly spirit, you must not be surprised if I insist upon my own to the full. My agent will see you about putting the place in proper repair. I notice that one of the sheds is slated only about half-way up, the remainder being covered with corrugated iron. You will see to it that the entire roof is properly slated. The stable door is also worn out, and will have to be replaced by a new one. I noticed, also, as I rode along, that several of the gates are sadly out of repair. These, by the terms of the lease, you will be required to make good. If I mistake not, also the windows and doors of the dwelling-house are in need of a coat of paint. I did not go inside, but my agent will go over the place and make an inventory of the things requiring to be done."
"He may make out twenty inventories if he likes," David said angrily, "but I shan't do a stitch more to the place than I've done already."
"Oh, well, that is not a point we need discuss," the squire said, with a cynical smile. "The man who attempts to defy the law soon discovers which is the stronger." And with a wave of the hand, he turned on his heel and strode away.
David stood still and stared after him, and after a few moments Ralph stole up to his side.
"Well,