is not the banker's only policy. Make no mistake about that. But I am going into the house now. Just bring me the note-issue book, will you? I must see how we stand. I shall be in the dining-room."
But when Arthur went into the house a few minutes later he met Betty, who was crossing the hall. "Your father wanted this book," he said. "Will you take it to him?"
But Betty put her hands behind her back. "Why? Where are you going?"
"You have forgotten that it is Saturday. I am going home."
"Horrid Saturday! I thought that to-night, with father just back----"
"I wouldn't go? If I don't my mother will think that the skies have fallen. Besides, I am riding Clement's mare, and if I don't go, how is he to come back?"
"As you go at other times. On his feet."
"Ah, well, very soon I shall have a horse of my own. You'll see, Betty. We are all going to make our fortunes now."
"Fortunes?"--with disdain. "Whose?"
"Your father's for one."
"Silly! He's made his."
"Then yours--and mine, Betty. Yours and mine--and Clement's."
"I don't think he'll thank you."
"Then Rodd's. But, no, we'll not make Rodd's. We'll not make Rodd's, Betty."
"And why not Mr. Rodd's?"
"Never mind. We'll not make it," mischievously. "I wonder why you've got such a color, Betty?" And as she snatched the book from him and threatened him with it, "Good-bye till Monday. I'm late now, and it will be dark before I am out of the town."
With a gay nod he vanished through the door that led into the bank. She looked after him, the book in her hand. Her lip curled. "Rodd indeed!" she murmured. "Rodd? As if I should ever--oh, isn't he provoking!"
CHAPTER II
The village of Garthmyle, where Arthur had his home, lay in the lap of the border hills more than seven miles from Aldersbury, and night had veiled the landscape when he rode over the bridge and up the village street. The squat church-tower, firm and enduring as the hopes it embodied, rose four-square above the thatched dwellings, and some half-mile away the rider could discern or imagine the blur of trees that masked Garth, on its sister eminence. But the bounds of the valley, in the mouth of which the village nestled, were obscured by darkness; the steep limestone wall which fenced it on one side and the more distant wooded hills that sloped gently to it on the other were alike hidden. It was only when Arthur had passed through the hamlet, where all doors were closed against the chill of a January night, and he had ridden a few paces down the hillock, that the lights of the Cottage broke upon his view. Many a time had they, friendly beacons of home and rest, greeted him at that point.
Not that Arthur saw them as beacons, for at no time was he much given to sentiment. His outlook on life was too direct and vivid for that, and to-day in particular his mind was teeming with more practical thoughts, with hopes and plans and calculations. But the lights meant that a dull ride over a rough road was at an end, and so far they gave him pleasure. He opened the gate and rode round to the stable, gave up the horse to Pugh, the man-of-all-work, and made his way into the house.
He entered upon a scene as cheerful as any lights shining on weary traveller could promise. In a fair-sized room a clear grate held a coal fire, the flames of which danced on the red-papered walls. A kettle bubbled on the hob, a tea-tray gleamed on the table, and between the two a lady and gentleman sat, eating crumpets; the lady with much elegance and a napkin spread over her lavender silk dress, the gentleman in a green cutaway coat with basket buttons--a coat that ill concealed the splashed gaiters for which he had more than once asked pardon.
But fair as things looked on the surface, all was not perfect even in this pleasant interior. The lady held herself stiffly, and her eyes rested rather more often than was courteous on the spatter-dashes. Secretly she thought her company not good enough for her, while the gentleman was frankly bored. Neither was finding the other as congenial as a first glance suggested, and it would have been hard to say which found Arthur's entrance the more welcome interruption.
"Hallo, mother!" he said, stooping carelessly to kiss her. "Hallo, Clement."
"My dear Arthur!" the lady cried, the lappets of her cap shaking as she embraced him. "How late you are! That horrid bank! I am sure that some day you will be robbed and murdered on your way home!"
"I! No, mother. I don't bring the money, more's the pity! I am late, am I? The worse for Clement, who has to ride home. But I have been doing your work, my lad, so you mustn't grumble. What did you get?"
"A brace and a wood-pigeon. Has my father come?"
"Yes, he has come, and I am afraid has a wigging in store for you. But--a brace and a wood-pigeon? Lord, man," with a little contempt in his tone, "what do you do with your gun all day? Why, Acherley told me that in that rough between the two fallows above the brook----"
"Oh, Arthur," Mrs. Bourdillon interposed, "never mind that!" She had condescended sufficiently, she thought, and wished to hear no more of Clement Ovington's doings. "I've something more important to tell you, much more important. I've had a shock, a dreadful shock to-day."
She was a faded lady, rather foolish than wise, and very elegant: one who made the most of such troubles as she had, and the opening her son now heard was one which he had heard often before.
"What's the matter now, mother?" he asked, stooping to warm his hands.
"Your uncle has been here."
"Well, that's no new thing."
"But he has behaved dreadfully, perfectly dreadfully to me."
"I don't know that that is new, either."
"He began again about your refusal to take Orders, and your going into that dreadful bank instead."
Arthur shrugged his shoulders. "That's one for you, Clement."
"Oh, that wasn't the half," the lady continued, unbending. "He said, there was the living, three hundred and fifty a year, and old Mr. Trubshaw seventy-eight. And he'd have to sell it and put in a stranger and have quarrels about tithes. He stood there with his great stick in his hand and his eyes glaring at me like an angry cat's, and scolded me till I didn't know whether I stood on my head or my heels. He wanted to know where you got your low tastes from."
"There you are again, Clement!"
"And your wish to go into trade, and I answered him quite sharp that you didn't get them from me; as for Mr. Bourdillon's grandfather, who had the plantations in Jamaica, it wasn't the same at all, as everybody knows and agrees that nothing is genteeler than the West Indies with black men to do the work!"
"You confounded him there, mother, I'm sure. But as we have heard something like this before, and Clement is not much interested, if that is all----"
"Oh,
