CHAPTER III

Now as Mrs. Dodd remarked to Johnson the postmaster, when she lost her temper over the ever-recurring argument regarding the supremacy of the family.

"Langbarra! Langbarra without t' de Renegils? Why folk might as well have t' pot without t' porridge! What, there's been de Renegils ever since Langbarra was a spot at a'! What do south-country radicals such as thee want coming into Langbarra to insult them as hes belonged to t' country afore London was ever thought on?"

When Johnson, panting for reform, unwisely suggested that Langbarrow was behind the times, Mrs. Dodd retorted readily:

"Now, my lad! Thoo's only young yet! Stick to thy letter bags! Thoo'se likely manage them a great deal better nor other folks' business! Thoo'll not beat t' folk i' these parts for managers, and thoo'll never skift t' old family! T' farmers and t' family will do a deal better for Langbarra by all accounts, nor your grand fellers from t' south, as come to play at farming with their pockets brossen with brass, and their heads brossen with nowt! A deal of folk has heard tell as one acre of Langbarra, with a Langbarra head to mind it, is worth a dozen in t' south with all their improvements thrown into t' weighin' scale!"

Mrs. Dodd having supplemented her purchase of three penny stamps by a quarter of peppermint, sold

extra strong," lifted up the skirt of her dress boldly, tucked away her purchases in her petticoat pocket, and closed the interview. As she clumped down the pebble-paved walk she made quite unnecessary noise with her heavy clogs, which she had put on because the weather was ter'ble soft." She felt her own dignity, and that of the whole family, in danger, if she waited for more.

Sir Alan and Lady de Renegil lived at Langbarrow Hall, situated a mile or so up the Langbarrow valley, standing at right angles to the White Scar, which towered upward to the left, and the front of the house looked down the luxuriant valley toward the sands of the Dudness estuary, and the moorlands beyond.

Langbarrow farms and houses were built for strength and security rather than for show, and the Hall had ever been of modest pretensions, consisting principally of a small dwelling-house, with very thick walls and very small windows, and an old pele tower, built probably by a certain Sir Roland de Renegil in days of past influence and glory.

Sir Roland only lived now as the family ghost, who wandered on the Scar, or steered his phantom boat up the bay when the tide rolled high. Tradition said that inasmuch as Sir Roland was drowned while stealing fish from the bay, the fishing rights belonging to the monks of Conishead Priory, the Priory bells could be heard tolling above the Scar whenever disaster threatened the family.

However that might be, Sir Roland managed to build such a tower as defied time and weather, built after that rough pattern which told of days when man mastered his brother by physical strength rather than by subtilty of brain, and when it was essential to have some place of

safety into which not only the family but the cattle might resort for security from the lawless men of a lawless time.

Sir Alan's father, Sir Walter, had been seized with an ambition to build up a house worthy of the old family of which he was the head.

Word had passed round the world that the conventional standard should be advanced, and Sir Walter was not one to stand his ground against any mandate from his own class.

It offended his notions of what was fitting, that he and his should retain as their dwelling a building which but for the great pele tower, was little better than a superior farmhouse.

Therefore he determined to spend the abundant capital accumulated during bygone years of simplicity and comfort, in building a Hall fitted with all the modern conveniences essential to the position of an up-to-date baronet.

But the inhabitants of the district were much exercised in their minds regarding the new developments.

Some were proud that Langbarrow should participate in the century's advances; but others, like Mrs. Dodd, wondered "why t' old family should throw away good brass, as was bad enough to get hold of, in such like!" They were inclined to think that "No good would come of it." And they were perhaps justified in their prophecies when first the baronet's wife died, and then cancer, that scourge of vigorous middle age, cut short Sir Walter's days, and he was compelled to leave the greater part of his fortune to Alan, with earnest instructions to carry out plans already carefully arranged.

Sir Alan, greatly distressed over his father's sufferings and premature death, had under the immediate im

pulse, both inwardly and outwardly vowed to carry out his wishes, so the valley still looked on as the work proceeded.

Sir Alan had been born about a century too late. He was never truly interested in the mansion-building enterprise; for he was far happier in his stables, or walking the country with his gun under his arm, or satisfying himself regarding the points of his innumerable dogs, and hounds, and horses, than in considering architectural devices, or planning for life on a more ambitious pattern.

What did the size of his house matter? His position was such that it required no artificial elevation. Sir Alan was Sir Alan. What did it matter that every cranny of the old place was crowded with relics, armor, pictures, curiosities, with histories long forgotten. Would they look better in a modern mansion-spread out for the broad stare of a curious upstart rabble?

Sir Alan took his position as landowner seriously, and farmed with a keen instinct. He went in for prize stock himself, and improved that of the valley with lavish neighborliness. He knew the capabilities of every cover, and led the hunt over the Great White Scar with his own hounds and after his own deer. He sat comfortably in the farmers' kitchens, joked with the men, and described at length and in minute detail shooting achievements of long-past years. Book learning was his abhorrence, and bodily skill in men, beauty in women, and breeding in animals were his standards of excellence. He lavished prizes on the youngsters at the Langbarrow sports, but subscribed to the schools with a grunt of disapprobation.

For long he was perfectly satisfied with a bachelor existence, and his brother Simon was some years ahead

of him in settling for life by marriage with Miss Louisa Lessington, daughter of a north-country ironmaster.

Miss Lessington rejoiced in having captured for herself a husband of undoubted pedigree, though she was far from despising the wealth and importance of her own family.

From childhood she had been surrounded by relations who walked in all the freshly painted glory of ironmaster princedom, and though brought up in a middle-class atmosphere of conventional piety, Mrs. Simon worshiped the god of the Right Thing, rather than the God of Right.

As a girl, she had felt that to be a Miss Lessington of Lessingborough was to enfold glory in her very arms— but after marriage naturally the supremely important object in life was to secure the aggrandizement of Mrs. Simon de Renegil.

At the time of Alan's marriage, Simon and his wife were living at Netherbeck, a small property adjoining the Langbarrow estates, over on the far side of Beethnot, a low fell which ran some short distance on the west of the valley.

The size of the house was a continual grief to Mrs. Simon, and considering the wealth she possessed of her own, and the fact that her husband was coining money, not only as a banker in Dudness, but also in connection with Mr. Hugh Denton, she considered it hard that Simon declined either to build or move.

"He's ter❜ble cautious-and he's ter'ble near-is Mr. Simon," said Langbarrow, diving into the secrets of all its households.

Poor Sir Alan, committed to the distasteful task of mansion building, threw himself upon the compassion of his more ambitious brother.