Borderland : $b a country-town chronicleFothergill, Jessie
General
Borderland : $b a country-town chronicle
Fothergill, Jessie
English fiction -- 19th century
‘Does!’ echoed Michael, his attention at last thoroughly aroused; ‘when
you say “does” in that way, you mean “does” something wrong. What could
or should he do against his own sons? Have you any idea that he means to
do something unjust to us?’
‘No; oh no!’ A pause. ‘But it is an important thing. He told me he meant
to make this will, and I was determined he should not do it till I had
told you. Of course, he does not dream of leaving his property away from
us. Why should he, as you say?’
Michael, still peering into his microscope, was quite unaware that close
beside him a brother man stood, who had wrestled with spiritual
agencies, and had been defeated, during the last two minutes.
‘Our father has his faults, like most people,’ pursued Michael
reflectively; ‘but I never heard any one accuse him of injustice or
meanness. He wouldn’t be likely to leave his property to a charitable
institution, for instance?’
‘Of course not,’ said Gilbert, impatiently.
‘Well, then, I really don’t see that we need, or, indeed, can say
anything about it. In fact, I shall not,’ he added, looking up rather
suddenly at his brother, as if he had all at once seen the thing in a
new light, and arrived at a clear decision. ‘He is my father, and I
trust him. For Heaven’s sake, Gilbert, don’t get to distrusting people,
or you may make yourself miserable for ever. Take my advice, old fellow,
and let him alone.’
‘Yes,’ said Gilbert slowly. ‘I think that, as you say, it will be best
to leave him alone.’
He said scarcely anything more, and soon went away.
‘A pretty fool he is!’ he sneered to himself, when he was outside, as he
walked up and down the pavement in front of their house, smoking an
ante-prandial pipe. ‘Lord! what with “hearts,” and not distrusting any
one, and respecting the aged (who are usually fools), my brother Michael
is likely to lose the use of what little reason he has, it seems to me.
There never was an elephant with a denser head than he has. He has eyes
like a hawk’s, and mine are more like those of a boiled codfish; but I
think I know which pair can see farthest into a stone wall.’
The next morning Michael called at the Red Gables, and found his father
alone. He had been reflecting upon Gilbert’s words, it would seem, for
he presently said to Mr. Langstroth that he had heard he intended making
a new will. His father assented, and Michael observed, ‘If Gilbert had
not told me, sir, as if it had been a thing you rather wished me to
know, I should never have mentioned it, of course. But since he did, I
just want to say one thing. Whatever prosperity we have is due to
Gilbert. He, more than I, has been the eldest son. It is just due to
circumstances, I suppose, that it has been so; but I would not like it
to be forgotten.’
‘I do not forget what Gilbert has been, and is to me, nor the qualities
he has displayed,’ was Mr. Langstroth’s reply; and Michael went away
with his mind at ease, feeling that he had discharged his duty.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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