The Devil's GardenMaxwell, W. B. (William Babington)
General
The Devil's Garden
Maxwell, W. B. (William Babington)
Fiction
In this manner the full and happy years began to glide past them.
Their prosperity was now firmly established; the business grew; and
money came in so nicely that Mrs. Dale's mortgage had been paid off
and her two thousand pounds invested in gilt-edged securities, while
Dale hoped very shortly to discharge the remainder of his obligation
to Mr. Bates. They were, however, as economical as ever in their own
way of life, although they permitted themselves some license in the
generosity they had begun to practise with regard to their less
fortunate neighbors. But they found, as so many have found before
them, that in personal charity a little money goes a long way, and
that the claims of the very poor, although sometimes noisy, are rarely
excessive. Naturally they had to be careful for the sake of their
children, the security of whose future must be the first
consideration. Dale had promised the baby boy in his cradle "the
advantages of a lib'ral education," and he intended to act up to this
promise largely.
"It is my wish," he said, "that the two of them shall enjoy all that I
was myself deprived of."
New scraps were continually being pasted into the album, and it seemed
to Mavis that she ought to have bought a bigger one, if indeed any
albums were made of a size sufficiently big to contain all the
evidences of her husband's gratified ambition. Scarce a _Courier_ was
published without "a bit" in it that referred to Mr. Dale of Vine-Pits
Farm. He was really becoming quite a public character. He had been
called to the District Council, on its foundation, as a personage who
could not be left out. When the Otterford branch of the Fire Brigade
was instituted all agreed in inviting Mr. Dale to be its captain; and
four of the once sluggish yard-servants had immediately decided that
they must follow their master wherever he led, and had enrolled
themselves forthwith under his captaincy. He was a prominent figure at
the Old Manninglea corn market, known by sight in its streets, and had
recently been chosen as a member of its very select tradesmen's club.
This was an affair truly different from that vulgar boozing circle at
the Gauntlet Inn which he had denounced so contemptuously in old days.
The Manninglea Club was solid and respectable, a pleasant
meeting-place where he could take his midday meal after market
business in company with men of substance and repute. He was on
friendly terms with most of the farmers between the down country and
Rodhaven Harbor; and last, but not least, the gentry all passed the
time of day when they met him, and many would stop him on the
high-roads for a chat in the most polite and jolly fashion.
He confessed to Mavis that the sweetest thing in his success was the
feeling of being no longer disliked.
"Oh, Will, you never were disliked."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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