BORN 
 FOOL
 
 THE 
 
 BORN FOOL 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN WALTER BYRD 
 
 NEW XSJr YORK 
 GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 
 
 . f * ' m f Bin Y~ ***&
 
 PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
 
 UNIV. OF CALIF. LIBRARY. LOS ANGEtES 
 
 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 2126035
 
 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 CHAPTEK I 
 
 THE small spot of sunlight, a perfect circle on the 
 church wall, was itself a little sun. It used to glow 
 there so friendly ; and then sometimes it would begin fading, 
 changing, moving slowly along, suddenly to melt and vanish. 
 The child Kirk would remain gazing at the wall, waiting for 
 the small disc of hot sunlight to return and look back at him. 
 
 To him this place was very solemn filled with holiness; 
 and his mother knelt and prayed beside him at times, while 
 he sat still. But on occasions, especially upon Good Friday, 
 his knees had felt a bruised itchiness long before the end of 
 those prayers he tried to understand. 
 
 But he loved much to come here with Mary, his sister, and 
 his mother, to listen with secret child's passion to the organ; 
 to watch his elder brother, an acolyte, holding the incense- 
 boat ; and when the organ stopped playing he looked for the 
 small circle to come glowing on the wall. The fine shaft of 
 sunlight came through an old bullet-hole high up in the dark 
 crimson-purple window. Turning right round one day, Kirk 
 had discovered it a dazzling spot. The drifting incense 
 floated through the long fine rod of light, and the motes of 
 the air twinkled in it like the dust of gold in lapis lazuli. 
 The brilliant beam seemed to end in the air, and be pointing 
 to the warm spot upon the wall. While the disc of sunlight 
 remained, the child gazed on it and vividly dreamed. He 
 called up oftenest the little troll-man, read of in the worn 
 leather-backed fairy book, and seen in those tiny olden etch- 
 
 7
 
 8 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 ings full of the magical, of "once upon a time" where the 
 wee shepherd-dwarf leaps, doubled up and laughing, into the 
 flock of cloud-sheep that rest reflected far below in the calm 
 lake. Kirk would dream on strangely and deliciously, until 
 the glowing spot slowly changed and moved before it vanished. 
 
 Each Sunday, after his mother had received the Holy 
 Sacrament she prayed there, kneeling upright beside him. 
 And now the organ played sweetly, always the same anthem ; 
 the blending voices joined in, and filled the child with rap- 
 ture. The heavenly sound ascended and ascended into the 
 dim height, filling the air with clear echoings. 
 
 At these moments of the Eucharistic celebration, profound 
 reverence awakened in the child. 
 
 Though he but dimly understood the rite he felt that it was 
 deeply mystical and very holy. 
 
 Encompassing himself surcharging the lofty, shadowy, 
 and beautiful interior of the building he conceived a host 
 of bright forms: angelic, lovely, invisible: whose golden au- 
 reola illumined specially his mother. 
 
 The acolyte brought the censer before the altar steps, and 
 on the shortened chains swung the curious vessel rather quick- 
 ly, that the charcoal might be glowing hot. Of finest brass- 
 work, the turreted vase was ancient in form, Assyrian, less 
 familiar than even the Egyptian. It was like those in the 
 pictures of the Temple of David in priestly robes those 
 scenes that dwelt strongly in the child's imagination. The 
 deacon in white vestments turned to the acolyte. He took 
 the censer, now hanging low from the lengthened chains. 
 The celebrant, clothed with gold and scarlet chasuble, slowly 
 turned and faced the kneeling congregation. The scarlet 
 showed in rich folds ; it typified the Blood shed for us ; the 
 gold, Kirk knew, symbolised Truth, and the white silk showed 
 Purity. 
 
 As the deacon moved his hands, Kirk watched the strange 
 lid travel up the chains. Then the acolyte, coming forward, 
 reverently and with both hands presented the incense-boat
 
 THE BORN" FOOL 9 
 
 to the celebrant, who took up the brazen spoon and four times 
 shook the precious spices upon the cup of charcoal. The white 
 cloud instantly ascended. The lid was lowered by the deacon. 
 And now from him the celebrant took the smoking vessel, to 
 swing it to and fro, then over and over, in measured sweeps 
 before the altar. The growing cloud ascended slowly; the 
 anthem, too, ascended in ecstatic sweet crescendo: 
 
 "Incense, and a pure offering 1 , Lord, to Thee we bring, 
 And when the cloud covers the mercy-seat, 
 Look down upon Thy people, and speak peace, speak peace . . ." 
 
 The incense filled the whole church with a dim haze and 
 with its own unique scent. This ever was the most sacred time 
 of ministration. Expectantly, the boy of eight years watched 
 his mother as she knelt upright, very graceful and slender 
 her eyes shut, the long beautiful fingers enlaced on her bosom. 
 The fragile ornaments trembled upon her hat; and then, 
 sometimes as on to-day she spoke with a clear thrilling 
 voice, beautifully cadenced ; she was gifted with prophecy ; it 
 was the Holy Ghost speaking through the chosen one. The 
 sweet andante of the organ died almost away that she might 
 be heard. Kirk knew what this was ; he had asked his mother 
 many times about these things. He could see the deacon 
 quickly writing down her words. In. the still church his 
 mother's beautiful voice came back from the high roof like a 
 silver bell rung low and softly. The fourfold company of 
 ministers sat moveless in the chancel. Kirk also knelt down 
 close beside her, and shut his eyes. Virtue seemed to come 
 from the mother to the child, as he leaned himself a little, 
 gently and reverently, to touch her. 
 
 Joyously the Te Deum ended the service. Afterwards, on 
 to-day, as usual, many people spoke quietly with the Clintons, 
 or they smiled and bowed from distant pews. Kirk went 
 home with his mother and his sedate self-possessed little 
 sister. They walked through the delightful sunshine in the 
 wide roads and avenues of Mead Wells. The way was filled
 
 10 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 with people returning from other churches. Flashing car- 
 riages drawn by prancing horses were going slowly past, and 
 a wonderful number of old ladies were gliding home in Bath- 
 chairs. 
 
 Kirk's father was a civil engineer; and in the Apostolic 
 Church he was a lay-evangelist. At this time he was not 
 abroad, and presently he would return home from the vestries. 
 Ted, two years the senior of Kirk, would come with- him. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton and her two younger children now came to a 
 quiet road. The old and heavy garden walls on either side 
 only now and then showed gates. The houses mostly were 
 hidden by big trees. These grew far out over the secluding 
 walls, and thus deeply shaded the pathways ; then, too, there 
 were large trees here and there growing at the edges of the 
 roadway, with flat iron grating round their boles to let the 
 roots be watered. The road curved up, steeper and steeper, 
 till a dark high wood seemed to close the distant end. 
 
 Dense growths of lilac, laburnum, acacia, and old hawthorn 
 leaned over these walls in many places ; you could smell their 
 fragrance as you walked; and to-day little twirling cater- 
 pillars hung down on their gossamer threads and swung into 
 Kirk's face. 
 
 The Clintons stopped outside a high and solid double-gate. 
 Kirk, exercising a privilege of which he was jealous, at once 
 stretched up and with gloved hands took hold of the twisted 
 iron ring, made an effort, and opened the smaller gate. "Ben- 
 cleuch Lodge" in gilded letters was the name on the larger 
 leaf. From inside the gates a long gravel drive that went 
 curving through a delightful seclusion, led to the house. 
 Vistas of lawns and flowers showed beyond the high shrub- 
 beried mounds. A stately cedar tree spread out halfway down 
 the garden, and through this dark mass, and beneath the 
 thick old hawthorns, one caught the gleam of a white French- 
 looking house. A great Burgundy pear tree, unprunable as 
 an elm, rose high near the house and hid all the right-hand 
 gables.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 11 
 
 Old, irregular, and very high walls, part of yellow stone, 
 part of old white-jointed red brickwork, enclosed this ancient 
 home and gardens. In many parts these thick and crumbling 
 walls were covered or canopied with deep ivy, and against 
 the sunny spaces were trained apricot and greengage trees, 
 all very neatly spread out and fastened to the walls by dozens 
 of bits of white leather. 
 
 The moment Kirk, Mrs. Clinton and her little daughter 
 had entered this place of peace, Mary stopped, shook back 
 her fine jetty curls, put her face up to a rose of an almost 
 velvet-black damask and exclaimed vivaciously 
 
 "Oh, mother! Do let us gather father's rose before the 
 errand boys steal it!" 
 
 Mrs. Clinton, smiling a little to herself, gave her pink par- 
 asol to Kirk, then gently severed the stalk and put the dark 
 rose in Mary's shapely little hand.
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 IN these three children Kirk, his elder brother Ted, and 
 Mary lived a strong sense of demarcation. Between 
 themselves they had drawn gradually a suzerainty over every 
 tree and mound and every flower-bed and shrubbery. Kirk 
 had settled all the final boundaries; and when their mother 
 knew, she had left things alone, excepting only when dispute 
 arose. The shady summer-house belonged to Mary. It smelt 
 green and woody, and stood beneath the sweeping cedar in a 
 dark angle of the walls, where, unexpectedly, the garden 
 widened. These children were all minutely "on their hon- 
 our." Neither boy went in the summer-house without first 
 asking permission of his little sister. 
 
 The old damask rose-tree near the gates had been named 
 "Father's tree" ; for errand-boys and others who found them- 
 selves unobserved so far from the house yearly pillaged 
 the rich blooms, and the children very naively had bestowed 
 this rose-tree on their father. 
 
 Mary had rights also over two of those tempting mounds, 
 and these were called "Mary's rockeries." Really, they were 
 two neighbouring islands of hidden ruddy soil standing up 
 in a sea of smooth lawn, and both were densely grown 
 with Indian currants, old lilacs, small scented beam-trees, 
 cherry-trees, and yellow rhododendrons. But one could not 
 see beneath them for their high, thick borders, for each 
 mound had a rich belt of pampas-grass and purple iris, man- 
 drake and peonies, broom bushes, dwarf white cabbage-roses, 
 and big tiger-lilies that yellowed your nose with pollen when 
 you smelt them. 
 
 In summer, after creeping in through the border, to sit 
 quite hidden away in the scented hollow spaces on these 
 
 12
 
 THE BORN FOOL 13 
 
 mounds leaf-roofed and patterned beneath by sunflecks 
 was halcyon to Kirk. Under the bushes the dry red ground 
 of the mounds was covered with dead needles, fallen from the 
 cedar; and beneath the thick roof of leaves there were such 
 woody smells, and it was so dark and shady and secret. The 
 dead cedar-needles stuck in Kirk's guernsey and stockings. 
 If he turned up a stone the rusty-hued centipedes began run- 
 ning off, and the wood-lice all curled up quickly into little 
 balls. Curled up thus, Kirk had blown them through his pea- 
 shooter at Mary. He said it did not hurt them because they 
 fell in the grass. 
 
 Kirk was always setting himself laws, and persuading or 
 impressing the others to conform to them. Mary allowed 
 him to "make mud" in the hole in her summer-house table. 
 This table was really the top of a sycamore trunk, sawn off 
 years ago and now standing up through the middle of the floor. 
 The boards had been cut and fitted round the big trunk where 
 it went down into the ground. In the flat-topped centre a 
 hole had rotted out, and with his knife Kirk had dug it larger. 
 He had ordained to Ted "No going in at the door except 
 Mary." 
 
 So, for weeks, the little brothers went arduously in and out 
 through a very small window high up, it seemed to them 
 in the faded blue wooden sides. First they mounted in turn 
 on the topmost of two giant flower-pots that stood inverted one 
 on the other like clowns' hats. Balancing themselves on this 
 pedestal, they reached up for the window bottom, then hauled 
 themselves up, squeezed through, and, with spread feet in the 
 window corners, let themselves down, one outstretched hand 
 on the table beneath, the other grasping a big nail not far 
 down inside. To get back one knelt on the table, walked 
 one's feet heels first up to the window, felt for the nail with 
 one hand, and so shuffled out backwards. The clay-mud, 
 after being mixed to a proper stiffness, was by Kirk made 
 into dozens of queer shapes. As he made them he gave each
 
 14 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 a strange name, so strange indeed that by next day he could 
 remember but few: and often he would rename them. 
 
 These fantastic part-human-animal-vegetable shapes fasci- 
 nated Ted and Mary, caused odd surmise in his mother, and 
 mystified his father. Mr. Clinton twice stood and gazed long 
 at them in silence, and went away without speaking. Mary 
 like best the "kindybo," and for her Kirk made many vari- 
 ations. It was a sort of long bull on six legs, and there were 
 certain fixed rules about the form of a true "kindybo." The 
 left-side legs were running backward, the right-side were 
 running forward. It always had a slanting skyward face 
 that smiled idiotically. The two thin horns always pointed 
 straight up. Kirk said that no matter how it moved its head 
 the horns always pointed quite straight up. "Grass-hair" 
 grew down its back, for kindyboes were self-supporting, they 
 lived always on each other's grass-hair. It grew very fast. 
 They ate it from each other's backs at night, walking round 
 and round in pairs first one way, then the other way. This 
 explained their legs. They used only one set of legs at a time. 
 Kirk was sure he had seen kindyboes they had come up to 
 his bedside while he lay awake. They were quite black. They 
 had kind faces and seemed "bo-ish" and that was why they 
 were called "kindyboes." At night they could easily wade up 
 a strong slope of wind, and they could go through glass when 
 they liked. They were only as big as dachshunds, and their 
 little velvety feet made no noise. They were very kind, and 
 he liked them to come in, but if you moved they went invis- 
 ible, they were so timid. 
 
 All the clay forms when dry were destined to be baked. 
 Cook, however, was often adamant, and made much disap- 
 pointment of purpose. But when Kirk succeeded he took 
 all the hardened shapes, and with much care and thought 
 distributed them in the garden, in rockeries and trees, in 
 "places they like." 
 
 Kirk loved to steal into the high dark shrubbery that over- 
 hung the road, to listen to the string band which played
 
 THE BORN FOOL 15 
 
 sometimes at evening before going-to-bed-time. When the 
 scented red hawthorns were out and the evening moths flut- 
 tered around him, in the laburnums and lilac, this music 
 ravished him. 
 
 His mother brought from Paris a curious ivory mannikin, 
 whose legs and arms moved about to any posture ; it had the 
 quaint shape, the magical form and smile of those wonderful 
 tiny people Rumpelstiltsken, and the little talismanic 
 dwarfs who loved and cared for Snowdrop. Mrs. Clinton 
 gave it to Kirk. He conceived affection for this small elfin 
 creature, endowed him with life, did not loose him in sleep, 
 carried him about, and on bright summer days set him in 
 the slenderest forks among the blossoms of the great bushes. 
 The child, in his rich imagination, himself also sat in the 
 tree-tops, whispering among the leaves and sunlight, among 
 the highest, lightest, slow-swaying boughs, and the little 
 strange, kind mannikin seemed always to smile back at him 
 as though quite alive. Kirk named him "Tickki." 
 
 Fragrant jessamine on green-painted horizontal trellises 
 covered one entire side of the house and surrounded the tall 
 French windows. One morning Kirk had balanced "Tickki" 
 astride a gently inquiring spray of jessamine that see-sawed 
 up and down. In dreamy delight Kirk watched his elf, but 
 slowly turning his face to the open window he met his 
 mother's gaze. Her expression was so full of tenderness 
 that she appeared to him like an angel. For a moment or two 
 he looked back into her eyes with all his power of love ; their 
 souls mingled ; it was too great for him ; he turned and moved 
 on, spellbound and overcome. 
 
 Some of the fruit trees were very old, yet they bore abun- 
 dantly, year after year. The ancient gardener pruned them, 
 and filled the holes in the rough apricot-wood with clay, which 
 dried to a pale yellow-red. Sometimes with slow skill he 
 grafted a rose or two, but mostly old Ned spent his time in the 
 greenhouses, or he was weeding and mowing, attending to the
 
 16 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 poultry, or at work in the kitchen garden. A grandson, 
 strange, industrious and silent, helped old Ned. 
 
 The many, many beds of this children's paradise were 
 large circles and crescents of old standing ; highly mounded, 
 full of annuals and self-seeding flowers. Ned thinned them 
 out a little in the spring and cleared them up in the autumn, 
 but from March to October they remained untouched and 
 free growing. Agnes Clinton taught her children the names 
 of all the flowers, and they knew each one lupins and colum- 
 bines, hollyhocks and tiger-lilies, white and red foxgloves, 
 gilly-flowers, and tall yellow moth-mullein that grows wild 
 in the South but here the numberless spires of moth-mullein 
 bent over a sweet low jungle of mignonette and love-in-a-mist, 
 lush-creeping moneywort, regal carnations, and little groves 
 of clove-scented white pinks. 
 
 All the tall flowers and the immense clumps of pampas 
 grass and peonies made charming thickets which filled the 
 great garden with hidden glades, where the child Kirk lurked 
 and dreamed for hours through the rapt moods that often 
 folded him. 
 
 But when the wind blew and small bright clouds raced over 
 the azure sky, then great enterprise filled him. He dug tun- 
 nels with his knife and trowel, but mostly with his hands ; he 
 worked feverishly in the summer-house, or climbed into the 
 lead trough between the wood-house and the stables. There 
 he would hammer vigorously, poke about industriously, and 
 make strong belief he was "engineering," while the small 
 dainty Mary waited below, duly impressed and patient for 
 his return. 
 
 All imaginative statements made by the children began 
 with the word "pretend" : thus they were not untruthful. The 
 "tend" became with Ted, Kirk, and Mary an unconscious and 
 invariable habit. 
 
 Nowhere showed in this garden the naked raked earth 
 always so crude. Here it was quite covered by a soft growth 
 of lowly green that hid white violets, or by patches and
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 17 
 
 patches of the grey, old-fashioned woolly-wound-wort, sleek 
 as a hare's foot, and rarely seen in gardens of to-day. The 
 boys often pulled these thick soft leaves to stroke and tickle 
 Mary's cheeks, and even their mother's when they caught her 
 in the girlish humour that so delighted them. Sometimes a 
 tame rabbit, released on the lawns and thoughtlessly un- 
 watched, would disappear for days and quickly grow semi- 
 wild. Quite unawares, forgotten flowers would bloom and be 
 discovered by the children. Never would Kirk forget the 
 sweet changes in the garden each time the family returned 
 after two months spent by the thunderous rolling of the far 
 Welsh shore. 
 
 There was a law honourably kept as to fruit. All "wind- 
 falls" were free to those who first found them ; but one could 
 not set foot off gravel or grass to get the prize if it lay in a 
 flower-bed. So each child had a kitchen spoon tied to a long 
 stick. This was Kirk's invention ; his father had noticed the 
 device, and said to the mother in his terse way 
 
 "The boy's clever !" 
 
 On summer mornings, having dressed at a great rate long 
 before breakfast out rushed the children. If shoes were not 
 fully laced it was unfair and honour was soiled, but this 
 rarely happened only once or twice, when Mary, handi- 
 capped by a longer toilet, shorter legs, and the wiles of her 
 sex, had been found guilty, warned, and been duly forgiven 
 by "the boys." 
 
 Stick-spoons in hand, they raced, eager, shouting and laugh- 
 ing, from tree to tree, while thrushes and blackbirds went 
 hop-hopping off the lawns to hide among the flowers, or they 
 flicked away and dived from sight beneath the stiff box bor- 
 ders. The view hallo came first a wild rush round. Then 
 the children peered and searched carefully beneath the old 
 box borders grown higher than the candytufts. Next they 
 sought amid those long and flowery thickets from which rose 
 the red and yellow walls, scooping and reaching for a heavy 
 plum, a wasp-eaten Victoria, a Magnum bonum, a luscious
 
 18 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 greengage, or perchance a Burgundy pear gone greenish- 
 yellow with a grub-hole in it. In October they found only 
 the immense William pears that fell among the dying straw- 
 berry leaves. 
 
 The old garden was inexhaustible of experience and joy, 
 and by stealth Kirk did much adventurous climbing in the 
 big trees, where he was quite hidden. Many times he had 
 gathered the purple berries of the Indian currants, to stew 
 them in a "dear little jar," so small a one that his affection 
 was evoked. The dark juice looked rich and smelt very good, 
 but no one could say if it were or were not poisonous. Each 
 time, after a longing hesitation, Kirk emptied the wee jar 
 untasted. 
 
 With mother's sanction that the wont was not cruel, they 
 kept some insects in glass jars which they half filled with 
 earth or suitable material for habitat. There was one little 
 patch of soil, warm and dry beside the garden wall, where no 
 flowers grew: this was owing to a green-house furnace in 
 some one's garden over the wall. In this miniature desert 
 made by the heated brickwork, the black ants crowded all 
 day in and out of their holes; but Ted had caught and now 
 kept some of these insects in a jar of dry soil. Kirk early had 
 named the ants when he was almost a baby and on a visit to 
 his grandparents at far-away Tarbock near the wonderful 
 ships and Eastham oak woods. The black ants were "common 
 daddy-pigs." Then there were "French daddy-pigs" dark 
 slender green beetles with rusty spots on them and lastly, 
 "golden daddy-pigs," which were the bright sun-beetles, cap- 
 tured on brilliant days as they ran at speed across the hot 
 drive. 
 
 Kirk dearly loved a mystery and a little solitude. He made 
 "secret chambers," and loved to pique the others' curiosity. 
 Kneeling, watching, and poring over the ants in the barren 
 place by the wall, he espied one day a tawny glint of flame 
 inside a deep crevice of the brickwork. This indeed was a
 
 THE BORN FOOL 19 
 
 discovery. He ran to the lilac shrubbery, took out a fine 
 straight dead stem from the dense sheaf near the ground, 
 raced back and carefully pushed the dry stem into the crack. 
 He held the twig a few seconds, then drew it forth only half 
 as long, the end glowing red and smelling sweet of burnt 
 wood. Having found Mary and Ted doing their little gar- 
 dens, the discoverer danced about, crying in a joyous sing- 
 song, "I've; found some thing !" 
 
 No ! no ! He would not tell them more. He chose a place 
 on the lawn near the fiery chink, but where they would fail 
 to see it, and made them kneel and close their eyes. 
 
 "On your honour ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes," they both eagerly promised. 
 
 He went to the crevice, while they remained faithfully in 
 position, and then running back strategically round several 
 islands of tall flowers, he came before them and cried, 
 "Look!" He waved the glowing twig in bright red circles. 
 
 "Oh! I shall tell mother you have matches, Kirk," ex- 
 claimed Mary, jumping up and very shocked. 
 
 "No, I've not ; no, I've not !" laughed Kirk. 
 
 "On your honour?" demanded his sister; and was duly 
 satisfied. She was the youngest, but already held herself 
 somewhat responsible for "the boys." 
 
 "Kneel again!" cried Kirk. 
 
 This time he slipped his shoes off, came up stealthily be- 
 hind them, and mischievously touched Ted's bare leg with 
 the hot end; then he dodged and dodged and dodged, but 
 tripped himself, and Ted, much heavier, sat astride him. 
 
 "All right, I'll show you," bargained Kirk very breathless, 
 and Mary always his ally was pulling at Ted and threat- 
 ening most fiercely, "I shall tell mother if you hurt him, 
 Ted !" Released on bargain, Kirk jumped up and, getting 
 well away, shouted casuistically, "To-morrow!" He kept the 
 precious secret till next afternoon, then all three spent an 
 absorbed hour, boring holes with a red-hot skewer through 
 corks and other things. This was a useful discovery, and
 
 20 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 saved Kirk much kitchen-trouble, for he was so often urgently 
 wanting to bore holes through something or other. 
 
 "Red Admirals" and "Painted Ladies" floated down to 
 settle on the laurel leaves, but oftenest on the gravel drive 
 where it was hot and dry. The first time Kirk saw one 
 opening and shutting its wings he held his breath, as- 
 tounded at the vivid beauty of the sudden visitant. He 
 backed carefully away, then rushed to the house, and burst 
 in, calling 
 
 "Mother ! mother ! come and look ! please come and look ! 
 Such a butterfly!" 
 
 He took her hand persuasively. "Quick! quick! mother; 
 do come before it goes ; do come now, mother dear!" 
 
 Mary came too, and the children laughed as they ran, 
 looking up. 
 
 "Oh, how funny! Mother's running!" 
 
 They each had a hand. Their mother too laughed delight- 
 fully. 
 
 "Stop now, please, mother, or it will be frightened," said 
 Kirk, putting his hand round his mother to pull Mary's 
 short petticoat, and they gently approached. There it was! 
 and gave a half -spin as they looked. 
 
 "What kind is it, mother ?" whispered the boy. 
 
 "An Admiral, I think. No, a Painted Lady. What, a 
 splendid beauty!" 
 
 Kirk took off his straw hat 
 
 "No, do not catch it, dear; that would be cruel. It loves 
 to be free and dance through the sunshine ; it's a very tender 
 little creature." 
 
 "There it goes!" cried Mary. Up! up! it went, and sud- 
 denly over the ivy and was gone. 
 
 The boy ran in and brought out a light hat for his mother, 
 and they went slowly round the garden. She would not tell 
 them a fairy tale just then, but they were allowed to gather
 
 THE BORN FOOL 21 
 
 some long bunches of white desert currants and one green- 
 gage apiece. 
 
 Because of that dear garden: certain flowers the jessa- 
 mine, red hawthorn, lilacs ; faint-scented and crimson peonies, 
 blooming on the fine cared-for grass at the verges of lawns 
 these ever afterwards awoke and received tender regard from 
 Kirk. Their scents were destined to awake old long-silent 
 thoughts, remote, pure and sunny memories, exquisite yearn- 
 ings that gave rapture and pain.
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 STUART CLINTON'S mother was proud of her direct 
 descent from the dark line of Douglas. She too was 
 dark-eyed, black-haired, passionate, fiery, fanatical, very 
 handsome, and typical of the women of her race. But, unlike 
 her ancestors, she had not been a Roman Catholic. She mar- 
 ried into a Midland family whose members had tradition of 
 French blood. Kirk was a favourite with his grandmother, 
 he was her "wee rat," but she died suddenly when he was five 
 years old. Her husband died one year later. 
 
 Generations of young Mrs. Clinton's ancestors the Ath- 
 orpes were buried in and round two old churches near Shap- 
 wick. Her father, long dead, had been a great sportsman : a 
 violent, open, over-generous man. He had the blue eyes, 
 large stature, and light auburn hair that go so often with that 
 temperament. During his later years he had lost on the 
 race-course most of his fortune. The red glint in Kirk's dark 
 curly hair came from this maternal grandfather. His wife, 
 whom he had loved fixedly and passionately from her girl- 
 hood, remained throughout her life devoted to him, often 
 grieved by him, always forgiving him. She outlived her 
 husband by many years. Their second child, Agnes, was 
 Kirk's mother. It was now twelve years since the Clintons 
 and the Athorpes had first made acquaintance. Old Mr. 
 Clinton and his son were then constructing western railways 
 in Somerset and Devon. Young Stuart Kirk's father to be 
 and who was the image of his mother fell in love with this 
 slim, gentle and clever girl, Miss Athorpe. He had all too 
 impetuously and confidently proposed, and had been quietly 
 but sweetly refused. He took this so greatly to heart that 
 
 22
 
 THE BORN FOOL 23 
 
 his father sent him to Southern France. There he was in 
 charge of a portion of the new railways. 
 
 Young Mr. Clinton had remained a year in France when 
 he distinguished himself by a brave act. Shortly after this 
 he heard that a rival made headway with Agnes. He hast- 
 ened home and took up the old position with his father. 
 Again he saw a good deal of the Athorpes. At their house 
 he made evasive and satiric fun about his deed at Isaac and 
 would tell nothing. But old Mr. Clinton, before Stuart re- 
 turned, had given Agnes and her mother a full account, and 
 had sent them cuttings from the French and London papers. 
 
 In two months young Clinton felt that his love was subtly 
 returned. He proposed again, very diffidently this time 
 and was accepted. The young people soon afterwards were 
 married. Clinton was then twenty-nine, and his wife ten 
 years younger. 
 
 Alice Athorpe, aunt to Agnes, and very fond of her, alone 
 opposed the match during the second courtship of Stuart. 
 But she went to the wedding, and loyally made friends with 
 the bridegroom. 
 
 Old Mr. Clinton personally managed the London office. He 
 was ably assisted by a Mr. King who when young had been 
 his chief draughtsman, but was now a partner on terms equal 
 with Stuart. King was a man silent, clever, and saturnine. 
 In business he was thoroughly efficient and reliable. The 
 advent of the son in the father's profession had been a heavy 
 secret blow to King's ambition ; but he showed his feeling to 
 no soul. On the contrary, he treated Stuart with marked 
 civility and respect. Stuart, athletic and fastidious, hated 
 town life and office routine, but he excelled as an executive 
 engineer. In design and in the overcoming of difficulties in 
 the field he took keen pleasure. 
 
 When old Mr. Clinton suddenly died, King and Stuart 
 remained as partners, and things went on very much as be-
 
 24 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 fore. In London directories "Clinton, King and Clinton" 
 was unaltered. 
 
 King and young Clinton had remained always strictly on a 
 business footing. Except perfunctorily, of ordinary courtesy, 
 they spoke with each other only of professional matters, and 
 what little there was that King knew of Clinton's private 
 life he had learnt through his late senior partner, or through 
 members of the staff. But it was from a client that King 
 first heard of Clinton's most peculiar religion. In this King 
 foresaw disaster. He foresaw danger to his own good income ; 
 but he said nothing to Clinton. Money, and a certain youth- 
 ful married lady, were his sole real interests in life. 
 
 At this time the firm had just received a commission to 
 execute a very large work in the Argentine. It had been ar- 
 ranged that Clinton should go out there for six months, and 
 after that period he would go several times a year. King 
 hoped the frequent absence from England, the voyages, the 
 splendid piece of work entrusted to them, would cause a 
 change, and bring Clinton to his senses. 
 
 The work was to be done not by contract, but by administra- 
 tion. The engineers would buy plant and material, and ship 
 them out. King was ten years Clinton's senior, and was un- 
 doubtedly very experienced in this mercantile side of civil 
 engineering. King would order, inspect, buy and despatch ; 
 Clinton would design, organise, and build. For years King 
 had inspected and bought plants for South American Repub- 
 lics, and it was by his tact and acumen that this very impor- 
 tant work had been secured. King had powers of attorney 
 both from South America and from his partner, the object 
 being to give him a free and quick hand ; for the time-limit 
 made a strict clause in the agreement. 
 
 Agnes and her husband had come to Mead Wells after five 
 years spent mostly in a Yorkshire mining district and its 
 port. The great quays built there by Clinton had first brought 
 him forward in his profession. Their eldest boy, Edward,
 
 THE BORN FOOL 25 
 
 had been born in Yorkshire ; and there, too, Mr. Clinton first 
 heard the doctrines of Irving, that young Scots minister who 
 preached the urgent second coming of Christ, the giving to 
 the world of a second twelve apostles the complement of 
 the four and twenty elders of Revelations. The extraordi- 
 nary personality of Irving affected even such a man as Car- 
 lyle, but in Stuart Clinton it brought to birth a latent and 
 fanatical religiousness. The new sect was wealthy, and 
 very soon the congregations built beautiful churches, and 
 incomparably more remarkable a liturgy was created which 
 did not lack high qualities of beauty and originality. Cer- 
 tainly it was a fact the Primate of those days read and kept 
 always on his table this new Liturgy. This same archbishop 
 once spoke as follows: "They are most excellent Christians, 
 they even pay one tenth of their income to any church in 
 which they worship ! but do not let them teach in the Sunday 
 schools; they are very much too clever." 
 
 Stuart was "called" as a lay-evengelist, and, although 
 nominally Sundays alone were to be devoted by such laymen 
 to Church work, Clinton presently began to let his absorbing 
 interest affect his career. He spoke of it to clients. 
 
 Agnes and Stuart loved each other devoutly, and to her 
 his change of religion at once brought great unhappiness. To 
 her it seemed like a disaster come upon them. It was their 
 first serious disagreement. She prayed daily for guidance 
 in this great trouble ; for it seemed insuperable that she could 
 leave the Church of her fathers and embrace these new extra- 
 ordinary doctrines. She and her husband now had many 
 painful arguments the husband earnest, enthusiastic, chaf- 
 ing, forceful, lit-up ; the young wife troubled, perplexed, loth 
 to be persuaded, acutely pained to differ even in thought from 
 her husband, yet believing far deeper than do people to-day 
 in the power of the ancient command, "Wives, obey your 
 husbands." There is no shadow of doubt the new "Apostolic 
 Church" possessed a high percentage of men of good intellect, 
 men of reasoned conviction, men who were leading unselfish,
 
 26 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 useful lives; and Mrs. Clinton frequently met these men. 
 They were all much older than she. Some were members of 
 learned societies, some were well-established men of business 
 or profession, some were men of leisure, and one was a 
 banker. She observed them closely, and conversed much with 
 them. She found that they were very much more well-read, 
 logical, calm, intellectual, spiritually-minded, than was her 
 fiery husband. He was, though only thirty-six, already be- 
 coming eminent as a civil engineer. He was indeed very 
 handsome: he was provedly a brave man: he was her hus- 
 band and dear lover; but he could never be her priest, her 
 spiritual guide. She did not consciously think all this; but 
 she deeply felt it. 
 
 It was contact with these elder men that most changed her 
 feeling and her faith. Then, during one of her frequent 
 visits to London she went to the new cathedral church in 
 Gordon Square. After this she went there many times, and 
 one day came away filled, it seemed, with a new spiritual 
 insight an exaltation. She believed at last, with full con- 
 viction, in this new, glorious, and wonderful revelation : that 
 Christ in Person was about to revisit the earth. It came upon 
 her that she lived in a most solemn time; that these were 
 actually "The Last Days" of the world's ordinary life. 
 
 It was sweet and marvellous now, that this divine knowl- 
 edge had come to her through Stuart. 
 
 During this trying period while Agnes was troubled in 
 spirit, parting from the faith she had been born in, weighing, 
 accepting, absorbing new ideas, while filled alternately by 
 misgivings and new hopes and fervours during this time 
 the baby-body of Kirk was conceived, and he was born to her. 
 
 He had been rather a fretful child and not ordinary 
 often crying when no cause could be found at other times 
 angelically good when suffering from real ailment, such as 
 painful teething. Before the end of his third year he showed 
 unusual strength of affection towards his mother. Like a
 
 THE BOKK FOOL 27 
 
 dog, he would be content and quite silent for hours if near 
 her ; and if while at work she looked at the child, he felt it, 
 and she caught his clear, dark-blue eyes fixed gravely upon 
 her own, with an expression that had on one occasion brought 
 sudden tears to her eyes, and she wondered and wondered 
 over her second-born. 
 
 When Kirk was five years old he began to develop quite 
 new traits, though his devotion to his mother never ceased. 
 He was precociously intelligent in certain ways. While she 
 was absent several weeks, he suddenly assumed command of 
 Ted, and on a day in June the two small boys made recon- 
 naissance round the long paddock that sloped away behind the 
 Yorkshire house. On one hedge their neighbour's maids had 
 spread a quantity of snowy new-washed linen, which act 
 greatly offended Kirk, who said, "They hang down too far 
 on our side, Ted. It's not fair." Mud was made at once, Ted 
 carried the bucket, and Kirk dipped a stick into the mess, 
 and then much mud was flung on all the unfortunate washing 
 that hung below an exact level marked by Kirk. For this 
 Ted and Kirk received a well-deserved caning from their 
 father. But within a week the two bare-legged ones walked 
 up and down the opposite hedge. Ted followed Kirk and 
 carried a small round hamper. Kirk himself bore the kitchen 
 chopper, and shortly proceeded to enlarge a small hole in the 
 hedge-bottom. He wormed himself through this and Ted 
 pushed the basket after him. Kirk then rapidly filled it with 
 uprooted carrots, squeezed and pushed it back, and the two 
 carried the spoils triumphantly into the kitchen. For this 
 they received another caning, and later in the day were sent 
 to the next house to say they were sorry, ask pardon, return 
 the carrots, and explain themselves. They went in great 
 trepidity, carrying the well-washed vegetables their father 
 insisted upon this expiation but they came back full of cake, 
 tea, and plenary absolution, bestowed by their childless neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 A few days before their mother's return, the brilliant
 
 28 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 notion of a pond, of making a real pond, flashed into Kirk's 
 mind. Tremendous determination filled him. He infected 
 Ted with a similar excitement. Breakfast over, they rushed 
 off to the far limits of the paddock, and in a quiet soft corner 
 commenced operations. Kirk, his mind full of the completed 
 picture of a pond, with fish in the water and things sailing 
 on the top, worked furiously, animating Ted to equal energy. 
 They toiled with seaside spades, and with a small pointed 
 iron bar that Kirk hammered in with a hard stone. They 
 found the earth grew damper as they dug deeper. They 
 might even find water ! The morning passed quickly, and at 
 last the maid called to them, for it was their dinner-time. 
 Carefully and slyly they cleaned their boots and clothes in the 
 back kitchen, then hastily devoured the meal, and forthwith 
 went back to work with a will. By four o'clock the hole hid 
 them to their waists they had dug out a ton of soil and clay 
 and Kirk decided that the important time to fill the pond 
 had now arrived. 
 
 By lying on one's face under the hedge the deep round 
 marble fountain of the next garden was accessible and Kirk 
 drew up water as fast as he could with their two seaside 
 buckets, while Ted ran back and forth to fill the pond. What 
 perturbation was there! when all the first buckets of water 
 sank quite away! Then Kirk took shoes and socks off and 
 selected clay, and with his feet he trod and puddled the 
 wetted bottom smooth. What joy! when they had twelve 
 inches of densely muddy water in the hole ! Then they saw 
 their father coming. The two boys were standing in the 
 pond, delighted. 
 
 "Father! we've dug a pond!" cried Kirk, sunburnt, en- 
 thused, highly muddy and filthy. 
 
 "Oh ! you have ! have you ?" He seized the child's ear and 
 almost lifted him out, then roughly twisted the ear. The as- 
 tonished little boy cried out, in a bent position, struggling, 
 trying to hold his father's hand from hurting so extremely. 
 Then he dug his nails into the hand with all his might
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 29 
 
 Mr. Clinton instantly quite lost his temper. He took Kirk 
 by the shoulder and propelled him to the house. There he 
 severely caned him on the hands. The boy did not cry out, 
 but looked away, stoically, darkly. 
 
 "I hope you are sorry and repent?" said Mr. Clinton. 
 The boy did not speak. "This is the way you behave when 
 your mother is away. First deliberate nastiness, throwing 
 mud on clean clothes, then stealing, and now disobedience and 
 temper!" 
 
 Mr. Clinton instructed Elizabeth to give Kirk dry bread 
 and water for tea and supper. 
 
 In future Kirk avoided his father, but his troubles were 
 not over. A few weeks later he was so unfortunate as to find 
 a box of matches while walking out with the maid. He had 
 never taken matches at home, but these, he opined, belonged 
 to himself. He secreted them, and, on arriving home, finding 
 no one in the dining-room he knelt down on the hearthrug and 
 tried to strike one. The matches were damp, so he held sev- 
 eral to the fire until they dried. He then struck one, and a 
 little pleasing puff of blue smoke flew up. He had struck 
 several more, and thrown the burnt matches into the fender 
 when his father opened the door. Kirk looked up full of guilt 
 and fear. He knew matches were forbidden. 
 
 "Boy ! How dare you play with fire !" said Mr. Clinton, 
 exceedingly angry. "You need a severe lesson." 
 
 He seized the boy's hand and forcibly held the fingers on 
 the hot bar of the grate ; he had no idea it was so hot, but two 
 shrieks pierced the house. His frightened mother rushed into 
 the room. 
 
 "Oh Stuart ! How could you do such a thing to a child ! 
 How could you ?" 
 
 Silently she took Kirk away, and dressed the burnt and 
 blistered fingers. The hand was wrapped up a fortnight, for 
 two fingers had stuck to the iron. It was a grievous severity, 
 and caused the first words of anger between this husband acd
 
 30 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 wife. It had become quite plain to Mrs. Clinton that her 
 husband did not in the least comprehend children the ten- 
 derness of their small bodies, the complexities of their little 
 untrained minds: and from this day the secret fixity of na- 
 ture and memory in the child prevented him regarding his 
 father except as an enemy, as one to be feared, to be dealt 
 with very cautiously one to evade and deceive. 
 
 It was about a year after this incident when the house at 
 Mead Wells was selected. Mead Wells had been chosen for 
 several good reasons the high rolling country of the Cots- 
 wolds rose up eastwards and northwards of the town, im- 
 pregnably shutting out the coldest winds. But the south and 
 south-west air came up direct, untrammelled. The mild cli- 
 mate and pure air would recoup Mrs. Clinton's delicate 
 health. The new-built Apostolic Church was a very strong at- 
 traction. And then, too, Agnes Clinton had been at school 
 there when a girl. 
 
 She soon made many friends in Mead Wells. Except in 
 her religion she lived a normal orthodox life. She became 
 known as a quiet, sympathetic, and very practical and effec- 
 tive helper, and was drawn quickly into that unnamed guild 
 of good women who are to be found in most English towns 
 and cities, working among the sick and needy in their illness 
 and confinements and poverty; obtaining safe employments 
 for young girls, disbursing hospital tickets, finding wars and 
 means of sending poor convalescents to the seaside, and the 
 like. 
 
 Socially, too, Agnes was successful. Her face had the 
 rare transparent clearness of a pink sea-shell, and though not 
 perfect and regular of feature, it was beautiful. When she 
 entered a room, strangers again and again looked at her. The 
 rather long face was so noble, so pure and calm, so genuinely 
 modest, intelligent, and sincere; and her clear grey eyes were 
 so filled with outgoing kindness and spirituality. Her dark 
 brown hair flowed softly in ripples over the full temples and 
 framed the high forehead girlishly and richly. The mouth
 
 THE BORN FOOL 31 
 
 was firm, yet very loveable, a smile always lurked there ; the 
 chin was strong, but not masculine. This gravity of expres- 
 sion in repose, this combination of strength, gentleness, wis- 
 dom, striking sweetness and spirituality, was the more re- 
 markable in a woman of but twenty-five. 
 
 "I think I have never before seen so good a face." "Tell 
 me! who is that youngish lady over there with the extraor- 
 dinarily beautiful face ?" "Who is the Sistine Madonna ?" 
 had been asked by various strangers when first they saw her. 
 
 When Stuart Clinton came home after his first six 
 months in the Argentine, his wife gave a few dinners, and in 
 the summer afternoons the old garden was often gay with 
 ladies in light dresses. Mrs. Clinton's small garden parties 
 were much liked, for she knew how to make each guest com- 
 fortable, even happy, and it was then a delight of Clinton's 
 newly home to watch his wife's graceful form moving 
 through the old English garden. His too frequent dogmatism 
 or evangelical intrusions were regarded with secret amuse- 
 ment and amazement, especially by those who knew him as 
 a man of business and a very clever engineer ; but every one 
 listened politely for the sake of the attractive wife, who led 
 him in all things social. His heroic deed at Isaac had been 
 told by friends, and people regarded somewhat similarly his 
 fearless open championship of theories that, to them, seemed 
 near madness. 
 
 Among the trees, lower down the Clintons' road, lived a 
 widowed lady, Mrs. Benson, with her two children Harry and 
 May; but the family included a little girl called Daisy, who 
 was an adopted niece; and, also, the old governess, named 
 oddly enough Miss Watchwell. Mrs. Clinton and Mrs. Benson 
 were very friendly, and were both members of the same 
 church. One day, after a consultation of the two mothers and 
 the old dame, it was agreed the six children should be taught 
 together in the ample schoolroom at "Dadnor." Miss Watch- 
 well had been a friend of Mrs. Benson's mother, and had
 
 32 ^ THE BORN FOOL 
 
 known the daughter from girlhood. Mrs. Benson had married 
 the captain of a Cunarder, and her life being somewhat 
 lonely, she had long since asked her old friend to live with 
 her. Miss Watchwell had now been at "Dadnor" for twelve 
 years. 
 
 She was quite agreeable to the new arrangement, for it 
 would augment her small income and she already knew the 
 Clinton children. She was a dear, sprightly old lady, very 
 quick and clever, and a nuisance to no one, for she was un- 
 selfish, intelligent, and shrewd. At Dadnor she had long been 
 general manager. On Sundays she went to Church of Eng- 
 land. Mrs. Benson was a kindly woman, but of very weak 
 health and mentally somewhat out of touch with children. 
 Miss Watchwell, on the other hand, thoroughly understood 
 them. They obeyed her, desired her approbation, and she 
 maintained excellent discipline without resort to emphatic 
 words or physical means. In appearance she was extremely 
 thin and tall ; her dear old face was quite covered with wrin- 
 kles, and she was very dignified, neat, up-to-date, alert, spot- 
 less and well-bred. 
 
 The six youngsters chummed together very well, though 
 Kirk and Daisy were not absolutely at one when going walks. 
 Ted paired off with ever-smiling May. It was soon under- 
 stood quite perfectly among the children that she was Ted's 
 sweetheart, that Mary belonged to golden-haired and giddy 
 Harry, and Kirk's province was to escort Daisy two years 
 his elder, and a very pretty, exacting, and tall little m'selle. 
 But in Kirk's secret opinion she was not nearly so pretty and 
 nice as May or Mary, and he complained to his sister "She 
 won't do things." But he did his best, he was very polite to 
 her, took her arm when she allowed it, was very desirous of 
 being her protector, and always marched by her loyally on 
 Saturdays, when they went a long walk into the Cotswolds. 
 
 Kirk remained behind the others on one Monday afternoon 
 and asked Miss Watchwell what flowers she liked best. 
 
 "Flowers, Kirk? I like them nearly all, dear."
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 33 
 
 "Ah, but, Miss Watchwell, what are your very favourite 
 ones ?" asked he most persuasively, and with his eyes on hers 
 he continued "I like musk awfully, and petunias, and best, 
 I like white violets, they're lovely! Don't you like those 
 best ?" 
 
 "It's hard to say, dear ; I like flowers so much." 
 
 "Oh yes ! I know ! I know !" cried Kirk, unsatisfied, and 
 he took her hand with both his, and pulled her down affection- 
 ately, and she laughed at him. 
 
 "But which do you like the very, very best ?" 
 
 "I think then . . . white violets !" 
 
 The boy, delighted, full of his secret intention, looked at 
 her a moment, then said good-bye and raced off. 
 
 Next morning he presented her with a little pot of white 
 violets. She would have kissed him, but she was very wise. 
 Like Kirk's mother, she knew the loss of brotherhood and 
 sisterhood that came from any faintest inequality in the treat- 
 ment of children. Ted twitted Kirk as little boys do, but next 
 morning he and Mary each brought Miss Watchwell a bunch 
 of garden flowers. After this, these gifts of flowers were 
 brought several times a week, but Ted and Mary at last forgot 
 them, the novelty wore off, and they ceased to bring them. 
 But Kirk made it a habit ; he grew flowers specially for the 
 old lady, and brought them every Monday. Soon after the 
 pot of violets had been given, Daisy began to treat Kirk with 
 great indifference. An obscure instinct moved the boy; he 
 brought her a fine pot of musk. On that morning the boy and 
 girl were by themselves in the schoolroom before lessons 
 began. 
 
 "For you, Daisy!" said Kirk, shyly but warmly, and smil- 
 ing at her. 
 
 "Thank you, Kirk." She put it on the window-sill and 
 returned, calmly saying 
 
 "I don't think I like musk very much ; it smells so like our 
 church, and I hate church."
 
 34 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 "Oh ! . . . all right . . . then see what I do ; you look out 
 of the window," said Kirk, quietly, but much hurt. 
 
 He picked the pot up, ran outside the house and offered it 
 to a man passing in the road. The man looked puzzled, he 
 hesitated, took it in his hands, looked again at Kirk, grinned, 
 thanked him, and went on, bearing away the pot of musk. 
 Kirk re-entered the house well in front of Ted and Mary, who, 
 observing distantly, were quite mystified. Kirk ran -upstairs 
 and found Daisy crying. Quite astonished, he was instantly 
 very much distressed. He tried gently to take the little girl's 
 hands from her face and kiss her. Then he put his arms 
 round her, saying, "Oh, don't cry; don't cry, dear I'm 
 dreadfully sorry; I'll get you a a simply splendid pot! 
 I didn't know you were only funning." But she repulsed 
 him, and dried her eyes before Miss Watchwell came in. 
 
 This was not the very first disturbance of its kind known 
 to Kirk's childish soul. When the family arrived at Mead 
 Wells he had gone with the nurse and his brother and sister 
 to the river-margined public gardens. After the dark mining 
 district, he was quite carried away by this fairy-like place of 
 leafy distance, lawns and lakes, sparkling fountains, vivid 
 flowers. Here he had first met the fair child lying upon her 
 back in the long wheeled chair, drawn slowly through the 
 shade of great trees. An intense interest and pity filled him, 
 but he smiled brightly at her and she smiled back he looked 
 only at her sweet, patient face, at her eyes he concealed 
 his boy-like interest in her paralysis. Somehow he knew it 
 would hurt her very much to look curiously. They met sever- 
 al times after this and always smiled at each other, and on 
 one occasion Kirk, inwardly disturbed, slipped off from the 
 others to a place where, kneeling under a big tree, he could 
 look down into the dark gliding river, so unfathomed. He 
 watched the fallen petals of red chestnut flowers gently mov- 
 ing on like little fairy boats, he watched the drifting strug- 
 gling insects in the bright reflections going on their irrevo-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 35 
 
 cable way, and as he looked, thinking of the fair child's face, 
 a nameless melancholy ecstasy overcame him. 
 
 Kirk could not understand why Daisy would not be "nice 
 with me like May and Mary." She would seldom walk with 
 him, and they settled differences at last by dividing between 
 them Miss Watchwell. Her right arm belonged to Daisy, her 
 left to Kirk. 
 
 Under the refined old lady the Clinton children made 
 good progress in the beginnings of Latin, French, arithmetic, 
 history, geography and singing; and these were very happy 
 times. One sunny day Mary exclaimed, "There's father!" 
 Miss Watchwell glanced out, and cried quickly, "Look ! chil- 
 dren ! all of you !" 
 
 They had just time to see him, remove from the footpath 
 a bright piece of orange peel. With his stick he made it fall in 
 the stone channel. They saw Mr. Clinton walk on, very mili- 
 tary, very upright, and square-shouldered. 
 
 "See how careful and thoughtful your father is; what a 
 good example he sets us !" said Miss Watchwell.
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 ON a summer forenoon the liner bringing Clinton home 
 made her majestic way deliberately up the Mersey, and 
 then, her engines scarcely moving, the heavy cables roared 
 through the hawse-holes till the anchors took the sand. An 
 hour later Clinton was sitting in the South Wales express. 
 He was returning from his second voyage. He changed 
 trains at Hereford, passed during late afternoon far south of 
 the Malverns stopping at every country station and by 
 seven o'clock he was leaning forward in the open carriage as 
 he entered the old garden at Mead Wells. In the still and 
 warm close of the day, the evening primrose, the stocks, the 
 gillies, the mignonette, the roses a hundred flowers scented 
 the air. Unconsciously he raised his head, stood up, and 
 deeply breathed, his eyes fixed on the form of his wife; for 
 he could discern her standing outside the porch, a white figure 
 against the dark jessamine: the children and the servants 
 were also there. Half a minute later he sprang out, took her 
 sweet face in his hands and kissed her. 
 
 Next morning, after breakfast, Clinton quickly sorted his 
 many letters, then tore them open hastily one by one, glanced 
 through each and put it on the proper file. He picked up a 
 letter that bore a Portuguese stamp and postmark. Aston- 
 ished, he looked close at this ; he turned the letter over, looked 
 again, and sat still a moment. The writing was King's. Then 
 saying to himself, "King! at Lisbon?" he broke the seal and 
 read 
 
 "Grand Hotel Estremadura, 
 
 "Lisboa, 
 "DEAR CLINTON, 
 
 "Without consulting you, I have, as it were, wound up our es- 
 tate, and made a fair division of the proceeds. To you, young and 
 
 36
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 37 
 
 energetic for your years, falls the growing practice, the London 
 office, the name, goodwill and fixtures of 'Clinton, King and Clinton.' 
 You will no longer be annoyed by my inferior incompetent design. 
 You will have a free hand. For these great advantages you pay some 
 forty thousand pounds of what we will call capital. Although per- 
 haps not quite in order, it was needful for me to draw my share of 
 our settlement from funds ready to hand, and I have no doubt that 
 a man of your- marked integrity and religious life will see to it 
 that these funds be replenished in time to save any coarse misunder- 
 standings that might injure the good name of 'Clinton, King and 
 Clinton.' You have my free leave to keep the name as it is. We 
 shall be spending some time here; indeed, we may settle here for 
 life. I like the place, the climate, the unstrenuous virtue of the 
 people; and should you call here on your busy voyaging, we would 
 do our best to make you comfortable, although there is no church 
 here that would, I think, meet your somewhat exceptional require- 
 ments. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "EWART KING." 
 
 King had left England several days before Clinton was 
 due back. He had written his letter and despatched it on the 
 day he reached Lisbon. He had some feelings of compunc- 
 tion. He did not wish to ruin his partner. But Clinton 
 sailed from Buenos Ayres later than was arranged. 
 
 It was now nearly three weeks since King disappeared 
 from London with a young married woman. It was the 
 elderly husband of this girl, who, anxious and distraught, had 
 set Scotland Yard to work. On the same evening that Clinton 
 reached home all had been found out. Even now, as he sat 
 there motionless, hit heavily, but thinking hard, a telegram 
 from the chief assistant engineer was being brought up the 
 drive. 
 
 Clinton pulled himself together, told his wife nothing, and 
 went up to town. 
 
 Two days later he returned to Mead Wells. He entered 
 the house, but did not greet his wife. She followed him into 
 his study. He sat down as if greatly weary. He put his
 
 38 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 arms on the table. His eyes gazed vacantly at the polished 
 wood. He seemed unaware of her presence. Fear seized 
 her. 
 
 "Are you ill, dear? What is it?" 
 
 "I I I Agnes, my poor darling . . . I've lost every- 
 thing . . . our money, almost all ... I've been a fool. That 
 scoundrel King has gone off with forty thousand. Read that." 
 
 For any ordinary man things were not quite as" bad as 
 Clinton thought. Yet it was indeed a disaster. He had just 
 repaid the money. For himself remained only some two 
 thousand pounds. The practice had received a very heavy 
 blow ; the dead loss in money was not so serious as the injury 
 to a good name. But the worst effect was the blow to Clin- 
 ton's pride. Hypersensitive and quixotic where his honour 
 was concerned, vain to extreme of his name as a shrewd man, 
 he now imagined himself branded as a fool. Wrongheadedly 
 he had misread all the sympathy he had just received in 
 Victoria Street, and he felt he could go there again, never. 
 
 Clinton could not brook a smaller house at Mead Wells, 
 and, moreover, it became plain in a few weeks that he must 
 leave that town. The Argentine authorities sent him a gen- 
 erous cheque for his services to date, but they regretted they 
 must take the work from his hands and place it with "a firm 
 of large substance," unless he cared to enter into a special 
 guaranty bond for a sum of not less than fifty thousand 
 pounds, and at once deposit the said sum with approved 
 bankers. 
 
 Clinton could not meet such conditions, and it sharply 
 embittered him to seo the work pass to well-known rivals. 
 
 His wife urged him to live near London, personally manage 
 the London office, and rehabilitate the practice. Unfortu- 
 nately he did not follow this advice. Instead, the family a 
 few months later moved to Severnly, in Worcestershire. The 
 railway from Severnly, giving easy access to the midland 
 metropolis, had not had much effect on the small ancient city.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 39 
 
 Houses were old and large, rents were still low, at Severnly. 
 Clinton hoped to build up in a few years a good provincial 
 practice, and for this purpose an office at Birmingham would, 
 he thought, be central and very suitable. After careful search 
 he secured a small suite of rooms in a large modern building 
 in Colmore Row. The index in the hall and the brass plate on 
 his own entrance bore the inscription: "Stuart Clinton, M. 
 Inst. C. E., Civil and Mining Engineer." 
 
 The staff for the present comprised one senior and one 
 junior assistant engineer, and one draughtsman-typist. They 
 were the only men he had retained from his old staff. The 
 first work at the new office was to finish all commissions that 
 were in hand before King left London. 
 
 Clinton went to Birmingham four or five times a week. The 
 fast trains did the journey in a little over half-an-hour. 
 Severnly was a much warmer place than Birmingham, for the 
 country round was very fertile, of lower altitude, and the 
 pure winds came to Severnly over miles of hops and corn, 
 through orchards innumerable and through countless noble 
 trees. The clear river Temlys, secluded home of many a trout 
 and grayling, flowed not far away. 
 
 Some good reasons, beside that of fair proximity to the 
 Midland centre, influenced the Clintons in their choice of 
 Severnly. 
 
 The place was an old seat of learning, and the schools for 
 boys and girls were well known. At Salbury, six miles from 
 Severnly and upon the main line, was a small Apostolic 
 Church which the Clintons could attend. 
 
 The children with ease adapted themselves to new condi- 
 tions, indeed they enjoyed the novelty, but their parents felt 
 as though uprooted, and Agnes for three months had been 
 enceinte. 
 
 Clinton had always held strange objections $o public 
 schools, but his wife prevailed over him. When at Mead 
 Wells, the boys were entered for Loretto Stuart's old school 
 but now, unless he did very well, it would not be possible to
 
 40 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 send his own boys there ; and Severnly School would then be 
 a good and economical alternative. In the meantime all 
 three children were sent to a local dame's school. Next year 
 the boys would go either to Loretto or Severnly.
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 SOON after the arrival at the new home, Kirk began to 
 take solitary walks of great distance for his age. He 
 revelled in boyish explorations of an historic and beautiful 
 countryside. He brought back, one day, some extraordinary 
 little stones he had found in a roadside heap of gravel. His 
 mother told him they were fossils, the remains of antedilu- 
 vian animals, turned to stone during great ages. For some 
 time this satisfied the deep curiosity of Kirk; but a thirst 
 insatiable, to explore, to observe, to know, silently grew in 
 him. He was endowed with that somewhat rare handicap 
 and gift mental fearlessness. All persons, as well as things, 
 received his close, unobtrusive scrutiny. Especially he ob- 
 served his father, and in silence he criticised him. Kirk knew 
 well that himself and his father were inimical. He observed 
 secretly, that in all matters of division and decision settled by 
 his father the worst fell to himself. Events took place more 
 and more frequently that caused the boy to make strong and 
 damaging discrimination between his father and his mother. 
 To him they were different as the poles. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton's aunt, Alice Athorpe, had lately spent a few 
 days in the new home at Severnly, and she believed in tipping 
 small boys. So soon as the cab had driven away off rushed 
 Kirk down the road. In his hand a five-shilling piece grew 
 hot. A keen desire bottled up for quite a fortnight gave wings 
 to his feet. 
 
 From running at top speed he pulled himself up at a large 
 new tea-shop. Anxiously he glanced into the window to as- 
 sure himself "they" were not gone, then he entered and said 
 breathlessly, as he looked into the window from inside 
 
 41
 
 42 THE BORN" FOOL 
 
 "I want those, please those big black ones, with the flowers 
 on them, eighteen-pence each." 
 
 He put the money on the counter. 
 
 "No, you needn't wrap them up !" exclaimed the boy, and 
 he took eagerly the two" large common vases from the smiling 
 shopman. 
 
 "Thank you !" cried Kirk, with a vase under each arm as 
 he left the shop. 
 
 "Hey ! Here's the change, sir !" 
 
 Kirk returned, flushing a little, but smiling. "Put it in my 
 pocket, please," said he, not loosing the vases. 
 
 About ten minutes later, he barely knocked, and burst into 
 the dining-room, panting hot, saying, "Look! mother! For 
 you !" He placed them in her arms. 
 
 His father laughed loudly and derisively. "Humph ! Spent 
 it already, you young cub, have you ?" 
 
 "Not all, father," apologised Kirk, much chilled. 
 
 But Mrs. Clinton, murmuring to her husband, "Don't, 
 dear," carefully stood the vases on the dining-room table, then 
 turned and clasped her boy gently by each arm and kissed 
 him twice with a divine tenderness. 
 
 "Thank you, darling so much, they will be precious to 
 me." 
 
 She removed the two Dresden jars from the mantelpiece to 
 a sideboard, and substituted the vases. 
 
 "They shall stand here until I find a place for them." 
 
 Kirk looked ecstatically from the vases to his mother. His 
 father shrugged his shoulders and grinned grimly as he too 
 looked at the new ornaments; then he laughed softly and 
 said 
 
 "Well, well, Agnes, I suppose you are right. . . . Go 
 away quietly now, boy. I'm glad to see you think of your 
 dear mother." 
 
 Kirk received a loving smile as he went out. He glowed 
 with satisfaction.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 43 
 
 At midday dinner, when his father was at home and 
 carved, Kirk was served last. This was quite proper in 
 Kirk's eyes. Mother came first, Mary was a girl, and Ted 
 was the eldest. But Mr. Clinton always cut off the worst 
 slices for example, the red outside pieces of the cold leg of 
 mutton and left them until it hecame Kirk's turn. These 
 pieces, which nauseated the fastidious Kirk, were then adroit- 
 ly turned over and given to him best side uppermost. One 
 Saturday, after this had occurred very many times unno- 
 ticed by any one save Kirk the boy ostentatiously turned 
 each slice ugly side uppermost, and at the same time looked 
 fixedly at his father, who reddened with anger. 
 
 "Why do you look-at-me-like-that-sir ?" 
 
 "Kirk dear !" said his mother, quite surprised. 
 
 "I always get the outside." 
 
 "You-will-take-what-you-can-get, sir, and be thankful that 
 you have good food to eat ! Impudence . . . puppy ... !" 
 
 That afternoon Mrs. Clinton, in her room, sent for Kirk. 
 He felt he was to be chided, and he went with a certain sulki- 
 ness. She was sitting down, and took his hands and drew 
 him, slightly resisting, to her knees. 
 
 "Kirk dear, I was so grieved that you were rude to father." 
 
 "Father's not fair, mother ... he doesn't like me ... he 
 ... he burnt my hand." 
 
 "Kirk! Kirk! my own dear boy, never speak against 
 father. I cannot bear it. ... He has many great troubles 
 that you do not know of. He cares very much for you all. 
 He did not think that he was treating you unfairly ; he has 
 so much to think of that he cannot be troubled with little 
 things. Does it matter, dear ? if your food is not quite as you 
 wish ? It is such a small thing to be rude about to father, 
 who loves me, dear. He has worked so hard much harder 
 than you know and he has given us our house, and earned 
 for us our clothes, and food, and all we have. When he burnt 
 your hand so long, long ago, Kirk he did not mean to hurt
 
 44 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 you so much ; he did not know he had hurt you so much. His 
 hands are much harder than yours, and he didn't know that 
 It was right of him to punish you, Kirk. He wished to save 
 you from a terrible accident he remembered. When father 
 himself was a very little boy, he and a little friend he loved 
 played with matches, and his playmate's clothes took fire. 
 His little friend was dreadfully burnt and became a cripple. 
 Father was very fond of him. So you see why father pun- 
 ished you? . . . Have you remembered that, all this long, 
 long time, dear ? Why did you not tell mother what troubled 
 you ? You will forgive father now, will you not, dear ?" 
 
 Kirk had tears in his eyes. He replied huskily 
 
 "Yes, mother." 
 
 She put her arm round him and drew him to herself, and 
 the boy clasped her with passionate affection and repentance ; 
 she felt, though, that his strong feelings were not so very 
 much altered, and a thought flashed into her mind. 
 
 "Do you know that father is a very brave man, Kirk ?" 
 
 "Is he, mother ? ... Is he ?" said Kirk, doubtfully. 
 
 "Father is very brave. I will tell you and Ted, soon, about 
 something father once did that was very noble, very heroic." 
 
 A few minutes later Kirk softly closed his mother's bed- 
 room door and went downstairs in trepidation and resolution 
 to speak to his father very graciously indeed. But on 
 arrival he could only say doggedly but respectfully 
 
 "I am very sorry I was rude, father." 
 
 After a pause of five seconds his father looked up from his 
 papers, gazed at him sternly from beneath his shaggy brows, 
 relented slightly, and said gravely 
 
 "I accept your apology. I hope that you will be a better 
 boy in future, Kirkpatrick." 
 
 Before writing his occasional evangelistic sermons for the 
 Salbury Church, Mr. Clinton always became restless. He put 
 off writing in the morning and would do it in the afternoon,
 
 THE BORN" FOOL 45 
 
 then in the evening, then next night ; but generally it was on 
 Saturday evening the house had to be kept scrupulously silent. 
 !N"or could he write if any one else were in the room, even if 
 it were his wife. For some reason he preferred the dining- 
 room. It was rather dark and austere. If the boys or any 
 one thoughtlessly made a noise in the hall, he would dash out 
 on them full of irritation. Animals and children do not 
 understand such asperities, and the keen mind of Kirk readily 
 observed the inconsistency between his father's temper and 
 the occupation with a sacred thing. There was also a second 
 cause for Kirk's secret contempt, for he had discovered that 
 his father's sermons were largely "only out of books." 
 
 One Saturday evening, three weeks after he had been rude 
 to his father, Kirk knocked at the drawing-room door and 
 entered quietly. 
 
 "Mother, father says Ted and I are to go to bed in ten 
 minutes because we've made a noise, and I'm sorry. May 
 we please have our supper now, mother ?" 
 
 His mother drew from her hand a sock that she was darn- 
 ing, and looked at Kirk. It was only half-past six. 
 
 "Very well, dear. Tell Jane to give you some milk . . . 
 yes . . . you may have strawberry jam. Make no more noise, 
 dear, it disturbs father so much when he is writing . . . and 
 when you're both in bed, I'll come up and tell you and Ted 
 a story, a real story." 
 
 "Oo! mother! hoo-ray!" said Kirk, with suppressed pleas- 
 ure as he squeezed her hand. 
 
 Outside the drawing-room he seized Ted and hurried him 
 to the kitchen, whispering 
 
 "Come on, Ted ! Strawberry ! and mother's coming up to 
 tell us a story !" adding, with subtle intent to excite Ted, "I 
 shan't tell you what it's about !" 
 
 "You don't know, I'll bet !" said Ted, doubtful, but a little 
 willing to be played on. 
 
 "Oh, don't I? Well, you'll see!" very impressively said 
 Kirk.
 
 46 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Mrs. Clinton sat on a low chair which the boys had placed 
 ready between their beds. They had pushed the beds near 
 together. The chair stood between the bed-heads. She 
 touched their pillows on either side, and each boy "snug- 
 gled" one of her beautiful hands and forearms in his breast. 
 This was one of Kirk's oddities, in which their mother had 
 long acquiesced. She was facing the window and looked out 
 at their neighbours' great "blossomed pear-tree," as she car- 
 ried her thoughts back to girlhood. 
 
 "I am going to tell you a true story about father. It was 
 when he was in France, making the railway with Mr. Talmas, 
 who you remember once came to Mead Wells ?" 
 
 "Yes, he made me a smoke-box," said Kirk. 
 
 "They had to build the big bridge over the river at Isaac : 
 and first they had to build the round piers that stand in the 
 river like those at Mead Wells bridge ; but this is a very big 
 bridge, and the piers stand far out in the deep river, like 
 great round legs; and first they had to make those legs. 
 
 "Now you know how upright a round tin can will float, if 
 you put some water in it ? Well, father and the men made a 
 thing just like a great tin can, it was as big inside as this 
 room, only it was round, like a deep tub, and was made of 
 iron. They built it on the shore on a sloping platform of 
 wood, and then made it slide off into the water. They poured 
 in water until the big tub floated straight up, and then two 
 little steamers came and towed it to its place in the river ; and 
 there with anchors and ropes the men made it float without 
 moving, just in the right place, where the bridge was to be ; 
 and it looked like a big iron can. Then they poured more 
 water in and made it go down until the sides were floating 
 only about twice as high as my knees above the water outside. 
 And then they brought curved flat plates of iron and made the 
 sides higher, like building up the tin can longer and longer, 
 and they filled it up with more water, and it sank deeper and 
 deeper. Do you understand, Ted ?" 
 
 "Oh yes, and the bottom of it kept going down ?"
 
 THE BORN FOOL 47 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Oo ! I see, Ted ! Mother," spoke Kirk, "then they put 
 more sides on? and at last it stood on the bottom of the 
 river ?" 
 
 "Quite right, dear. It sat on the bottom and the sides were 
 high out of the water. But the bottom was of deep mud, and 
 the big iron can sank right down into it and stood still. Then 
 they filled it quite up with water and all its weight was on 
 the mud. It sank in deeply. But that was not enough, so 
 they got on to it and put big beams of wood across the top, 
 and piled up bars of iron until the great weight squeezed the 
 bottom deep down into the mud : it went in as deep as this 
 room and the big tub was as deep as our house ! Then diver 
 men came, like those you saw at Hull, and they went down 
 inside the great iron can, and undid the bottom. They un- 
 screwed it inside and took out all the bottom, and the thick 
 mud welled up inside. And then, you see, it was like a tin 
 can with no bottom ; and then, when they kept on making the 
 sides higher, and putting weights on the top, the sharp round 
 edge cut down and down through mud and sand until at last 
 it came to hard rock, and could be pushed down no more." 
 
 "And then what did they do ?" 
 
 "They pumped all the water out until they could look down 
 inside and see the mud, and they lifted the mud out with 
 huge buckets that were drawn up swiftly by an engine that 
 stood on a steamer tied alongside. It was an engine very like 
 the crane you both saw lifting up big blocks of stone at Tach- 
 mead Quarry. But now I must go and kiss Mary good-night, 
 and tuck her in, and then I'll tell you the rest !" 
 
 A small soprano voice had several times called 
 "Moth er!" 
 
 "Well, they took out all the mud and clay inside the big 
 can it is called a caisson, 'ka-son' and then found that only 
 one side of the cutting edge was resting on the rock, and that 
 would never doJ . . . Because, dears, the bridge would be
 
 48 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 so very, very heavy, with the trains going over it and shaking, 
 that the big can must rest all round, flat on the rock, or else 
 it would soon hegin to lean over. Do you understand, boys ?" 
 
 "I think I know, mother. Aren't they going to put the 
 bridge on the top of the can thing ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Ah! I see now!" said Ted. 
 
 "Yes, they had to break the rock away and make it quite 
 flat ; and it was very hard rock. So they bored lots of holes 
 in it and put gunpowder into them, and fuses like those in 
 the Chinese crackers, only very big ones. Then they took 
 away all the tools and lanterns. Then a man went down and 
 lit all the long fuses, and then he was wound up to the top 
 in the great bucket, and he went away quickly in a boat till 
 out of danger, and presently such a banging! Like guns! 
 Bits of rock flew up and then some thick smoke came up. 
 They waited a long time till they thought it safe to go back. 
 Father was on the shore, and some of his men rowed to the 
 caisson before him ; and two of them, with his young English 
 foreman, William Colquhoun, were lowered down, they were 
 so eager to see if the rock was all properly broken, and they 
 had the lanterns. But as soon as they got to the bottom the 
 lights went out and the men fell down insensible before they 
 knew what was the matter." 
 
 "Why, mother ? Why ?" breathlessly asked the boys. 
 
 "Because gunpowder makes deadly heavy gas when it goes 
 off, and the gas stopped at the bottom, and they had forgotten 
 that. The Frenchmen at the top shouted down, but no one 
 answered. Then they were frightened ; then they shouted to 
 father who was coming on one of the boats. The men stooped 
 down, lit a newspaper and dropped it down the black square 
 hole where the ropes went through. It sailed down blazing, 
 and just for a moment they saw three men lying there quite 
 still, then the blaze went out in the heavy gas. It puts out 
 lights, that kind of gas. No one dare go down. Then father 
 was rowed up in great haste. He told two men to pull their
 
 THE BORN FOOL 49 
 
 shirts off quick and he made the pump start sucking the gas 
 out as hard as it could. He said in French, 'Lower me, 
 quick! When I jerk the bell, wind up quick! Send for the 
 doctor! Throw burning things down to light me! Get a 
 lantern and lower it down !" He soused a shirt in water, tied 
 it round his face, stepped into the iron bucket and at once 
 the engine lowered him down. Father rang the bell in ever 
 so short a time, and when they wound him up he was stand- 
 ing in the big bucket, and he had put in the two insensible 
 Frenchmen and was holding them. He breathed hard while 
 they pulled the poor men out ; then in a minute he retied the 
 wet shirt over his mouth to keep the gas out, and was lowered 
 again. The man lowering the lantern for father dropped it. 
 They could not see father; it seemed so terribly long, the 
 time. Oh, they were so angry with the man for dropping it. 
 At last the bell rang, and they wound up so fast that poor 
 father's head hit the hole as he came up, and they caught him 
 as he was falling back, and that is what made that red mark 
 on his temple. He was dreadfully cut and bleeding, but he 
 had got William safe." 
 
 Kirk had jumped out of bed and stood by his mother. 
 
 "Oh ! . . . how awfully brave ! . . . I didn't know father 
 was like that! . . . Fancy! father did that!" . . . 
 
 The mother's eyes were bright and a bit wet with these 
 vivid recollections, and with pleasure that she had thought 
 of this means of making her difficult boy see his father as 
 she did. 
 
 . . . "And were they dead, mother ?" asked Ted. 
 
 "No, dear, the doctor recovered them, and one of those men 
 is old Jacques, of whom you have heard father tell funny 
 things." 
 
 "And what did the men do and all of them? Wouldn't 
 they be pleased ?" 
 
 "I believe they all kissed him! All his Frenchmen! as 
 soon as he opened his eyes and sat up. And it made him 
 laugh, grandpa told me, although his poor head was so hurt."
 
 50 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Oh, how funny !" laughed the boys, looking at each other 
 in amazement. 
 
 There had been many things to ask about ; the gas, the wet 
 shirts, the completion of the bridge. 
 
 "Yes, you may talk quietly until the landing clock strikes 
 again, then you must stop and go to sleep." 
 
 "Tuck me in, mother." 
 
 "Me too, mother." 
 
 It was a warm evening, but the boys would on no account 
 forego this form of caress. 
 
 On Sunday afternoon at Mead Wells, Mrs. Clinton had 
 always read and talked interestingly to her children, drawing 
 them together and using her gift for story and conversation 
 to hold their attention closely while she instilled her loving 
 teaching into their hearts. The children took great pleasure 
 in these Sunday hours with their mother, and looked forward 
 to them. But soon after they came to Severnly, her health 
 became so frail that she was ordered to lie down and try to 
 sleep every afternoon, and her husband insisted on obedience 
 to doctor's orders. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton was broad-minded over books, but her hus- 
 band's narrow views required a compromise. 
 
 On Sundays the children read the Quiver, bound copies of 
 The Sunday at Home, and, specially bought for them by their 
 mother, the delightful books of Mrs. Ewing. Then, too, they 
 read Little Folks, Peter Parley's Annual, and three books 
 that Kirk read and re-read with avidity, the "History of the 
 Reformation," "Heroes of Charity," and Smiles' "Lives of 
 the Engineers." 
 
 Up to now, Mr. Clinton had taken but little notice of what 
 the children read on Sundays he had been abroad so much 
 and his wife looked after all the children's affairs. But now 
 that she was semi-invalid he began to exert much personal 
 authority over them.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 51 
 
 On a Sunday afternoon, two weeks after Kirk had apol- 
 ogised to him, he took out of Ted's hands the latest copy of the 
 Quiver. He glanced through it, sat down, and again looked 
 through it. 
 
 "This is a novel nothing but a trashy novel !" 
 
 He read for ten minutes longer, while Ted fidgeted about. 
 Kirk had been reading slowly and with eminent delight in an 
 old massive Sunday at Home. The article was one from a 
 long series called "Episodes of an Obscure Life." They were 
 the very human experiences of a young curate in the East 
 End, long before "slumming" became a word. 
 
 Mr. Clinton placed Ted's Quiver face down on the table, 
 and said 
 
 "Bring me what you are reading, Kirkpatrick." 
 
 On the open page Mr. Clinton read the remarks of a Sun- 
 day bird-catcher. He was telling the curate how he had, after 
 reading it, deliberately torn up a tract given him by an old 
 lady in a train. "Them bits fluttered up in the wind and frit 
 away the best clutch o' linnets that ever kern under a net; just 
 as I stooped to pull the cords ! Them linnets fled up and set 
 on the blackberry 'edge. I counted twelve cocks and eight 
 'ens, and off they went," etc., etc., etc. 
 
 Kirk sat as it were in the dock, awaiting the judgment with 
 foreknowledge. In the "Episodes" there were, further on, 
 most absorbing details of a suicide. Kirk had but skimmed it 
 in advance, and was now steadily reading onwards to that 
 chapter. His father secretly interested read quite a long 
 time. Then he made a noise with his tongue and teeth. 
 
 "T' ! T' ! T' ! Rubbish, trash, bosh. A trashy novel ! I 
 cannot let you read this book. It is not fit for the Lord's 
 Holy Day!" 
 
 . . . "But mother said I might read it, father ?" respect- 
 fully ventured Kirk. 
 
 "Your mother evidently was not aware of its contents. Put 
 it away." 
 
 Kirk obeyed, with a gloomy, dispirited air. A heavy
 
 52 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 silence fell upon the three children. They felt it was very 
 much nicer when mother was there. 
 
 Mr. Clinton stood by the bookcase for a long time, pulling 
 books out, turning pages over and reading. Kirk slowly stole 
 to the door. 
 
 "Where are you going, sir ?" 
 
 "To get a drink, father." 
 
 "You will have your tea soon. Read this; you are old 
 enough and intelligent enough to understand it." He handed 
 his son a large book called "Crozier's Sermons." It was one 
 of those heavy incompetents that crowd the shelves of the 
 piously dull, and are read never except by the authors. 
 
 During those six months in which their mother remained 
 weak, how suppressed were these children, how tediously, how 
 desperately slowly passed the Sunday afternoons, while they 
 tried to extract interest from those unpalatable monuments 
 of vanity and verbosity, books highly honoured even when 
 dusted once a month by the housemaid. 
 
 Frequently their father, aroused by something he was 
 reading, would leave his chair, walk about and harangue 
 them on religious matters. A fierce and triumphant note ran 
 through all his teachings. The phrases "One hope of our 
 calling," "the hope that maketh pure even as He is pure," 
 "the coming of our Lord," were constantly used, and when 
 Mr. Clinton reached his more startling conclusions, he in- 
 variably used the expressions: "He will come as a thief in 
 the night !" "Caught up to meet the Lord in the twinkling 
 of an eye!" "One shall be taken, the other left!" "The 
 hundred and forty-four thousand of his first-fruits who are 
 waiting and watching for Him will be translated in an instant 
 to stand by the Lamb !" 
 
 On the Sunday in question, as Mr. Clinton pushed his 
 peroration, his face was darkly triumphant and revengeful, 
 his voice lower 
 
 "Then woe upon those who are left, upon all those people 
 round us ; God will not desert them, but a fearful time awaits
 
 THE BORN FOOL 53 
 
 them. All those who wish to save their souls will hare to do 
 so through martyrdom. There shall be wars and rumours of 
 wars; nation shall fight against nation, kingdom shall rise 
 against kingdom, and the man Antichrist will appear. He 
 will be a Napoleonic man, who will rule with a rod of iron. 
 He will set a mark in their hands, the mark of the Beast, 
 whose number is six, six, six. Those who have it not shall 
 not buy in the market place, they will have to suffer terrible 
 martyrdom, every man will carry his life in his hand. Ter- 
 rible tortures will be inflicted on mothers, fathers, children, 
 who refuse his deity. And the time is now at hand, when the 
 elect shall be caught up to meet the Lord. ... It may hap- 
 pen to-night !" 
 
 "The night is far spent, and the time is at hand. The 
 Lord in His mercy and loving-kindness has sent forth His 
 second ministers and apostles into the earth . . . He has 
 given the people of the earth this last chance. The daily 
 papers even now are full of grave symptoms. The great na- 
 tions are all ready to fly at each other's throats. There are 
 wars and rumours of wars, pestilences and famines. The 
 churches of God are deserted, infidelity flourishes like a green 
 bay tree, but He will smite them with a rod of iron !" 
 
 These harangues gave Kirk a feeling of great coming dis- 
 aster, and a keen personal fear. He always believed secretly 
 that himself would be left in bed, and Ted would be taken. 
 He had found an old copy of "Fox's Book of Martyrs," filled 
 with horrible old wood-cuts, and he had read secretly some of 
 this book, and, in consequence, been unable to eat or sleep 
 properly for two days afterwards so utterly shocked and out- 
 raged was he, and so burningly and revengefully angered 
 against the Roman Catholics who had done these revolting 
 acts. He constantly thought over with fear whether he 
 would be brave enough to face the frightful pictured tortures, 
 or whether he would be a coward and "recant." He was 
 quite convinced that himself and his father would not be 
 "caught up," and he looked strangely this afternoon on Mary
 
 54 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 and Ted, who were so complacent over these real, dreadful 
 and most imminent things-to-be, that oppressed himself with 
 such questionings. 
 
 Six months after the arrival at Severnly Agnes Clinton 
 gave birth to a daughter. Except in the eyes of the ordi- 
 nary father, mother and nurse, the infant even of three 
 months is very rarely beautiful in face, but this baby-girl 
 of the Clintons was beautiful almost from birth. She quickly 
 possessed a profusion of long curly hair, silky, and of bright 
 but darkest brown. Her face was oval, well formed, with a 
 fair, transparent olive complexion; the little features were 
 delicately chiselled, and her deep violet-hued eyes looked at 
 one with a preternatural grave sweetness and intelligence. 
 
 A week or two after the birth of the child, Mr. Clinton ran 
 downstairs enthusiastically and entered the dining-room. 
 He spoke much more to himself than to his three children at 
 table 
 
 "The only child I ever felt I could love! Incomparably 
 superior to you others. A most exquisite child! I shall 
 name her Stella Kirkpatrick ! Her face is a star ; you others 
 are nothing." 
 
 Kirk, Ted and Mary all felt much humbled by these 
 words ; they felt that there was truth in them, but their feel- 
 ings were nearer those of their mother, and the daily visit to 
 kiss her, and see and kiss the Eaphaelesque infant, gave them 
 intense pleasure.
 
 CHAPTEK VI 
 
 TED and Kirk were sent as day-boys to Severnly School, 
 about one mile from the town. The school was an 
 ancient place of learning, but modernised and possessing new 
 laboratories, a "shell," gymnasium, swimming bath, and 
 sanatorium. 
 
 The newer parts were built round old cricket fields, or 
 adjoined the historic buildings. A chancel had been added 
 carefully to the rather small early English chapel. 
 
 Severnly ranked as one of the best known smaller public 
 schools. 
 
 Most of the four hundred boys came from various parts 
 of England, but a strong contingent came from Ireland, a 
 few from Scotland, and of some the parents were in India. 
 
 Many families lived in Severnly for the sake of their 
 children's education, and the day-boys numbered over a 
 hundred. 
 
 The usual feud held good between boarders and day-boys. 
 At Severnly it was interesting to note that day-boys were 
 nearly always first, both in games and learning. Year by 
 year they carried off the challenge cups and valuable long- 
 founded scholarships. This supported one of Clinton's views 
 on education that boys should never be cut off from the 
 home influence. 
 
 Ted made steady all-round progress at school, but Kirk 
 was more variable. In English, physics, chemistry, geog- 
 raphy and divinity the younger boy easily was high up in 
 his form, but he deliberately neglected other subjects; so 
 much so, that he received the disgrace once or twice of being 
 
 55
 
 56 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "put on satis"; and for persistent evasion of German gram- 
 mar he received a well-deserved caning. He took it content- 
 edly. Frequent canings were the order of the day at Sev- 
 ernly. On one count or another few escaped them. The 
 classics master wrote in Kirk's second report, "Very clever, 
 but idle," and his father severely lectured him taking scant 
 notice of the English and science masters, who had written 
 respectively, "Good progress/' and "Works intelligently and 
 hard." 
 
 The "challenge" system was in full vogue. Was one boy 
 offended by another ? he sent a challenge to the offender. 
 They met behind the fives-courts, and there fought it out un- 
 der the supervision of prefects, who stopped a fight if the boys 
 were very unequal, or when enough blood had been drawn. 
 All the strict conditions of English fisticuffs were observed 
 closely. To "hit foul" was almost as indelible as to "funk a 
 challenge." Kirk had many fights. Always very nervous 
 until the first blow, he then attacked with fury or defended 
 with much sang-froid, both giving and receiving thrashings ; 
 and his rather prominent nose often bled freely. By eagerly 
 taking lessons from the sergeant of the gymnasium, he made 
 up for his light build. 
 
 Ted, big but peaceable, had but one fight; only once was 
 he challenged. Kirk felt an agony of concealed anxiety when 
 he saw his brother's set face amid the dense ring of boys. But 
 Ted was quite successful. 
 
 Kirk played football regularly as a forward, first in the 
 third and then in the second team. He also got placed in 
 the half-mile and mile, and though quite a small boy, was 
 honoured by handicaps of only thirty and sixty yards. With 
 the science master keen to bring up-to-date the school mu- 
 seum Kirk soon became great friends. He had, of course, 
 at once joined the school "Bug and Beetle Society." But at 
 this time it was the romantic, the beautiful, the hidden in 
 geology, ornithology, and botany that so attracted him. In 
 the coldly scientific, Kirk felt as yet but little interest. He
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 57 
 
 spent all holidays in excursions with chosen spirits, who, led 
 by himself, penetrated the most sacred and distant preserved 
 fastnesses of the neighbourhood. In those days bird-nesting 
 was a sport well recognised in the society of schools. Climb- 
 ing was the finer part of it, and Kirk, by the age of fourteen, 
 was held by many to be "cock climber" of the school. He 
 had special climbing-irons made, was an adept with ropes, 
 and the highest nest in the highest tree became unsafe from 
 his attack. Kirk brought many rare egg specimens to the 
 museum, and also an increasing number of fossils. These 
 were received warmly by Dr. Barry, who soon made the boy 
 president of the geological section of the "Bugs and Beetles." 
 
 With intense concentration of mind and soul, Kirk wrote 
 little papers on geology. These were edited by Dr. Barry, 
 and published in "The Tudor Rose," the school journal. On 
 the recommendation of Barry, Kirk was exempted by the 
 captains from Wednesday "footer" the opinion in conclave 
 being that "Clinton minor's not a tuckshop rotter ; we know 
 he wants it for tramping, et cetera ; he's never skulked, and he 
 makes a doocid good fox, D'you remember last season? 
 found absolutely new ground we'd never been in ! and fairly 
 had us .'didn't he?" 
 
 A resolution passed that "Clinton minor is hereby ex- 
 empted from Wednesday games, on condition that he keep 
 himself fit, and be prepared to enter for all school paper- 
 chases." 
 
 Amid these objective adventures there came more and 
 more those same subjective states of mind that, as a child, 
 he had known in the earliest years at Mead Wells. All lost 
 ancient things, all things to be, and flowers, and solemn woods, 
 and changing skies, began to allure him more than eggs of 
 birds. The mystery and vast antiquity of fossils began to 
 enthral him more than their collection. Within him an 
 extraordinary and profound sense of personal kinship with 
 nature grew steadily. He sat in church, and during the ser- 
 mons and the uninteresting parts he became a visionary, and
 
 58 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 dreamed, living far away in his spirit in sweet secluded places 
 in the woods known to himself. These feelings and dream- 
 ings he kept deeply hidden, even from his mother. 
 
 But Kirk and Ted together, as comrades, revelled in the 
 long summer holidays. The great orders of the day were 
 "excursions" mostly fishing jaunts. Kirk had given to 
 these important matters much attention. He went to the 
 library, where could be seen a great county map that showed 
 all the ancient stately homes, the fish-ponds, ornamental 
 lakes, rivers, streams, and moats. In the dictionary he found 
 the names of the old families, and he wrote polite boyish let- 
 ters asking for himself and his brother permission to fish. 
 In this way he received the entree to private waters that 
 were quite unknown to other boys. He made Ted keep abso- 
 lutely secret from their friends all knowledge of these places. 
 
 Never would they forget one of these glorious days. It 
 was in the summer, and when they had been nearly three 
 years at Severnly. Kirk had found a lake that looked most 
 enticing, even on the map. By himself he had gone forth 
 miles, and been away all day. He had reconnoitred round 
 an old estate, listened keenly for keepers, slipped inside a 
 dense wood that curved downhill, and so made his way 
 stealthily beneath cover, until he stood in deep shadow at the 
 margin of the water, and saw, across the cloud- and sun- 
 reflecting lake, a green smooth slope, and beyond that the long 
 rich Elizabethan fagade, standing so old and stately in Italian 
 gardens set with white statues, lawns and terraces, and 
 glowing red flower-beds. On the right and left were mighty 
 oaks and elms, beyond these were more and more great trees, 
 and beneath them and between them were scattered many 
 fallow-deer, moving in and out of shade and sunshine. 
 
 In the lake, what "risings" and movements of fish saw 
 he! His heart stood still with fierce suppressed excitement 
 when he discovered that the moveless brown thing in the 
 water was a most huge carp, idly basking.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 59 
 
 He went back through the still and silent wood, gained the 
 path, and then walked home at a great rate, making up let- 
 ters as he went. On arrival he took a sheet of his father's note- 
 paper, and wrote, in large round upright hand, a very well- 
 composed letter to General Sir George Wellby, informing him 
 that if the desired permission for a day's fishing were given, 
 he, Kirk, gave his word of honour that all undersized fish 
 would be put back, all gates would be closed carefully after 
 opening, no paper would be left about, no game would be 
 disturbed, and, if he allowed them to use the punt, then they 
 would clean it out when they had finished using it. He added 
 that his brother and himself were good swimmers. 
 
 A few days later, Kirk was laughing and leaping round 
 Ted, and punching him here and there. Ted also was 
 laughing. 
 
 "You've got leave ? you old beggar " 
 
 "Yes!" Kirk thrust the thick crested note into Ted's 
 hands, and they read it together. 
 
 "Stratton House, 
 
 "August 15, 19 . 
 
 "General Sir George Wellby accepts Mr. Clinton's conditions and 
 has pleasure in giving him permission to fish on one day, in com- 
 pany with his brother. Mr. Clinton must, if required, produce this 
 permission for the information of Sir George's gamekeepers." 
 
 The note was written in a lady's delicate clear hand- 
 writing. Kirk immediately showed it to his mother; she 
 was pleased and much amused, and with her help he wrote 
 his reply. 
 
 For the day of the excursion Mrs. Clinton exempted the 
 two boys from family prayers. She came down very much 
 earlier than usual, and cut their sandwiches, packed up gen- 
 erous pieces of cake, and gave each a bottle of raspberry 
 wine. She bade them be very careful in the punt. She 
 wished them good luck, and in tremendous spirits each 
 hugged and kissed her, and then they set off. Their fishing 
 baskets were crammed with tackle, worms, wasp-grubs, es-
 
 60 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 sence of Tolu paste, gentles, and every material of war that 
 Kirk could invent and lay hands on ; and Ted had by some un- 
 heard of means borrowed his father's landing net Kirk had 
 his own. The day was perfect for the sport. A warm south- 
 west wind continuously and very gently carried up great 
 clouds, bright and soft. Their light translucent shadows 
 dreamed and stole on over the scented heated woodlands. 
 Stratton House stood seven miles from Severnly, and it was 
 after nine before the brothers passed over the fine grass of 
 the park, to halt, well back from the willow herb and rushes 
 that marked the water's edge. Though hot and eager, they 
 stood still and gazed. How beautiful was the lake! . . . 
 Then they chose places near each other, approached warily, 
 knelt down, and began feverishly to "put together." Before 
 Kirk ended his elaborate preparations Ted "pulled up" and 
 called to him. Kirk dropped his own rod when he saw Ted 
 actually playing a fish. 
 
 "Give him line ! give him line, Ted !" cried he softly, and 
 came up with cat-like steps and took up the landing net. In 
 a minute both boys, their hearts beating with excitement, 
 were admiring a silvery one-pounder. 
 
 Before he put his own line in Kirk netted a second fish 
 for Ted. 
 
 Until noon each had equal luck. Kirk had moved further 
 from his brother, when he heard him call, "Kirk! Kirk! 
 Quick !" He went swiftly to him. 
 
 "I've got something frightful on ! Look at that ! What- 
 ever can it be ?" 
 
 The slender rod was heavily bent, the line slanted away 
 far out into deep water, did not move about or rush through 
 the water, but continually jerked and twitched strongly. 
 
 "Keep a steady pull on him ! Keep a steady pull on him !" 
 advised Kirk. And presently a powerful ambling movement 
 commenced. Backwards and forwards, now this way, now 
 that way went the line, going further and further out in the 
 lake, until Ted's arms ached delightfully. Suddenly a
 
 THE BORST FOOL 61 
 
 strange head showed, then came a flash of black and silver 
 side. 
 
 "It's a simply e-normous eel!" declared Kirk, and Ted 
 kept up the pressure, until the taut line neared the water- 
 edge. 
 
 Again and again Kirk tried to net the powerful creature. 
 It was no sooner half in than out ! 
 
 "Oh, Kirk, we shall lose him! It's only roach tackle!" 
 cried the anxious Ted. Kirk threw the net down and began 
 furiously to unlace his boots. "Keep him going gently, old 
 man!" He kicked one boot off a violent lashing began at 
 the water edge and Kirk jumped in, one boot on, one off. 
 He was up to his waist, but, net in hand, he part pushed, 
 kicked, netted and struggled the great eel through the reeds 
 on to the grass, where it was lively as a thick snake, and bit 
 savagely at the boys. Ted put a foot on it. A moment and 
 it slid free; he stood on it with both feet the line was 
 broken. Kirk fiercely groped in his pockets. Ted got a foot 
 on the eel. In a moment Kirk on his knees cut the neck deep. 
 
 "Oh !" exclaimed Ted, jumping off, and shocked at so much 
 blood. "It's like killing something !" 
 
 "Rather!" triumphantly cried Kirk. "Why! he tried to 
 bite us like anything ! Oh, I am so glad we've got him ! He's 
 the biggest thing you've ever caught ! Bet he's five pounds !" 
 He washed the blood from the knife, and then took off his 
 wet clothes and wrung them out in the sunshine. "I'll bet 
 even father would like to have caught it !" 
 
 "Good old Kirkie !" laughed Ted. "This is sport !" 
 
 After this exciting event, they covered their fish with more 
 grass to shade them from the sun and keep the wasps off. 
 
 Then for some time the fish ceased feeding, so the brothers 
 ate their lunch, with that rich enjoyment of food that all 
 healthy boys possess, accentuated to-day by the romance of 
 the al fresco and their splendid sport. 
 
 Afterwards, for some reason occult to Ted, Kirk made 
 himself as respectable as possible. He washed his boots, and
 
 62 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 carefully cleaned and re-cleaned his grubby nails with the 
 small scissors given him by his mother. 
 
 "My word! you young gentlemen know what you're 
 about!" 
 
 The boys were startled; behind them stood a boy and a 
 big keeper, and the man had quietly pushed the grass off the 
 two fine heaps of fish. He now carefully put it back. Kirk 
 produced the letter. The keeper read it slowly, and said 
 
 "All right, young gentlemen." 
 
 Then he paused, again looked at the two heaps, and said 
 
 "Miss Madge would like to see them, I'll warrant." 
 
 "Is Miss Madge the little girl I saw on the pony ?" asked 
 Kirk. 
 
 "Yes, that's her, sir. I'll send up word to the house. She 
 wants to do some fishing, but we've got nought but pike- 
 trimmers. I'll warrant Miss Madge 'ud like to see them 
 fish." 
 
 "We shall be very pleased indeed if she will come and 
 look." 
 
 In the afternoon the clouds had vanished, the day had 
 heated up, and the shadows of the great elms had grown 
 longer, when the boys saw her coming down with her father. 
 As they approached near, Ted and Kirk raised their silver- 
 badged caps, and smiled. Kirk saw that she was indeed very, 
 very pretty, very graceful and dark. 
 
 "And you are Mr. Kirkpatrick ?" said the general, also 
 smiling, with a secret amusement ; and he next held quite a 
 professional conversation on fishing, Kirk respectfully, but 
 freely and very positively and firmly, imparting his knowl- 
 edge and beliefs. The little girl listened, and watched Kirk. 
 
 "This is my daughter Marjorie." 
 
 The two boys again raised their caps, and Kirk, after he 
 had shown her the dead shining fish, and heard her ex- 
 clamations, asked her shyly
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 63 
 
 "Would you like to fish with my rod ? The fish are begin- 
 ning to feed again. . . . I'll show you how." 
 
 "Thank you! Oh, papa! I can, can't I? And shall we 
 go in the punt? Oh yes, dad! you must come in the punt 
 with us ! You know you promised !" 
 
 The fine big man, smiling, was drawn in the desired di- 
 rection, and Kirk, who had by his own eagerness increased 
 her desire, gathered his things hastily and followed. 
 
 "I'll bait and take off for her, sir !" 
 
 "Oh, how kind of you ! Thank you ! Tom never lets me 
 touch his rod, but he never catches any !" 
 
 The general took the quaint paddle, and under Kirk's 
 very exact directions they presently anchored quietly before 
 a favourable opening in the lilies. 
 
 The general lit a cheroot. In the meanwhile Kirk baited, 
 explained to Marjorie, and then threw in with his very best 
 skill. He placed the rod in the small girl's hands, showing 
 her how to hold the running line, and how she was to "strike." 
 She asked Kirk many questions, taking up a more reserved 
 manner with him. 
 
 The proverbial luck of beginners held good and the float 
 soon went under. Madge struck, cried out, but did quickly 
 what Kirk told her. A minute later he netted a panting fish, 
 which escaped his hands and jumped about the big punt- 
 bottom before it lay gasping. 
 
 Then with a pained expression the child hastily put down 
 the rod, clasped her hands to her bosom, then stood up, turned 
 to her father and buried her lovely little face on his shoulder. 
 Kirk heard her stifled exclamations. 
 
 "Oh ! oh, how cruel ! Oh, I can't bear it I Please put it 
 back, poor, poor thing ! Oh ! please put it in !" 
 
 Kirk glanced with perplexity at her father and received a 
 whimsical nod. 
 
 He stooped down and the little girl heard a splash. 
 
 "There! silly!" Her father patted the kind little form. 
 "It's back in the water ! You're a fine fisherman, you are !"
 
 64 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 She raised her face and smiled apologetically, very shyly and 
 
 deliciously, at Kirk. 
 
 "You don't mind, please ? It seems so cruel." 
 
 "It's not really," said Kirk, very anxiously, and much 
 
 disturbed. "My father says they can't feel, and it's not 
 
 cruel." 
 
 Marjorie and her father had long gone, and the August 
 evening drew in. The boys were deeply loth to cease, but, 
 growing hungrier, at last they stopped fishing, loaded them- 
 selves up exultantly, and began to tramp back in the dewy 
 dusky eve. They made short cuts through deep woodland 
 and over silent turf, while the bats clicked round them over- 
 head. They arrived long after dark, with aching shoulders; 
 fagged but triumphant. What a moment it was when they 
 gruntingly lifted off the bags and baskets. Even father 
 went to the kitchen to see the haul, and Kirk, with feelings 
 suppressed, replied respectfully to his rather kindly questions. 
 Then mother made them have supper before they went into 
 the important matter of weighing the fish. They ate in the 
 kitchen but in great state, for they had walked into thick 
 mud in a dark woodland lane, and they were very late, fishy, 
 garrulous, and quite unfit for the dining-room. Mary came 
 down in her little dressing gown to see Ted's and Kirk's 
 fish ; with their heads the brothers "bunted" her rather bois- 
 terously till she took refuge with her mother ; then they kissed 
 her good-night, and fell to again upon the especially good 
 supper. They ate enormously, and when mother had gone, 
 they chaffed the maids, argued vehemently, good-humouredly, 
 learnedly, as to the honour of the eel capture ; and then, sup- 
 per finished, while Kirk was down in the cellar weighing 
 and gloating over the fish, Ted fell fast asleep in his chair.
 
 CHAPTEK VII 
 
 ABOUT this time Kirk received a first good mark from 
 his father. Mr. Clinton was a keen fisherman, and 
 very skilled with the dry fly. In his younger days, he and 
 his wife . together had spent holidays in Scotland amid the 
 banks and braes, where fishing is a most properly important 
 matter. Trout and grayling were, however, much preserved 
 in the neighbourhood of Severnly, and Mr. Clinton, despite 
 the financial situation, had early subscribed to the rental of 
 a piece of good water shared by half a dozen men. In ex- 
 cuse it may be said that fishing, skating, and perhaps theol- 
 ogy, were his only hobbies. 
 
 Partly upon business, partly upon pleasure, Mr. Clinton 
 was to drive out ten miles one spring day near Easter, to a 
 broad brook that rippled and gloomed through a deep un- 
 dulating woodland. The casual groom being unwell, and 
 Kirk handy, Mr. Clinton suddenly bade the boy make ready. 
 Kirk required no urging. He rushed up to his room, made 
 himself "fit to go with father," and then caught up his own 
 new fly-rod and ran downstairs. 
 
 Outside, he climbed up smartly into the dog-cart and took 
 his seat. He was in a state of silent, eminent, and surprised 
 high spirits. As they drove along he replied wisely and 
 attentively to his father's occasional remarks ; and half-way, 
 his father, after some instructions, placed the reins in Kirk's 
 hands and gave him a lesson in the art of driving. 
 
 The keen primitive hunting instinct in the boy taught him 
 intuitively exactly what to do in attending upon his father. 
 He landed the fish with no small skill, never got in the way, 
 
 65
 
 66 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 stealthily and without shaking them climbed two awkward 
 trees that overhung big pools, to release his father's casts 
 from the twigs, and descended each time without having dis- 
 turbed the feeding fish. He stepped with the wary step of his 
 father, took cover with equal facility, and was in fact a very 
 good ghillie. At lunch an excellent meal in Kirk's opinion 
 his father warmed a little, and discoursed on flies, knots, 
 casts, waters of many sorts, and presently found himself put- 
 ting up a two-fly cast for his son. Mr. Clinton critically ex- 
 amined the new rod. 
 
 "Aunt Athorpe sent it me," said Kirk, "and I can cast a 
 bit now, for dace, you know, father. . . . Aunty asked what 
 I would like for my birthday. So I wrote a proper specifica- 
 tion of the kind I wanted. . . ." 
 
 "Indeed !" Mr. Clinton met his son's eyes for a moment, 
 and slightly smiled. 
 
 "It had 3 on it ... I didn't know it would be all that. 
 
 
 "It was marked 3, Kirkpatrick, and you were unaware 
 that it would be so costly," said Mr. Clinton in a manner by 
 no means unkindly. 
 
 "Yes, father," said Kirk, respectfully. 
 
 While Mr. Clinton tried the rod, he thought rather bitterly 
 about Alice Athorpe she who had opposed his marriage with 
 Agnes. . . . But coming back to things in hand, he spoke 
 
 "Too whippy . . . really a grayling rod . . . humph! 
 !You must not whip, but throw; this way ... so ... so, 
 allowing fully to the rod its natural swing . . . there, hold 
 it thus. Take it " 
 
 Kirk, under his father's somewhat impatient but skilled 
 tuition, learnt quickly to throw a fly very fairly well. The 
 father felt a new and strange interest in his son. After him- 
 self taking a very large trout which caused Kirk the most 
 intense but sternly suppressed excitement Mr. Clinton 
 ceased fishing and sat down beneath a hawthorn. He drew 
 out his cheroot case. He bade Kirk cast just above where the
 
 THE BORN FOOL 67 
 
 ripple died into the smooth deep water, and while his father 
 rested, Kirk captured his first trout. 
 
 From this day, Ted, who had been his father's favourite 
 or, rather, who had always received more notice than Kirk 
 became unjustly neglected. Mr. Clinton in the holidays 
 frequently took his second son with him when visiting works 
 and when fishing. The new friendship was limited strictly to 
 self-interests. Kirk never felt affection towards his father, 
 and, quite unconsciously, the boy assumed a prematurely 
 masculine, serious, and business-like manner when with him. 
 Often the two were silent for hours. Kirk was aware that his 
 handiness with the net or gaff, his fishing skill, and his pre- 
 cocious interest in civil engineering works, paid for these 
 coveted jaunts. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton also was not deceived. She saw clearly the 
 great mental and emotional gap between the boy and his 
 father. Her husband's would-be praise only saddened her. 
 One day he had just returned, and stood by her. They spoke 
 of Kirk. 
 
 "Yes. He has been with me all day. He possesses a brain 
 and a hand. He has more tact than Ted. Never annoys 
 me by speaking unless there really is something to be said. 
 There's much more in the boy than I thought . . ." Mr. 
 Clinton paused, and then added, with a slight tone of sur- 
 prise and pique, "But callous, Agnes, a strangely unaffection- 
 ate, reserved boy not frank neither like you nor like me !" 
 
 "Kirk? Oh no! Why, dearest, Kirk is the most . . ." 
 She turned and put her hand on her husband's shoulder. 
 "But you and he have never quite understood each other, 
 dear. You will come together more as he grows older." 
 
 Mr. Clinton made no reply; but he smiled doubtfully, 
 glancing downwards. 
 
 In Russia during many winter months, and twice in 
 Canada, Clinton greatly enjoyed long spells of skating.
 
 68 . THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Clever when a boy, and well-taught by his father, he had 
 never missed a single brief English opportunity for practice, 
 and now he was, without doubt, an expert of the very first 
 rank. 
 
 For skating, Clinton would give any member of his staff 
 a holiday, if it possibly could be allowed ; and while the ice 
 bore, the office saw but little of himself. In Canada he learnt 
 scientific intricacy and speed; at home he had acquired pre- 
 cision; in Russia he was captivated by elegance and car- 
 riage, passion of movement, beautiful singularity of style; 
 and he had mastered all the technique of this sport. 
 
 After a very heavy snowstorm, followed by a week of hard 
 frost, the Clinton family, with other residents who were 
 privileged, went out a few miles to Coombe Water. This 
 large secluded mere was in the deer-park of the Earl of 
 Severnly. To-day it showed a wide and black polished sur- 
 face, part surrounded by snowy slopes, and part enclosed 
 by noble hanging woods. The hoar frost each night had 
 done fairy-like work and made a greater change; and now 
 the white woods, the exquisite frosted trees, the deeply cov- 
 ered slopes, the black shining lake, the pale-blue sky, made a 
 pure winter transformation that enchanted. 
 
 A kindling of excitement filled Clinton as he noted the 
 absolute perfection of the ice. His tall approaching figure, 
 of a severe strong grace, his Russian furred cap, and the 
 closely-fitting continental winter-costume giving freedom to 
 the muscular but finely-modelled thigh and leg had been 
 noted by many of those already on the lake. The Earl of 
 Severnly's party and his heir were mingling on the ice with 
 every one, with that freedom and jollity given only by good 
 sport. As Clinton put on his skates the word went round, 
 and a general movement left clear a great central space of 
 ice. That movement also thrilled Clinton. A brilliant Rus- 
 sian scene flashed across his vision, he stood up, tested the 
 firm attachment of the blades, and then, without visible ef- 
 fort, with head well up, shoulders back, and hands grace-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 69 
 
 fully raised, without a lift of the bright blades that each 
 closely followed each like two sinuous silver fishes, he was 
 gliding forward swifter and swifter from the lakeside, in 
 long beautiful flamboyant curves, of which his slowly but 
 greatly swaying body seemed absolutely a part. A minute 
 later, while in the centre of an immense sweeping curve, at 
 high speed without effort, with scarcely a visible lift of the 
 blades, the long scroll he drew was rushing suddenly as it 
 were from his front blade, and Agnes heard an exclama- 
 tion 
 
 "Great Ged ! He's flying, backwards! Did you see him re- 
 verse ? Did you ?" 
 
 "Don't speak ! it's too lovely !" . . . said a young girl. 
 
 Clinton as he swept backwards lowered his hands slowly, 
 folded his arms easily behind his back, made a lightning 
 voltef ace, and then, daringly, at great speed for such figures, 
 he traced immense "Grape Vines." His agile rushing form 
 made incredible angles with the ice. Like a swift in the air 
 he wheeled, turned and swept reversing, careering, spin- 
 ning, darting in beautiful scrolls and patterns that grew 
 more and more intricate seemingly effortless but were ever 
 exceedingly graceful. Then with flickering skates, in an 
 abandon and furore of wonderful rapid spirals and eddies 
 of all sizes, he drew nearer and nearer to his wife, and Ted 
 in ecstasy cried 
 
 "Look out ! mother ! He's doing the 'Water Spout !' " 
 
 Clinton raised his arms fully, threw back his head and 
 spun violently, the nebulous pillar of his body oscillating 
 rhythmically and moving on in a smaller and a smaller whirl 
 ice powder and a rushing sound rose from his skates until 
 his indistinguishable blades made one solid flashing in the 
 sun, and then suddenly there was no sound, and with hands 
 poised, he was seen floating towards Agnes on the same grace- 
 ful, curious tandem-glide by which he had commenced his 
 beautiful, swift, and accomplished figures. 
 
 Energetic clapping of hands and loud shouts of "Bravo!
 
 70 
 
 Bravo! Encore!" broke from the spectators, and Clinton, 
 standing by Agnes, turned round, panting a little, smiling 
 rather sardonically at himself, and bowed twice to the people 
 on the ice. 
 
 Kirk had not before had the opportunity to learn skating. 
 Winters at both Mead Wells and Severnly were mild. Se- 
 vere frost was needful to give bearing-ice on their deep 
 waters, and last year there had been two days only of skat- 
 ing ; in which Ted learned a good deal, but Kirk at that time 
 had a sprained knee. To-day, Mr. Clinton undertook Kirk's 
 tuition. The boy walked nearly a mile over the snow, to 
 the quiet and smaller end of the lake, and there put on 
 his skates, and soon descried his father and the occupied 
 chair-sledge he propelled, coming down the lake like the wind. 
 In front of Clinton, on this light sleigh, sat his wife, well 
 wrapped up in splendid Russian sables. 
 
 Clinton now took his boy in hand. He readjusted a skate, 
 took Kirk out on to the ice, and in a few clear sentences, 
 spoken slowly and repeated twice, he explained the prin- 
 ciple of simple forward skating, of balance, of correct posi- 
 tions for the feet and heels and head and arms. He then 
 retired a dozen yards and ordered Kirk, "Now, begin." 
 
 Extreme crossness and contempt greeted every error, every 
 painful fall. No time was given to rub acutely aching knees 
 or hips. The cutting sarcasm and quietly rough speech 
 roused fierce and silent resentment in Kirk. He did not feel 
 the pain of falls. Acutely stimulated, he boldly did what 
 he was told. He fell, sprawled, scrambled up, succeeded, 
 failed again and fell, got up and tried again, went better, 
 better, too quick, another severe fall ! up again ! and heard his 
 father's hard, clarion voice, 
 
 "Why will you not obey me? Keep the heels down!" 
 
 Then more careful work, and now he was actually skat- 
 ing! twenty good strokes, then bump again! on the same 
 knee. Up again! A hundred yards this time! Too much 
 speed bump bump ! Mrs. Clinton did not say a word, but
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 71 
 
 she could not bear to stay and look on, and as Ted skated 
 away with her she had tears in her eyes, but in her heart 
 a great secret pride in her boy's fortitude. 
 
 By-and-by the bruised Kirk skated to her and beside her, 
 full of exultation. 
 
 "Look ! mother darling ! Father says it's the quickest he's 
 ever taught any one! Oh! isn't it perfect! Let me push 
 mother, Ted, there's a good old chap!" 
 
 It really was a remarkable performance. It was due to 
 exact obedience and compliance with his father's clear scien- 
 tific instruction, and also to a certain absolute fearlessness 
 under excitement that Kirk inherited from him.
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 STELLA, their adored baby sister, that little dark, lovely, 
 serious child, with the rare heavenly smile, died in the 
 following autumn, after less than a week of pain. 
 
 On the day of the funeral Kirk was upstairs making ready 
 for the sad rite, when he received an extreme shock. He 
 heard for the first time in his life his mother begin to cry, 
 overcome, lamenting to herself. The boy in agony of mind 
 pushed her door open and saw her standing at the toilet 
 table, her back towards him. She was in her corset, and he 
 beheld his mother's graceful form, her beautiful arms, neck, 
 and shoulders, and her dear head bent in such grief. 
 
 Not breathing for fear and pain, he ran downstairs and 
 rushed to his father 
 
 "Father! mother's crying oh, so awfully do go to her!" 
 
 Mr. Clinton hastily went upstairs, and after a few minutes 
 the sound, so terrible to Kirk, ceased, and he went into the 
 empty morning-room, and wiped his eyes, and thought blind- 
 ly. This was his first personal experience of great sorrow. 
 
 After this, Kirk for weeks furtively watched his mother, 
 himself almost afraid to be too affectionate for fear he re- 
 minded her. But his mother knew what was in his heart. 
 
 When near, he always threaded her needles for her, and 
 ,he undertook eagerly any little commissions. He sought and 
 gathered for her the first wild violets and primroses. He 
 took endless pains with anything she asked him to do. In 
 moving the dining-room furniture a large white patch was 
 scraped in the dark dado. The handsome, rather expensive 
 paper had been chosen by Mrs. Clinton. She looked at the 
 
 72
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 73 
 
 blemish with chagrin, and wondered what could be done. A 
 brilliant idea came to Kirk. 
 
 "Mother!" exclaimed he, "I'll mend it for you, you see!" 
 He brought pencil, brushes, and his small water-colour 
 box. In an hour he had drawn in the pattern and painted 
 it so cleverly that no blemish could be seen, unless one 
 searched closely. His mother knew why he had taken such 
 pains and although no shadow of favoritism was ever 
 shown by her, yet she knew how he revered her; she alone 
 knew how the passionate, critical boy restrained himself for 
 her sake and between them grew an ardent, silent love 
 very understanding and deep in a boy of fifteen. 
 
 Mrs. Clinton, in the spring, was ordered change of air 
 and scene. Her husband was anxious about her drooping 
 health, and insisted upon a specialist's opinion. This man 
 advised complete absence from her husband and Severnly. 
 She must go to a lively place, and meet as many fresh people 
 as possible. He was very positive, and Clinton acquiesced. 
 Before things were settled, Alice Athorpe wrote, pressing 
 Agnes to come and spend the London season with her. To 
 this the specialist agreed, saying it was just the thing. Clin- 
 ton was not on very good terms with his wife's aunt. He and 
 she were rather too temperamentally alike. Both were too 
 positive, and, like positive nodes, they repelled each other. 
 Clinton had preserved for years a feeling of enmity against 
 Mrs. Athorpe, dating from that time when she had quietly op- 
 posed his love for Agnes. Her husband, uncle to Agnes, was 
 now long dead, and had left her very wealthy. Clinton 
 had battled later with Mrs. Athorpe over the conversion of 
 his wife. He was not very satisfied about the proposed visit. 
 He did not realise that Alice Athorpe was far too good, 
 frank, benevolent, and noble-minded a woman to attempt 
 to criticise or disparage him to his wife. But Clinton did 
 know that his wife had always greatly enjoyed visits to 
 Inverness Terrace; he was well aware that Agnes was her
 
 74 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 favourite niece, and that they were very fond of each other ; 
 so he fell in with the new proposal. 
 
 Mary accompanied her mother, and a little later, in the 
 Easter holidays, the two boys had a royal fortnight in town 
 under the auspices of the splendid old lady, who sent them 
 forth each morning with their curly heads full of instruc- 
 tions, and their pockets full of money, the sole law of the 
 Medes and Persians being their punctual return in good time 
 for dinner. With mother they went to their first theatre, 
 and saw the Mikado; and Kirk lived in paradise. The long 
 railway journeys there and back by themselves were not 
 the least of the pleasures of the boys. 
 
 May and June were very hot that year, and when Mrs. 
 Clinton returned she still looked over-transparent and very 
 delicate. 
 
 In August the family went to the coast of Cardigan, to 
 Abermawr, a place they had once before visited. Abermawr 
 provided beautiful mountain scenery, good air and sea-bath- 
 ing, trout and salmon fishing for Mr. Clinton, and safe 
 sands and delights for all the children. Abermawr, with its 
 great wooden bridge, the far-famed estuary, the ring of moun- 
 tains, the black cattle on the golden sands, was a quiet un- 
 known place in those days. 
 
 Kirk had been away from school during the last month of 
 that summer term. Apparently quite well, he had, upon a 
 hot holiday in July, gone a very long tramp, but he dragged 
 himself back at sundown in a state of great exhaustion. Dur- 
 ing the night he was seized with a strange, sudden illness, and 
 before morning he was delirious, with a very high tempera- 
 ture. 
 
 His mother nursed him night and day. Never would he 
 forget her cool, gentle hands, her dear hands, as she at- 
 tended him, and put wet muslins on his burning head. 
 
 In quite a few days the boy was out of bed, but very pale 
 and weak. The family doctor was a clever man, but was
 
 THE BORN FOOL 75 
 
 much puzzled, and informed Mrs. Clinton that the nearest 
 malady he could think of was slight meningitis, accelerated 
 by Kirk's over-exertion in the sun ; and he asked if the boy 
 had been reading or working too much ? They decided Kirk 
 should miss the last three weeks of the term. 
 
 Mr. Clinton, Ted, Mary, and the maid, returned to 
 Severnly looking brown and well, but Mrs. Clinton with Kirk 
 remained at the seaside for another two weeks. Those were 
 fourteen days that Kirk never forgot during the rest of his 
 life. His mother read Tennyson to him, and he and she went 
 delicious walks together, in that noble scenery that stirred 
 the boy so mightily, and they made several incomparable 
 boating trips across the estuary to Arthog. They were rowed 
 there with the help of Kirk at the tiller by an honest old 
 sea-captain, who lived in a wee white cottage high upon the 
 rugged mountains that descend at Abermawr. Agnes Clinton 
 and her boy showed each other all their love, and Kirk was 
 happy and entranced as a lover with the beloved. Of this 
 mother and son it might have been said also with some truth : 
 "We see things with the same eyes ; what you find lovely, I 
 find lovely ; God has made our souls of one piece." 
 
 Besides his mother's influence, the church, his father's 
 effect, heredity of lineage, the life at school, and the pe- 
 culiarly rich heavy-timbered countryside there were other 
 powers moulding Kirk's innate separate character while yet 
 it remained pliant. 
 
 Kirk had a friend, Mr. Cecil, of the Severnly Library. The 
 boy shared the old man's love for flowers. Behind the build- 
 ings of aged yellow stone was a large garden, so quaint and 
 sweet as to be comparable with that at Mead Wells. 
 
 When Kirk was eleven he had first looked through this 
 library window, seen a peep of flowers, and exclaimed 
 
 "Oh ! you've got woolly-wort !" 
 
 "Why, so I have, young sir."
 
 76 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Might I please have a bit, Mr. Cecil? a little root I 
 want it for some one, very much." 
 
 "What! What! What! young man?" 
 
 "Only for my mother," said Kirk, softly, and going a little 
 red. The old man keenly looked at him before he spoke. 
 
 "Why, so you shall, so you shall." 
 
 He began slowly moving round the counter, leaving in 
 charge his somewhat brow-beaten assistant ; and that morning 
 Kirk and Mr. Cecil became fast friends. The boy proudly 
 took home a regal bouquet of many flowers from the old man's 
 greenhouses; also some love-in-a-mist, and a good root of 
 woolly woundwort. 
 
 This affection for flowers gave Kirk unexpected friends. 
 By some means he was on great terms with the Earl of 
 Severnly's horticulturist a decayed Scots Master of Arts, 
 who ruled over certain magnificent, tropical greenhouses. And 
 then, too, there was a dear old maiden lady who lived at 
 Woodlandf ording, six miles away, among immemorial meads 
 and forest-lands, that sloped down to where the shining river 
 dreamed through rich meadows. Kirk had a written per- 
 mission to roam her estates, and specific leave to gather white 
 violets in a certain pine-wood. He was chary and wise of 
 over-visiting, and went but thrice a year, and by agreement 
 took tea solemnly and on his best behaviour with the soli- 
 tary old lady, and was served by a real hereditary footman 
 in a very grand old historic house. 
 
 Mr. Cecil refused books if he thought them not good for 
 the boy or girl who asked for them. Even at twenty years, 
 many were still boys and girls in his old eyes. If they asked 
 for books of which he disapproved, he first regarded these 
 young persons severely from above his spectacles, then 
 through his spectacles; and then he would ramble off, and 
 having made a long mock-search, he would return, look at 
 them fixedly, and announce gently, "Not in." If it were 
 Kirk, he would produce some other book, and add
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 77 
 
 "But read this, Master Clinton. Beautiful I^nglish, beau- 
 tiful book ... do you good." 
 
 "Oh, all right, thank you so much, Mr. Cecil," Kirk 
 would reply, and then perhaps ask him 
 
 "How are the greenhouses ?" 
 
 "Too busy now . . . too busy . . . but come round 
 this evening . . . new Alopecuris sphixiata retro flexa 
 . . . just out this morning . . . lovely thing . . . you 
 shall see it. At six o'clock, please. . . . My kindest re- 
 gards to your mother." 
 
 Mr. Cecil chose books carefully for Kirk, and often gave 
 him gentle reprimands and hints that his speed was far, far 
 too great. "Can't remember it all if you read like that, 
 young man." But Kirk combated these checks by stating 
 an inventory of the book he had returned the old man listen- 
 ing gravely, sometimes making sound or learned comments, 
 often a little beyond Kirk's mind, but not beyond his deep 
 respect and thirst to know. 
 
 Kirk for years had felt an increasing unconscious pleasure 
 in Sundays when stress of weather or other hindrances pre- 
 vented the weekly visit to Salbury, for then the Clintons 
 went to Church of England service at Severnly Abbey. 
 
 All those years of Gregorian chanting had disciplined his 
 musical ear to reject anything but the best. That music of 
 the Apostolic Church was so pure, so classic, so clear; but 
 it was chastened by extreme coldness and austerity, even 
 when joyful; hence, and for other reasons that became 
 stronger, Kirk always had been delighted secretly when cir- 
 cumstances made the family attend the Abbey service. The 
 immense organ was two centuries old. It filled entirely the 
 west end of the abbey. The glorious music from this great 
 and mellowed instrument specially filled Kirk with ecstasy, 
 and had done so since he first heard it as a boy of nine. One 
 entered the Abbey from the west and passed beneath the 
 gallery of the organ. Looking behind and up, one saw the 
 dark wood of the long gallery, wonderfully carved with
 
 78 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 groups of old viols and cellos, bassoons and drums, trumpets 
 and pipes, all in such high relief as to seem really sheafed 
 and bound there by the flowing ribbons carved around them. 
 The great chords and storm-sounds of the diapason shook 
 Kirk to his soul; and when he was still a child, the silvery 
 voices of the host of martial pipes had made him fly across 
 the heaven of his imagination, naked, shouting, and brandish- 
 ing a spear. 
 
 For Kirk was English in his heart's core, and to him the 
 Apostolic Church was now beginning to appear as a religion 
 that was young, weak, despised, and lowly, amid the over- 
 towering traditions, the great fanes, the glorious works of 
 stone that stood filled with the memories of ancient England 
 the cathedrals and the abbeys filled with great solemnity, 
 and standing in strength like vast oaks of the old forests. 
 Kirk loved increasingly the past, the ancient, the strong, and 
 the enduring. 
 
 Above him, crossed on the naked stonework of the soaring 
 walls, his eyes had dwelt often upon the bloody gauzy silks 
 brought back from terrible Isandlwana; there, all fearfully 
 torn and stained, they hung in memory of the heroic dead 
 English; and from childhood to boyhood he had looked at 
 them always with a deep reverence and excitement. 
 
 In the high, purple-stoned chancel, the forms of noble 
 men in armour lay by their dames and great ladies, and far 
 above them spouted the exquisite groining of the roof. 
 
 Behind him the boy could feel the presence of the fiery 
 beautiful poet, looking from his pure marble, with lion-like 
 eyes, the lips exquisite, calm, and balanced in superb thought. 
 Always, after service, as he went slowly down the crowded 
 aisle to the western exit, he had gazed at this face.
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 THE Easter holidays were again approaching; it was 
 the middle of a week, when, at eleven o'clock in the 
 forenoon, a knock came at the class-room door, and the old 
 dignified school porter, his breast decorated with a row of 
 medals, brought in a note to Kirk's form master, who read 
 it gravely, beckoned to Kirk, and then said in a low tone 
 
 "Your mother is ill, Clinton; they want you at home, 
 you can go now." 
 
 Kirk's face went deathly pale, and he left the room. 
 
 This incident had been preceded by a painful week. The 
 Clinton household had been upset doctors had come and 
 gone, two professional nurses were living in the house. Mrs. 
 Clinton had been seriously ill for three weeks. On the Sun- 
 day evening she had, however, rallied wonderfully, miracu- 
 lously it seemed to her husband. The "Laying on of hands" 
 and the "Anointing" had by her wish taken place that after- 
 noon; and, on Monday, the boys went back to school with 
 lighter hearts. Kirk could not, dare not, imagine the actual 
 possibility of his mother's death. 
 
 On the night of their second recall from school the two 
 brothers slept at a neighbouring house a sympathetic ar- 
 rangement made by one of Mrs. Clinton's more intimate 
 friends, for their own home was too upset; the nurses took 
 up a bedroom, and, in addition, Mrs. Athorpe, in haste and 
 anxiety, had arrived the week previous, and was staying at 
 the "Gates" with her old maid. 
 
 Next morning, while Ted, Kirk, and Mary were together 
 in the morning-room, their father entered and closed the door 
 behind him. His face looked aged and wrinkled, his eyes 
 were red, wide open, and despairing. He almost raved 
 
 79
 
 80 
 
 "Oh ! your dear mother ; kneel down, all of you ; her beau- 
 tiful limbs, she has no more use in them. Oh! she was al- 
 ways so pure . . ." and fresh tears streamed down the 
 man's face, while Kirk began breathing quickly and faintly 
 for an awful fear now held him. He, too, prayed to God 
 as he had never before prayed. 
 
 Their father soon left them Ted and Mary both crying, 
 Kirk utterly overcome. The March wind and rain never 
 ceased violently pressing and drumming on the streaming 
 window-panes. An hour later Alice Athorpe came down to 
 the children. She was a tower of strength, and her strong 
 beautiful old face was quite calm. 
 
 "Ted, dear, your mother wants to speak to you ; you must 
 be very quiet." They left the room. After a few minutes 
 she returned alone, and now she also was crying. "Kirk, 
 my dear boy, will you come now ?" 
 
 He followed her up the broad stairs of the house ; his aunt 
 took him past people on the big landing a professional nurse, 
 and poor old faithful Jane standing there mutely, and others 
 he did not know or notice. Strange tables and chairs and 
 things were avoided, and before Mrs. Athorpe opened the 
 door, she said, "Don't give way, Kirk, be brave." She ad- 
 mitted him, and herself remained outside. 
 
 The ordered room was quite still, and here the wind made 
 no noise. A bright fire gleamed on the old and elegant furni- 
 ture. 
 
 Kirk stood, then knelt down beside his mother, to be near 
 her and hear her faint words ; she seemed to be so sunk down 
 into the large, low bed. Her pallid face shone with per- 
 spiration, her lips were blue ; she had too plainly greatly suf- 
 fered. But her grey eyes were so steadfast, sweet, and so 
 earnest as she looked at him lovingly. Kirk kissed her most 
 gently, and she smiled very slowly and closed her eyes; she 
 spoke so faintly that Kirk held his breath, and leaned his 
 head down very close to her. 
 
 "My dearest . . . boy . . . Kirk . . . dear . . . where
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 81 
 
 is your hand?" whispered she. "Father . . . never desert 
 him . . . promise me, dear." 
 
 "I promise, mother" . . . she could scarcely see him. 
 
 "You will never, desert him, dear ?" 
 
 "]STo, mother. ~No, no." 
 
 "Take care of Mary and Ted ; help them, for my sake." 
 
 "I will, mother." " 
 
 "Always be pure, dear, for my sake . . . dear, you will 
 never, forget me ?" 
 
 "Mother! Mother!" 
 
 And now his own tears rained down, and he swallowed, 
 and swallowed them back, and hastily wiped his face on a 
 corner of the sheet ; but his mother's eyes were still closed. 
 
 "Good-bye ; put your arms, round my, neck, Kirk." 
 
 He kissed her, very, very gently, she was so exhausted, and 
 her eyes remained closed. He heard the door open, but could 
 not look round. Mrs. Athorpe came and whispered to him. 
 She took his hand. "You must leave her now, dear, she 
 wishes to see Mary." 
 
 That evening Agnes Clinton again rallied, and at a quarter 
 to eleven the two overwrought boys went away with renewed 
 hope, and slept at their neighbour's home. They awoke at 
 six o'clock next morning and soon hastened towards the 
 "Gates." When near home they met the boot-boy. He stopped 
 and spoke to Kirk 
 
 "Your mother's dead, Master Kirk." 
 
 "No. No, she's not!" 
 
 "She is dead, Master Kirk." 
 
 Kirk struck him for saying such a thing, and ran on 
 trembling, and inwardly moaning. 
 
 Yes, she was dead.
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IN the summer holidays Kirk received an invitation to 
 spend a month at a Mrs. Nugent' s home. Her letters to 
 Kirk and his father arrived on a Tuesday. Kirk hoped 
 earnestly that he might be allowed to go ; for these past four 
 months at the "Gates" had been very sad, and his father re- 
 mained in a morose and broken state of mind. Mr. Clinton's 
 eccentricities had greatly increased. Lately he had inter- 
 dicted bacon on Sunday mornings. It was not fitting to eat 
 the flesh of an unclean animal prior to partaking of Holy 
 Communion. For some strange reason he had insisted on 
 the boys' "washing" being put into his own wardrobes in- 
 stead of into their usual place in Ted's and Kirk's rooms. 
 Each morning they had to stand outside his door and ask 
 for a collar, or whatever they might want, and often they had 
 to wait. Ted took this philosophically, but Kirk was much 
 annoyed. Yet, because of pity for his father and his own 
 deep dejection, he said nothing. 
 
 Kirk slept in a room next to Mr. Clinton, and to-night he 
 awoke and heard his father walking to and fro in his bed- 
 room, speaking to himself, and mourning terribly. These 
 faint sounds in the night persisted for over an hour. At 
 length Kirk left his bed and pressed his ear to the wall. He 
 could distinguish some of his father's words. He longed to 
 alleviate this sorrow, though he himself shared it silently 
 and acutely ; but he knew he could do nothing. He must wake 
 Mary and ask her to go to father. Since their mother's death 
 Mary had again become her father's favourite. Kirk wak- 
 ened his sister. 
 
 Mary knocked at her father's door, and waited, standing 
 
 82
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 83 
 
 in her little dressing gown, her glossy dark hair curling on 
 her shoulders, and after a time she gained admittance. Her 
 brother stood about in his room. No sounds came through 
 the wall, nor did he put his ear to it. He surmised that Mary 
 was on her father's knee, her arms round his neck, comfort- 
 ing and soothing him, just as Kirk had chanced to see her 
 do a week or two after the funeral. 
 
 Mr. Clinton had received Mrs. Nugent's letter with lan- 
 guid doubt. He thought it not right to separate the mem- 
 bers of a family on the Lord's Day. But then, he consid- 
 ered Mrs. Nugent had been his wife's friend, and she and her 
 daughters were members of the Salbury Church. They lived 
 in a good house in the best part of that old town, famous 
 for brine-baths. Socially Mrs. Nugent was perhaps a little 
 higher, certainly more important and wealthy, than had been 
 her friend Agnes Clinton. Kirk had been a favourite with 
 her. She disagreed with Mr. Clinton's ways and notions, 
 but she never spoke of these things to Kirk. Her two daugh- 
 ters were home from France, where they were being edu- 
 cated. Her boy Dick, intended for the Army, was also at 
 home. He and Kirk had been school friends for a year. 
 They were rather too daring and mischievous when together, 
 for they emulated each other in adventure. There had been 
 trouble three years ago when Kirk and Dick were discovered 
 walking boldly and quickly in rubber pumps, round the 
 verges of the high slate roof of Mrs. Nugent's house. There 
 had also been an affair over cigarettes, Dick becoming so 
 ill as to alarm Kirk very much and send him to Mrs. Nugent 
 for assistance. And again, there had been a more disgraceful 
 affair with a fat butcher on a tramcar top. Kirk had made 
 two glass pea-shooters, of unusual length, very perfectly em- 
 bedded in putty between split bamboos, the latter neatly re- 
 fitted together, and bound with waxed thread. These things 
 looked like walking-sticks. The boys, with hands full of small 
 wet balls of putty, sat upon another tramcar at the passing
 
 84 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 place. When the butcher on his car began to move away, a 
 terrible fusillade of hard putty opened accurately on him. 
 Trams had been stopped. A pursuit of police had run the 
 delinquents to earth. Mrs. Nugent had made the boys apolo- 
 gise, and for two days had put them "in disgrace," but she 
 had told it all to Mrs. Clinton as a secret. Kirk, not know 
 ing this, had been deeply grateful and the two boys had made 
 solemn vows of reform to Mrs. Nugent. But these things 
 were soon forgiven, Agnes and Mrs. Nugent had laughed 
 together over them for each possessed a keen sense of hu- 
 mour, and a mutual understanding of boys. 
 
 After holding Kirk in suspense for three days, Mr. Clinton 
 gave him the desired permission. The only condition was 
 that on Sundays he must sit in church with his own family. 
 
 Maud Nugent was nearly eighteen, and a graceful tall girl, 
 and Kirk was a slim hardy boy of fifteen. She was a sweet- 
 minded, rather serious girl, very frank and sensible, yet 
 often dreamy. Mrs. Nugent and Kirk loved to hear her play 
 and sing little French songs. On re-meeting Kirk Maud 
 was at once struck by the marked change in his manner ; he 
 was become so much more serious and reserved. Dick, too, 
 had grown much and had changed much ; and this time each 
 boy paired off with one of the girls; Kirk with Maud, and 
 Dick with his favourite sister, Isobel, a girl one year older 
 than himself. 
 
 Instinctively no mention of his mother was made to Kirk, 
 but one day in Salbury, when Maud and Kirk were walking 
 near the station, they met a friend of the Clintons, just ar- 
 rived from distant parts. He knew Kirk and stopped him, 
 apologised to Miss Nugent, who stood by, and exclaimed 
 
 "Dear me! Kirk! how amazingly you've grown! And 
 how's your father?" 
 
 "Quite well, thank you, Mr. Brennan." 
 
 "And, Kirk, how's your mother ?" 
 
 Kirk's mouth and face worked severely, then tears rushed 
 into his eyes and he turned sharply and walked away fast
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 85 
 
 and went down a quiet street. There he controlled himself, 
 wiped his eyes, and in a few minutes returned ashamedly 
 and met Maud. After a word to Mr. Brennan she had hastily 
 followed Kirk. They did not speak when they met, but 
 went a long walk into the country, and presently Maud took 
 Kirk's arm; she felt very motherly towards him. Himself 
 he felt weak, and ashamed, but much comforted by her. 
 
 After this Kirk and Maud became very friendly. Picnics 
 were frequent, the four young people being sent off by Mrs. 
 Nugent nearly every day; and Kirk, so well knowing the 
 countryside, chose the ways, and took them to all his sweet- 
 est and most secluded woodland places. He and Maud often 
 sketched together, while Dick obeyed Isobel, whose hobby was 
 botany; and these days were very charming for them all. 
 Maud gradually make Kirk talk of his mother, and these 
 two were never bored, and exchanged ideas for hours on art, 
 music, books, poetry, religion and similar mighty subjects 
 they knew precious little about. 
 
 Kirk knew something of scientific botany, but very much 
 more about wild flowers; and with his minute directions, 
 Dick and Isobel made successful side-expeditions to hidden 
 untouched places known to Kirk, and they returned with rare 
 flowers, wild Canterbury bells, a strange brown orchid, sun- 
 dew in wet clumps of pale golden moss, the spearplume 
 thistle, greater knapweed, golden leopard's bane, wild pansies, 
 yellow loosestrife; also restharrow, and cobalt-blue chicory, 
 both very rare in that countryside. 
 
 At last this month came to an end. 
 
 In the evening, when Kirk returned to his own home, he 
 suffered heavy depression. The food seemed distasteful, 
 the house cold, gloomy, very sad, and a feeling of extreme 
 irreparable want and loss overcame his heart. 
 
 He looked forward very much to seeing the !Nugents each" 
 Sunday, and talked to them as long as possible after each 
 service, especially to his friend Maud. She was to return
 
 86 
 
 soon, to complete her last year at school. She had told him 
 the whole of her girl's life over there, of how they bathed 
 each summer morning in the Meuse, and all about the 
 frescoes of the great Charlemagne, that hero who so inter- 
 ested her. 
 
 One evening before the girls went back to France, Kirk, 
 keeping his intentions to himself, walked over to Salbury 
 and cautiously approached their home. For some inarticu- 
 late reason he was too shy to call : he passed near their house, 
 waited about a little and then reapproached. As he neared 
 the house in the dusk he saw Maud and her mother going to 
 their gate. A yearning filled his heart, and he stealthily 
 watched Maud's pretty figure until she entered the house. 
 He walked back to Severnly without knowing what so dis- 
 turbed himself. 
 
 His father closely cross-examined him as to his absence, 
 implying a fault, and Kirk with secret anger at once lied 
 to him very deliberately, purposely and circumstantially, yet 
 carelessly, and without the least feeling of dishonour. 
 
 Ministers often dined at the "Gates" on Sundays; they 
 came back from church with the Clintons a short railway 
 journey of six miles. After early tea they returned to Sal- 
 bury with the Clintons, and at night went on to Birming- 
 ham. In that city was a large mother-church, with the full 
 complement of ministers. The Salbury congregation was 
 small and could not support a full priesthood. 
 
 Of these men it can be written, they were clever above the 
 average, and all were sincere, devoted, and convinced of the 
 reality of their work. Among those who visited Severnly 
 were barristers, men who had left vicarages and parsonages, 
 business men and others who had all left their professions 
 and callings, in the same spirit that caused four of the an- 
 cient Apostles to abandon their boats and nets. Some mem- 
 bers of the Apostolic priesthood were wealthy, and those who 
 were not received stipends sufficient to support themselves and
 
 THE BORN FOOL 87 
 
 families. Kirk enjoyed their visits and listened with atten- 
 tion to their conversation. Their views were so much wider 
 and more beautiful than were his father's, but then his father 
 was only a lay-evangelist, he had only been "called," whereas 
 these visitors were duly ordained prophets, evangelists, and 
 pastors, and were full members of the "Fourfold Ministry." 
 Especially was Kirk friendly with Mr. Saintsbury, a pastor. 
 He came down once a month and usually dined with the 
 Clintons. He was an artist before he was a pastor, and he 
 still painted. Kirk thought his face was just like that of 
 Shakespeare, and he had never tired of looking at the small 
 exquisite paintings given to Mrs. Clinton by Saintsbury. All 
 these pictures possessed depth, and a great mysticism. They 
 were but landscapes, but all were very strangely and beauti- 
 fully chosen. One looked at them a long time, and then again 
 looked at them a long time. Not even the ordinary person 
 said of them, "How pretty!" Most curious of all was, how- 
 ever, to Kirk, the fact that Mr. Saintsbury was a Fellow 
 of the Linnsean Society, for which he had done original re- 
 search in fungi. Kirk brooded over and respected these di- 
 verse abilities. Mr. Saintsbury was a dreamy, warm-hearted 
 man often lost in his own thought and vision. He took 
 interest in Kirk and replied to many of the questions that 
 rose in the boy's mind, and that were fruit of his secret read- 
 ings of Richard Jefferies, Jean Paul Richter, and the poets ; 
 or that rose from the boy's own original thinking, and his in- 
 nate thirst to know. The symbology of the church was most 
 satisfying to Kirk, but he sought symbols in everything, and 
 desired to know the analogies between all things spiritual 
 and material. 
 
 He was told and believed that the eagle, the bird who 
 soared highest and looked upon the sun, was the symbol of 
 the prophet; the "man" of Revelations was the evangelist, 
 who reasoned as a man with men: the patient ox treading 
 out the corn meant the humble daily duties of the pastor.
 
 88 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Apostleship was shown by the lion, and by gold and purple, 
 the attributes of rulership. 
 
 Mr. Saintsbury replied freely to all questions up to a cer- 
 tain point, but recently when Kirk, full of emotional thought 
 and imagination, had asked him, "Then what do trees mean ? 
 What are trees?" he replied, with some hesitation, "Trees, 
 Kirk, are men. You seek, Kirk, at your age, to know too 
 much of the inner meaning of everything, but there are very 
 many mysteries into which we must not inquire with our 
 finite minds. 'Canst thou by searching find out God ?' You 
 must accept the fact that the wisdom of God is greater than 
 the wisdom of men. God is a spirit. I warn you, Kirk, par- 
 ticularly, that those who do not accept the word of God 
 put into the mouth of his priests such men of a certain 
 temperament become mystics; men living in dreams, in a 
 fool's paradise. It becomes a form of madness if given way 
 to. It is an over-indulgence of the imagination, and goes 
 frequently with another serious error pride of intellect. 
 You must curb yourself, Kirk ; I think this is a danger that 
 you will have to fight against, my dear boy ; I think you will 
 have to fight for your faith; I will always be glad to talk 
 with you on these things, and I will ask Mr. Gurney to see 
 you some special word may be given him to say to you." 
 
 Mr. Gurney wore the blue-lined cassock of a prophet. 
 In later years Kirk considered him to be a man possessing 
 a pure and high clairvoyance, but, also, Kirk later consid- 
 ered him to be, like his fellows, living solely in one great 
 specialised thought-form or mind-country that of the Apos- 
 tolic Church. Kirk, later in life, decided that most men 
 were born into one of the vast permanent forms of human 
 thought, just as they were born in certain countries and cli- 
 mates. The Roman Catholic religion he regarded as he 
 did an ancient city, one full of antiquity, of tortuous and 
 narrow streets, worn pavements, beauty of old age, majestic 
 decay.
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 ARLY two years had passed since Mrs. Clinton's 
 death. Of late, her eldest son had disputed many 
 times with his father, chiefly over want of clothes and money, 
 deliberate non-payment of school fees and bills, and now, since 
 Ted had left school, over continual procrastination in mat- 
 ters of his future career, and especially had there been trou- 
 ble over offensive restrictions and distrust such as the harsh 
 order Mr. Clinton gave, that Ted, though aged eighteen, 
 never was to be out-of-doors, under any circumstances what- 
 soever, after nine-thirty at night. Ted, a great lover and 
 keeper of animals, a natural good shot with a gun, was of an 
 obstinate but open, affectionate, truthful, just, and truly 
 religious nature. Severe friction with his father became 
 frequent, though Ted invariably was respectful. 
 
 Kirk had escaped open quarrels with his father. He 
 thought in secret, read in secret books his father would have 
 forbidden or burnt: he disobeyed in secret, and obeyed 
 stoically when it was unavoidable. As regards school fees 
 and expenses he had gone to the Head-master, quietly ex- 
 plained his father's character, and asked the Head to dun 
 his father for the school-fees. If it were done sufficiently, 
 said he, they would be paid; it was not a case of want of 
 money. His father was fairly well-to-do. He mentioned 
 that his father spent much money on foolish, useless things. 
 He was doing all right in his practice. He had lately in- 
 creased his staff. It was . . . well, a strange eccentricity, a 
 selfishness . . . since mother died. 
 
 Doctor Hawke was somewhat shocked. All he had said 
 was : "I'm grieved to hear this, Clinton. I think your father 
 must have greatly felt your mother's death. It often alters 
 a man very much. I'm very sorry, very sorry indeed," and 
 
 89
 
 90 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Kirk had replied philosophically, "It can't be helped, sir. 
 Good morning, sir," and bowed himself out of the study. His 
 advice was taken. 
 
 Kirk had soon ceased to ask his father for anything. He 
 began to make a little money for himself in various ways, 
 chiefly by the sale of geological duplicates, and by rearing 
 and training for sale young magpies, jackdaws, hawks, and 
 owls, in which artificial nurture he was an expert. He had 
 also, at the instance of a friendly county councillor, eagerly 
 agreed to name, label, and rearrange two neglected collec- 
 tions of fossils in neighbouring towns, and for this work he 
 received good payment. At the last meeting of the county 
 horticultural society, Kirk also carried off the first prize for 
 a bouquet of wild flowers. This was a very popular contest. 
 Ten prizes in money were each year distributed among the 
 hundred or more competitors. The bouquets were judged 
 upon two chief points variety or rarity of flowers, and 
 beauty of arrangement. A certificate that gathering and 
 arrangement would be done personally was signed by each 
 rival at the time of entry. Kirk also had received first prize 
 for a named collection of wild flowers. In order that his 
 should be the freshest and the finest he had been out on that 
 day from 2 a.m., gathering the most delicate and fragile of 
 the flowers, and, to accomplish this, he had covered on foot 
 a great distance from point to point. 
 
 The feelings of Kirk against his father were a trouble to 
 him. He felt most embittered by the ill-treatment of Ted, 
 whom he loved. Kirk placed his brother far above himself 
 in virtue. Any one who could do ill to his dear old Ted must 
 be bad. 
 
 Many, many religious doubts now filled Kirk's mind. He 
 went to church in a state of constant critical examination, 
 most especially of his father. He struggled with thoughts 
 and feelings of unbelief. The old question had come to him, 
 "How could a God of Love, omnipotent, create a world He
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 91 
 
 knew would be evil ? and how could He make His beloved Son 
 die an abominably cruel death, merely to appease an unreas- 
 onable anger against the creation He had Himself made?" 
 
 And how could Kirk's own father have been chosen by 
 the Holy Spirit as an evangelist ? . . . True, he had not been 
 set apart after all. . . . He had not been ordained to the 
 separate priesthood. 
 
 Kirk did not ask the ministers any more questions. He 
 thought over all these things in secret, and became very 
 much troubled. He feared to ask, for, should such questions 
 come to his father's ears, it would be a most serious matter 
 indeed, he thought his father would turn him out of the 
 house. 
 
 It weighed heavily on his conscience, to have to go up to 
 Holy Communion in such a state of mind, and with such 
 feelings against his father, feelings of intense brooding anger 
 that he could rarely quench. But beneath his father's rule 
 he was compelled each Sunday to take the Holy Sacrament. 
 At last he could do it no longer; and then a way out of the 
 difficulty occurred to him. 
 
 The small flat wafer was used, of unleavened bread. To 
 receive this from the priest, one knelt and crossed the open 
 palms one over the other. The small white square was laid 
 in the upper palm; the communicant bowed the head, took 
 it with the lips and tongue, and by this means the consecrated 
 wafer was not handled by those unordained. 
 
 On the Sunday after Kirk had made his resolution he re- 
 ceived the deep chalice into his hands as usual, but he raised 
 it carefully so that no wine reached his lips he then rever- 
 ently handed the vessel back to the priest. He next received 
 the wafer, took it into his mouth, and retained it there. On 
 reaching his seat and kneeling, he put the wafer out into a 
 clean specially unused handkerchief. At home each Sunday 
 he carefully burnt the wafer. In this way he avoided an 
 impiety, a desecration that had caused him much emotional 
 suffering.
 
 CHAPTEK XII 
 
 IT was a public holiday, and Mr. Clinton's office at Bir- 
 mingham was closed. Kirk and Ted had arranged to 
 set off at eight o'clock for a long day's fishing. They had a 
 special permit for this date only, to visit some very good 
 waters. They had been kept waiting and waiting until their 
 father saw fit to have family prayers quite unusually late, 
 instead of before his breakfast, though he knew his sons' 
 arrangements. He had dawdled over the meal, read his 
 paper, and then opened letters, while Ted became depressed, 
 and Kirk fumed with suppressed anger. 
 
 At last breakfast had been removed, but it was past ten. 
 The family and servants were standing up and waiting, round 
 a large and rather sombre room, furnished in old dark ma- 
 hogany. The sideboard, unusually massive, bore some silver 
 and a large collection of ancient Indian brass bowls and 
 figures. The high bookcases were filled mostly with devo- 
 tional works and with finely bound technical books, rows of 
 "Proceedings of the Institute of Civil Engineers" and other 
 volumes that treated of bridges, steam, mathematics, civil 
 engineering and mining. A dining table occupied the middle 
 of the room. The papered walls were dull grey-blue, cov- 
 ered with a large pattern of flowering white chestnuts. A 
 dark rectangular-patterned dado of olive and brown made the 
 corners obscure, although there were three windows one 
 very large, reaching nearly from floor to ceiling. A tall full 
 palm stood on the polished floor before the big window. On 
 the walls hung a few choice water-colours, and several small 
 Corots, one genuine Greuze, and one large painting upon 
 canvas a Dutch interior by a good master. All but the 
 Corots were in heavy gilded frames. 
 
 92
 
 THE BORN FOOL 93 
 
 A mantelpiece of grey Devon marble carried for its whole 
 width an immense mirror, of which the gilded framing nearly 
 touched the high ceiling. This mirror at once drew attention. 
 An old Buhl clock stood in the centre of the mantelpiece and 
 on each side was flanked by two large carved mother-of-pearl 
 oysters. At each end stood a tall piece of fine Dresden. This 
 marble shelf would have been beau'uful but for the litter of 
 papers, letters, and tradesmen's accounts. These radiated in 
 untidy sheaves from behind the clock and the pearl shells. 
 
 Mr. Clinton stood up. He turned over the leaves in the 
 Liturgy. He was still a tall, strongly-built man; spare, 
 not ungraceful, with a marked waist, and he wore excellent 
 creased trousers. He looked his age, some forty-five years. 
 His fine forehead was well-moulded, the temples were some- 
 what hollow, but the nobly-shaped upper head was smooth 
 and white. 
 
 Below this tonsure the hair was jet black, strong and 
 glossy. His dark bushy moustache, well-trimmed, hid the 
 lips. The clean-shaven chin and jaws were heavy. The 
 complexion was clear but slightly swarthy. His Norman 
 nose was long, straight, and high. The eyes were very fine, 
 very dark, but very severe, exceedingly cold and melancholy. 
 Between and above the bushy eyebrows lay a deep vertical line 
 in the forehead. Mr. Clinton stood up firmly and spoke 
 
 "The Lord be with you." 
 
 "And with thy spirit." 
 
 The reply was murmured in a very lifeless manner, the 
 accent being placed on the first word. The speaker paused. 
 His dark eyes, fine and steady, shot an angry glance; his 
 shaggy eyebrows worked as he repeated in a peremptory man- 
 ner 
 
 "The Lord be with you !" . . . 
 
 Lowering the book in his hands, he said sternly to his 
 second son 
 
 "Why do you not answer, sir?"
 
 94 THE BOKST FOOL 
 
 The tall youth leaned slightly against the sideboard, hia 
 hands behind him ; he moved his eyes, but not his head. He 
 returned his father's glance with a look of still anger. Hia 
 insolent reply was given in a low, hard voice 
 
 "Because I do not want the Lord to be with you." 
 
 Kirk had his father's fanatical eyes; but they were dark 
 grey, and at this moment were like the glint of hot polished 
 steel. 
 
 "How dare you insult God in this way!" exclaimed the 
 father, red vertical cords rising on his forehead. 
 
 "God is not here; I am sure." 
 
 The speaker of these words now stood up squarely, mo- 
 tionless, his still eyes fixed upon his father's. His brother 
 an sister looked shocked. The two servants and the houseboy 
 near the dining-room scented eagerly at the unusual. 
 
 The son's face was long, he had a high forehead, full tem- 
 ples, and the nose high, long, straight, with finely cut nostrils. 
 His upper lip was short, the mouth small and firm ; the. chin 
 sharp, but determined, and improved by a slight cleft or 
 dimple. There was bone and a clean-cut look about the face 
 and cheek-bones. Except for the knotted fingers, the pose, 
 the eyes, he in no other way markedly resembled his father, 
 who now made an inarticulate noise, violent jerkish incre- 
 ments with the book, and then with ungovernable anger 
 forced out the command 
 
 "... Go, to your room." 
 
 Kirk hesitated, then went out quietly and closed the door. 
 Outside, on the black sheepskin rug, he stood a moment star- 
 ing absently at an old steel breastplate that hung on the wall. 
 There was a sullen hatred in his keen face. Then he went 
 forward, treading softly over the black-and-white marble ; he 
 slung his fishing basket about his shoulder, gripped his rod 
 gun-like beneath his arm, opened and shut the front door 
 quietly, and set off at a furious walking pace, through the 
 hot August morning. As he went, he theorised bitterly and 
 truly that Ted would be forbidden to follow him.
 
 CHAPTEK XIII 
 
 KIRK'S religious instinct was soon to receive a ruder 
 blow. 
 
 Six miles from Severnly, and long forgotten in thick wood- 
 lands, was a deep and curious ravine. It had heen made 
 before the time of railways, and when tunnelling was but 
 little known. 
 
 A very old abandoned canal, after wandering for miles 
 along sloping fields that grew lonelier, and through woods 
 that grew denser, came into a region of great larch coverts. 
 In the middle of this forest the old waterway entered a 
 ravine. This narrow defile its sides well-nigh vertical ' 
 became of great depth and was very deeply shadowed, as the 
 sloping forest-land rose higher and higher. The gorge ceased 
 abruptly far above a ruinous tunnel, the mouth of which was 
 much obscured by accumulated hanging bramble-bushes. 
 Some way inside the tunnel the arched masonry had long 
 since fallen in. From the cliff-like sides of the gorge 
 peeped out almost from top to bottom innumerable thin level 
 ledges of rock, many-coloured. Everywhere these rugged 
 shelves were grown luxuriantly with bushes, plants, wild 
 flowers of all kinds, brambles, creepers and ivy. The dense 
 pines and larches stood solemnly all round, and all along 
 the edges of the gulf, and overhung this very deep and silent 
 place. Far below lay clear and cold still water, that re- 
 flected the dark trees and the depth of open narrow zenith 
 from far above. Such transparent water, deep, heavily 
 shadowed, and moveless, always held Kirk with a sense of 
 mysterious waiting. It was like something else that lay 
 deep in himself, and waited, and watched himself fixedly. 
 This motionless and perfect reflection seemed to double the 
 
 95
 
 96 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 great depth of the ravine. Often when Kirk, standing on 
 the verge in the forest, gazed down into the reflection and 
 let Tiimself enter the unreal, he saw only an extraordinary 
 narrow chasm, that went down and opened in another zenith, 
 most profoundly helow his feet. 
 
 In summer, many hright shafts of slender sunbeams shot 
 down through the dense forest, and were arrested by the long 
 thin edges of the rocks, by bold outgrowing bushes, by the 
 top bells of crimson foxgloves that overleaned ; but few spears 
 of golden light ever reached the water, and beneath all the 
 projecting ledges lay dark shadows. 
 
 After finding this place, Kirk went there often. From 
 the silent carpet of the resinous scented forest he would 
 climb cautiously down to a ledge, creep gradually along it 
 to some point where it had broken away, and then he would 
 climb down to the next shelf of rock. In this manner not 
 without risk of life he frequently descended halfway down 
 the perilous vertical side of the gorge. Then he would sit 
 and think, and hear, far overhead, the tits calling and flitting 
 in the larch-tops, or the wild harsh cries of jays, or the sound 
 of the air flowing through the countless tree-tops, so 
 inimitably like the sound of ocean. Under the ledges on still 
 and hot days the air was always cool, the shade grateful 
 to the body; and the silence and separation were beatific 
 to his soul. 
 
 The ravine was geologically of exceptional interest, for it 
 gave view of certain curious rocks and marls, that nowhere 
 else could be seen as here. 
 
 A single deep indentation broke the rocky face on one side 
 of the ravine, and near its head. This rift, or side-chasm, 
 descended from the forest roots to a point about sixty feet 
 above the water; it had been made long ago, to reach and 
 work a thick horizontal bed of pink sandstone. Looking down 
 into it from above, one theorised that it must have been cut 
 down vertically out of the gorge-side. From the edge of 
 the forest, on the opposite brink, this place had no ordinary
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 97 
 
 appearance. For the innumerable banded strata, one below 
 the other, thin and horizontal, formed wonderfully and high- 
 ly coloured narrow zones, of real pink, real warm crimson, 
 or vivid yellow, alternating with beautiful bands of pale 
 green, tea-green, and terra-cotta browns and reds from top 
 to bottom. The once level floor at the foot of this three-sided 
 rift was now almost wholly encroached upon and covered by 
 old grass-grown falls of rock and marl, and by slopes of fine 
 talus that had yearly crumbled from the soaring coloured 
 walls. Thick tussocky rushes grew in the centre, and a filter- 
 ing of limpid water stole out of them, winter and summer, 
 dripped its way down from edge to edge, and made a bright 
 festoon of sparkling vegetation right down almost to the sul- 
 len water. This peculiar side-chasm in the gorge side, so 
 interesting to Kirk, was very difficult of access. He thought 
 the men must have used ladders lashed together, or perhaps 
 a rope ladder, for descent, and that the stone if that were 
 what was sought must have been lowered by windlass on 
 to barges. But no remnants of such work remained. The 
 harebells and mosses and the rushes grew everywhere, un- 
 touched, where men, now long dead, had once worked day by 
 day. Kirk made several attempts before he found a way 
 into this old recess. He succeeded by climbing down the 
 gorge-side, ledge by ledge, until he judged himself to be 
 level with the bottom of the rift. He then traversed cau- 
 tiously along the rock-ledge he had reached, until it ended 
 at the rift. After some hesitation, he made a most risky 
 scramble round the corner, and found himself at the bottom 
 of the rift. He looked out at a narrow vertical perspective 
 of the gorge-side opposite. Behind him, and on his left and 
 right, rose the coloured walls of banded rock and marl. 
 
 Presently he set to work and cut a narrow pathway round 
 the corner, on to the ledge that gave him access. 
 
 One July day, geological hammer and chisel in hand, while 
 Kirk was examining in this peculiar place the fallen frag-
 
 98 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 ments of rock and marl, he split a small slab of greenish 
 sandstone. A great thrill held him from breathing as he 
 gazed, for across the ripple-marked slab were deeply traced 
 the footprints of a little four-footed archaic animal. Kirk 
 knew this to be a find rare and wonderful. He knew well, 
 too, that these footprints had been made when the spot he 
 stood on was a boundless shore, among subsiding desert seas, 
 almost dead seas, that were too hot, too arid, too salt to sup- 
 port any life but that of stunted fish and shell-fish. Holding 
 the slab and gazing on it, he felt the keen sympathy of a 
 living creature himself with this lonely animal that was 
 so profoundly lost and for ever passed away. The warm light 
 on his hands reminded him that the great Sun still poured 
 down his divine rays. Behold! this same light he stood in 
 was but another of the countless, countless "afternoons" 
 part of this vast and ceaseless flow of sunlight that went back 
 and back until that little animal had lived, and then infinitely 
 further and further still before even those times. And Kirk 
 vividly imagined himself, realised himself, standing ages 
 and ages ago, long, long before the human race listening to 
 the lapping of the hot wavelets that once had rippled the 
 sand, while he stood, the only human being in the world, 
 and looked over the boundless desert, and the equally un- 
 known burning sea. His gaze rested again on the hardened 
 ripple-marks, the footprints, and the indistinct trails of 
 shell-fish. The last eyes that saw them wet and soft had not 
 been human, and had seen things millions of years ago ! 
 
 After that vast lapse, his own eyes were destined first to 
 re-see these footsteps. 
 
 Kirk now theorised that as the labyrinthodonts these 
 small amphibious creatures had without doubt walked about 
 on these strata, when such were soft sea deposits, then it fol- 
 lowed that the fossils of their food, i.e. of fish, should be dis- 
 coverable in these same strata. Also, from the trails of shell- 
 fish, one would deduce the presence of their fossilised shells.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 99 
 
 But he knew that these rocks were said in text-books to be 
 barren in England, of all ancient life-remains. Yet, despite 
 this, he determined eagerly to search and examine, to test 
 his theory. 
 
 Late on the next Saturday afternoon, after a hot climb 
 down to the rift, Kirk was resting and gazing absently over 
 the chasm, when he espied on the opposite cliff a small and 
 rare flowering shrub. He stood up at once and looked again ; 
 yes, there was no doubt; it was the very flower of which 
 Isobel had told him. She specially wanted this plant for her 
 collection. She had read to him the description of its haunts, 
 and had shown him a coloured sketch of the flower and now, 
 unexpectedly, he had found the prize ! He would give it to 
 her to-morrow when he saw her. He thought also how 
 pleased Maud would be. 
 
 But as Kirk looked and reconnoitred the shrub seemed 
 more and more difficult to obtain. It was about opposite to 
 himself, viz., some fifty feet above the water and eighty feet 
 or so below the floor of the forest. Had he but had a long 
 rope, all would have been easy; but the bloom was going 
 he could see the pale pink petals on the grey sandstone just 
 below the plant. Tentatively he picked out, on the opposite 
 face, a line of descent from ledge to ledge. This seemed a 
 possible way down with the help of the stout wind-or-bird- 
 sown saplings and bushes. High overhead he marked the 
 commencement of this line by a group of red foxgloves that 
 leaned over the very edge. He then made his way upwards 
 from the rift and at length walked round the head of the 
 ravine. 
 
 He found the foxgloves. He took off his coat and made 
 a very careful descent of some thirty feet; but he had to 
 return: The ledges were soft here, and pieces broke off ; the 
 bushes also were not well-rooted, and he heard dislodged stones 
 fall and plunge heavily in the water. Difficultly he climbed 
 up again. He chose another place, judging himself almost 
 above the coveted flower, and again he began to climb down-
 
 100 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 wards. It was not easy. When he had slowly descended 
 some way he discovered another climber a rabbit, crouched 
 on the last bit at the end of a little ledge. For some seconds 
 each remained motionless. But the moment that Kirk 
 moved, the terrified rabbit tried to scramble away but in- 
 stantly lost footing. It fell eighty feet. Kirk heard dis- 
 tantly the impact of the body when it struck the water. This 
 happening somewhat unnerved him ; also he felt very pitiful 
 to the poor wild animal sent to death out of its happy life. 
 Remaining still and peering down through the dense growth 
 of the ledges he saw half the circles that widened out on the 
 sinister water. With increased care, nevertheless, he began 
 to continue his descent, but suddenly a big mass of rock and 
 marl gave way beneath his feet, and for two seconds he 
 hung only by his hands. The tremendous plunge of the 
 debris echoed throughout the ravine. A jay fled away cry- 
 ing; loud clappings of wild pigeons arose overhead in the 
 forest. 
 
 With arms trembling, Kirk gradually climbed up again to 
 safety. He thought a little, and then determined to see if 
 he could get up from the bottom. He walked along the ravine 
 for some five hundred yards, until he could get down to the 
 wateredge. The talus of years made a narrow, highly sloping 
 and broken path, right along beneath the cliff; indeed it 
 seemed that some kind of a base-ledge had been left here. 
 Kirk crept along this, at the cliff-foot, until opposite the rab- 
 bit there it floated, the white fur partly upward, terror 
 fixed in the dead open eyes. From far inside the black 
 tunnel was now audible a chilling sound of falling water. 
 The day was closing, and the first gloom of coming night 
 began to fill the lowest of this deep void in the forest. Kirk 
 threw off a strange feeling of awe, and began to climb up- 
 ward. It was getting late. "How quickly the time has 
 passed!" thought he. It seemed much easier to climb up. 
 He became less careful. When twenty feet up he seized too 
 vigorously a little sapling ; it gave completely ; he fell, struck
 
 THE BORN FOOL 101 
 
 the sandy cliff-foot, and bounced partly into the frigid water. 
 After this he sat still for ten minutes, until the feeling of 
 nausea had passed away, and until his wet limbs had ceased 
 trembling. "This is nothing!" thought he. "One always 
 trembles after boxing after any great exertion." Presently 
 and within him a kind of fierce anger he began once 
 more to climb, but this time with the greatest circumspection. 
 Slowly he went up, or sideways, and a shower of small stones 
 fell now and then. And at length he reached the level of 
 the shrub. Eagerly he examined it. He took it bodily from 
 its slight hold, held the stem between his teeth, and then 
 climbed on for the cliff top. The sun was quite low when 
 Kirk came out near the foxgloves. He felt a strong and 
 gratifying sense of triumph, but his eyes avoided the ravine, 
 for in this darkness it was, minute by minute, becoming a 
 terrifying abyss. He hastened from the ravine and the forest 
 before he examined himself. His clothes seemed none the 
 worse they were only wet. He had merely got severe bruises 
 upon his hip and shoulder, and a rather bad cut on the back 
 of his hand. 
 
 Kirk never again stayed till darkness came; but in sun- 
 shine the seclusion of the ravine fascinated him. There 
 no one had ever come. No one ever disturbed the place or 
 himself. He could dream in summer and at the same time 
 could work away at the thin hard strata. He had vainly ex- 
 plored here and there in many places, and had become dis- 
 couraged from his search, when one day he read in Cuvier 
 these words : "That place most examined yields most," Fired 
 anew by this saying, by the attractive look of the strata, and 
 by the instinct of discovery, Kirk determined to begin at the 
 very top and work right down systematically to the very bot- 
 tom. He would open as it were the pages of each rocky 
 manuscript and peep in; he would go down layer by layer 
 and examine the accumulated, dried, and hardened sands 
 and silts of the vanished sea from top to bottom ! He now
 
 102 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 brought out with him a four-pound hammer and a long 
 chisel. A fortnight seldom passed in which Kirk did not 
 spend a day or two in the ravine. At the end of each day 
 he huried the hammer and chisel to await his return. The 
 nearest station was three miles away, but he preferred to 
 walk. It saved fivepence, and country lanes were a sweet- 
 ness to him. He had by now given most of his affection to 
 lanes and woods and fields and trees he loved, and especially 
 to wild flowers and their own haunts; and for his private 
 use he had long named such places. Among them were Shady 
 Lane, Hazel Lane, Lingering Path, West Woodloes, Nettle- 
 bed Wood, Violets' Wood, "Ringdoves" (a dark pine wood), 
 Reedy Pool, The Carp Pools, The Rock, Shadow Bushes; 
 and there was a brook that was the very sister of Tennyson's 
 Brook, and since Kirk was thirteen he had called it "On-On." 
 
 One September afternoon, over three years since his 
 mother's death, Kirk again was in the ravine. His coat lay 
 on the dry dying grass of a broad ledge, his hammer and 
 chisel clinked away musically in the silence. He had now 
 worked more than halfway down, with no success from the 
 day of the footprints. He paused to rest, and then heard a 
 slight unusual sound that made him sharply look up. A short 
 and sturdy old clergyman stood and gazed down at him from 
 the opposite brink. He beckoned with a gloved hand that 
 held a hammer. 
 
 Great vexation filled Kirk intensely jealous of his soli- 
 tude. He was quite unaware that the Reverend James Blenk, 
 M.A., F.R.S., F.G.I., felt just the same. Kirk climbed up 
 to the old man, who introduced himself and made a very full 
 cross-examination of Kirk. Immediately Kirk found the 
 intruder was indeed the great Blenk, the Medallist, one of 
 those great ones of the Geological Institute, then his feelings 
 were changed utterly, to something like worship. The 
 patronage of Mr. Blenk was quite proper ; he had a right to 
 ask everything about one's parentage and age. Mr. Blenk
 
 THE BORN FOOL 103 
 
 now gave Kirk some interesting details about the rocks at 
 which they looked; he then spoke of himself. He was the 
 rector of Priors Lench, a hamlet some few miles distant. 
 For over forty years he had kept this old quarry under ob- 
 servation, whenever it had been worked "only twice; once 
 to mend our tithe-barn, and once, twenty-five years ago, to 
 restore a few pinnacles on Severnly Abbey Lady Chapel 
 the original quarry is buried somewhere in this forest." He 
 catechised Kirk as to his reading in geology, and put him 
 through quite an examination. 
 
 "What ! and have you devoured Giekie's great text-book ? 
 Well done ! well done indeed !" 
 
 Kirk glowed with pleasure, and forthwith poured out to 
 Mr. Blenk all about the system and the search he had now 
 been engaged on for three months and he quoted his French- 
 man. . . . But the old man laughed dryly 
 
 "Ah, I fear you will get nothing ! in fact I know you will 
 find nothing. Very praiseworthy of you but barren! all 
 barren ! like fishing in the Dead Sea !" Then he told Kirk 
 how a few tiny fossil fragments of some unknown animal 
 had been found here by the quarrymen thirty-five years ago, 
 in the big bed of pink sandstone, and he spoke on. "Noth- 
 ing since then ! That bed is the only hope there ts some- 
 thing in that." And he looked down at Kirk's tools. "But 
 what can you do with those 2" 
 
 The place had a memory unpleasant for Mr. Blenk, for 
 his wife was rich, and after her husband by great trouble 
 at last obtained leave to quarry that big bed, ten years ago, 
 she had refused flatly to finance his operations, and at last, 
 being importuned, she had used such words 
 
 "My dear ! quite absurd ! spending money for the possible 
 sake of rubbishy bits of fossil-rubbish! absolutely absurd! 
 my dear!" and she remained adamant. Blenk had never 
 forgotten this humiliation. 
 
 Kirk, a few weeks after meeting him, went by invitation
 
 104 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 to the Rectory. Amid his quite exceptional collection Mr. 
 Blenk unthawed; he became enthusiastic, and talked freely 
 while Kirk, sincerely respectful, looked, listened, and learned. 
 
 From the very first he liked Mrs. Blenk. She was a tall, 
 big, fat, sensible, rosy, beautifully dressed old lady. She 
 had excellent ideas upon the feeding capacity of young folk. 
 She was serene and satisfied with life. She had always ruled 
 kindly and firmly in the Rectory and in the isolated old- 
 world hamlet. The interests of her husband, who unfortu- 
 nately had become so avaricious in his collecting, so child- 
 ishly greedy and jealous of scientific fame, were to her entire- 
 ly trivial, and mere harmless eccentricities. Nevertheless, 
 the city of Severnly owed him a great debt for a very fine 
 geological museum, which had long attracted savants from 
 London, France, and Germany. Case after case of treas- 
 ures had been obtained or given through the influence of Mr. 
 Blenk. Everywhere in the museum his name appeared on 
 specimens. Kirk was aware of all this long before Mr. Blenk 
 found him in the ravine. The boy had spent many, many 
 hours among those cases, and at the suggestion of Mr. Stogg, 
 who was the enormously tall, thin, kindly, eccentric, and 
 grossly ignorant curator Kirk had even hoped there to meet 
 Mr. Blenk. But the old scientist now rarely came to Severn- 
 ly, and Kirk each time had missed him. This visit to the 
 .Rectory was for Kirk an affair of great importance. Actu- 
 ally to know and visit the Rev. James Blenk, F.R.S., etc,, 
 was indeed a getting on in life. It was a great event! 
 
 Moved more than usual by the uncommon mind and keen 
 interest of Kirk, Mr. Blenk overcame the miserliness that 
 cursed his old age, and gave him a few choice duplicates. 
 After much tea and cake, Mrs. Blenk ordered the carriage, 
 and Kirk, very, very happy, was driven to the station. He 
 took a second-class ticket, being too foolishly sensitive, vain, 
 and elated to allow the smart groom to put his parcel of 
 fossils into a third-class carriage. Of all these matters he 
 never told one word to his father, fearing deprecation, oppo-
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 105 
 
 sition, or interference; but he told Mary everything, and 
 took her several times to the ravine, paying her fare both 
 ways to the rather distant station. 
 
 He continued his research in the gorge, and received a let- 
 ter now and then from Mr. Blenk letters never written on 
 notepaper, but on the backs of advertisements, on the blank 
 backs of railway excursion fly-bills, even on pieces of brown 
 paper ; but the envelopes, addressed in a minute spidery hand, 
 bore a handsome black crest. Mr. Blenk seemed to acquire 
 railway handbills en masse. He had told Kirk they made ex- 
 cellent paper to enwrap fossils for transit. On the arrival of 
 the second letter Kirk's father cross-examined him as to the 
 origin. The fact of Mr. Blenk being a rector just sufficiently 
 allayed that dark suspicion with which Mr. Clinton now 
 habitually regarded natural science, and all letters received 
 by his son. He took the opportunity to hope Kirk would 
 conduct himself as a gentleman, and remarked that Mr. Blenk 
 was very good "to take such interest in a youth." 
 
 While his father was away Kirk spent a whole Sunday 
 at Priors Lench. By request of Mrs. Blenk he arrived there 
 on Saturday in time for lunch. He became quite enamoured 
 of Mrs. Blenk. He divided his attention with considerable 
 tact between the motherly and the scientific. In the old 
 church, full of rich glass and carvings, Kirk sat before the 
 pulpit and beside his hostess during the Sunday morning 
 service. Pennons of long railway handbills gummed together 
 descended slowly, and went up briskly, in front of the pulpit- 
 lectern, as Mr. Blenk read quickly through his sermon. Kirk, 
 quietly observing, judged the longest single effort to be no 
 less than six feet. After dinner Kirk and Mr. Blenk went 
 a walk, and, instinctively, made their way towards the ravine, 
 which lay some two miles distant. 
 
 "I do not geologise on Sundays, Mr. Clinton, but there 
 will be no harm in our glancing round as you say you have 
 nearly reached the end of your search ?"
 
 106 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 "Yes, I have examined each horizon right down as far as 
 it is possible; there's not much left to be done!" 
 
 "A useless waste of energy, Clinton . . . perfectly use- 
 less." 
 
 "It looks so good." 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha ! . . . I'm afraid you are a romantic ... ?" 
 
 Mr. Blenk, as he said this, looked closely at Kirk as though 
 he were a most doubtful fossil. 
 
 "... But you must put that kind of thing quite, quite 
 away !"
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 TED had spent a year in his father's office, and he cer- 
 tainly earned his living, though he drew no salary. 
 Ted learnt to survey, trace, draw, and colour. He worked 
 hard and showed skill in calculations. He acquired a prac- 
 tical knowledge of brickwork, masonry, concrete, earthwork, 
 tunnelling and bridgework, and he gained some practice in 
 minor civil engineering design. Ted would have made a very 
 good civil engineer, but from his father he received no en- 
 couragement. Ted's very proper desire to take the necessary 
 engineering course at Owen's, or Mason's, or King's College 
 was pooh-poohed; and, after some final months of sharper 
 friction with his father, Ted suddenly left home. He had 
 now held a very poor appointment for a twelvemonth ; but by 
 great economy he had managed, not only to keep himself, but 
 also to pay tithe, one-tenth of his income, to the Church. Mr. 
 Clinton now seldom thought of his elder son. If he spoke 
 of him, it was always with opprobrium or disparagement, and 
 correspondence between father and son had ceased quickly. 
 Kirk was by now seventeen and was to leave Severnly School 
 at the end of the term; but beyond this his father had said 
 nothing of his future. Kirk had grown up into a fairly 
 tall, rather slim, and very hardy youth. He carried himself 
 well. He was not without good looks, and, further, he was 
 clever-looking. His silky dark-brown hair reflected a reddish 
 glint, and curled a little here and there. The perceptive 
 faculties just above the brows were full, and, had this not 
 been so, the high upper forehead might have been too promi- 
 nent. His temples were full; indeed, they were already 
 the marked temples of the idealist, of the lover of things 
 
 107
 
 108 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 great, majestic, strange, and beautiful. But the grey eyes, 
 level and well apart, marked most the expression of this face. 
 Habitually now was mingled in them both a keenness and 
 a state of reverie. In opposition these eyes were bold and 
 steady, quite matter-of-fact, cold, even supercilious. Truth- 
 ful people they met truthfully. When their owner sensed de- 
 ception, the deceitful felt these eyes become utterly piercing, 
 most disconcerting, and such people were compelled to speak 
 on, but could not meet these eyes. In general, accentuated 
 by the acuteness of the lines, his face carried a look of one 
 searching. Although grave in repose, Kirk's face lit up 
 vivaciously, his eyes changed and sparkled when interest or 
 pleasure, but especially when emotion touched him. 
 
 About mid-term, upon a Wednesday afternoon, Kirk by 
 previous arrangement met his reverend geological friend 
 at Severnly museum. Mr. and Mrs. Blenk had to-day come 
 in by train. The Yorkshire coachman the only person ever 
 known flatly to contradict or oppose Mrs. Blenk had very 
 positively informed her that morning, "ISTor, nor M'm, aw 
 konnor let thee tak th' horse out o' sterbel, not t'der. Yon 
 Bess has geeten a fair mish corld. Thee can tak' lettel toob 
 to stertion, wi' porny." 
 
 There was shopping to be done, but first Mrs. Blenk 
 thought that for once in her life she would look round this 
 everlasting museum, of which she had so often heard. As 
 they all entered she was speaking with Kirk, and panted a 
 little : the stairs were rather steep for one so tall and stout. 
 
 "Only fancy, Mr. Clinton ! I have never been here before ; 
 so far, you know, so much to do ! When one comes to town, 
 oh ! . . . these stairs . . . you must show me, the . . . the 
 tilings" 
 
 But Mr. Stogg, amateur artist of portentous works, "cura- 
 tor" by some strange machination of the Fates, possessor of a 
 gigantic strawberry nose and a most surprising lisp, now 
 authoritatively waved Kirk and Mr. Blenk forward by them-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 109 
 
 selves, and at once took in hand Mrs. Blenk. For her hus- 
 band Mr. Stogg had long entertained a prodigious pitying 
 contempt. But for all women he had ever felt he possessed 
 a peculiar charm. For his own learning he had that deep 
 respect he gave to no one else. Meanwhile, he adroitly 
 turned Mrs. Blenk into one room, and then deigned to 
 greet Mr. Blenk. 
 
 "G'dafternoon, Mishter Bellenk," said he, to Mr. Blenk's 
 back, adding with a subdued disappointment, "Ar thought ye 
 was dead !" 
 
 "Dead ! dead ! dead ! ! What do you mean ? Bring the 
 keys of No. 1 to 8 quickly ; dead indeed ! dead ! 
 
 "A dreadful creature, Clinton, that, but we have no funds 
 for a better : dead indeed ! dead . . ." murmured Blenk, quite 
 upset by the idea. 
 
 Presently Kirk and Mr. Blenk, while opening cases near 
 the doorway of another room, overheard the conversation of 
 Mrs. Blenk and her mentor, and Kirk saw them standing in 
 front of a huge fossil saurian an extinct sea lizard partly 
 embedded in the heavy limestone slabs in which it had been 
 found. Stogg, highly exhilarated by a recent large nip of 
 gin, was equal to any question, even from the most learned, 
 and he discoursed ably and imperiously. But he had not 
 yet absolutely dominated Mrs. Blenk. 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Stogg, yes, yes, yes," said Mrs. Blenk, forcing 
 her way into his turgid now of description, "but how did it 
 get there ?" 
 
 "Lor blesh ye ! 'Ee come-out-on-the-beach ! Shee ? Shee ? 
 Shee?" 
 
 "Yes?" (doubtfully). 
 
 "Then come the coal measures ! and cover j'im in ! !" 
 
 Mr. Stogg delivered this with triumphant unction, and 
 struck an attitude. 
 
 "Really! really, Mr. Stogg! how intensely interesting 
 ... I never even thought of such a thing ! ! . . . and this,
 
 110 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Mr. Stogg, is, I suppose, his top jaw ?" She poked it with her 
 umbrella. Stogg fiercely caught the umbrella-end. "Don't 
 spile 'im ! Don't spile 'im ! !" He glared at her, then re- 
 luctantly loosed the umbrella, said, "Mushn't poke 'im !" 
 and so returned to his grander manner, with reproof added 
 thereto 
 
 "That, mam, is 'is soopeerior man-geable." And Mrs. 
 Blenk took the reproof with secret delight as she passed to 
 the next exhibit. . . . 
 
 "What a strange flat fish! and what very thick scales!" 
 said she. 
 
 "Hosteo-leppish ! grand ! ! grand spheshemen ! ! a hancient 
 plaice, mum ! note grand blennemite by 'is nose !" 
 
 "But the fish, my dear Mr. Strogg, why is it so very, very 
 flat?" 
 
 Stogg really was posed for a moment, only for a moment, 
 the while he murmured "Stogg, Madam, Stogg" then, 
 smiling awfully he leered at Mrs. Blenk as he drew back 
 dramatically, and lowered his face to hers he glanced point- 
 edly over her ample form his great nose went purple with 
 joy and he exclaimed wither ingly 
 
 "You'd 'a been flat ! if you'd 'a been were 'ee was ! ! !" 
 
 Kirk was shaking with suppressed delight, and even Mr. 
 Blenk heard Stogg and said 
 
 "Great heavens! what things that fellow is telling that 
 woman !" 
 
 Kirk and his companion opened many cases, and took 
 out fossils to examine them in the best light, but Mrs. Blenk 
 had soon gone shopping, and was to meet her husband on the 
 five-o'clock train. Stogg nominally closed the museum at 
 4.30 p.m., but 4 o'clock better suited him, and as this earlier 
 time had now arrived he hovered most impatiently behind 
 the rector's coat-tails, he shut the cases up after him in great 
 heat, and grumbled audibly to himself. But Mr. Blenk took 
 no notice and went on talking with Kirk. Stogg looked with
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 111 
 
 deep contempt at his president, then went to a window, 
 
 leaned out, jerked in again, and exclaimed into the room 
 "Fivesh o'clock! I know you'll be late! and I 'opesh ye 
 
 will!" Up jumped Mr. Blenk banging a glass door in his 
 
 haste to whip out his watch. 
 
 "Five o'clock, man ! ! Goodness, how you frightened me !" 
 "All right ! all right ! don't she believe me ! . . . An' ye've 
 
 put your backside nearly through that cashe! I know ye'll 
 
 be late and I 'opesh ye will !" and Stogg went off deliberately 
 
 to an inn which stood opposite the museum. 
 
 Kirk, a week later, walked out to the ravine. He climbed 
 down within fifteen feet of water-level. He made his way 
 along for some distance, and then began to complete his long 
 examination. But he did not remain there more than twenty 
 minutes. His chisel and hammer, suddenly thrown down, 
 lay on the narrow talus at the bottom of the ravine. Almost 
 breathless through a rapid climb, through speed and ex- 
 citement, he ran through the forest on a bee-line for the rec- 
 tory. In his hand he carried a small pink slab. On this 
 were two fossil mollusca fossil shell-fish. Kirk knew well 
 the records of these barren rocks. The shells in his hand 
 were not recorded, and were of two species. He was positive 
 he had found new species. 
 
 "Good heavens ! It's incredible ! utterly incredible luck !" 
 panted he aloud, as he ran, breathless, exulting with the great 
 joy of discovery. 
 
 Mr. Blenk confirmed absolutely Kirk's surmise. They 
 were without any shadow of doubt two unknown species, and, 
 extraordinary occurrence ! both on one tiny slab ! Blenk was . 
 even more astonished, when Kirk showed him some other 
 fossils found that same day in the ravine, not unknown in 
 Germany, but of extreme rarity in Great Britain. Blenk 
 hid his profound chagrin, his intense malicious jealousy. To 
 him it was as though another miser had come at night and 
 taken away hidden gold from his own garden, from under his
 
 112 THE BOBN FOOL 
 
 nose : precious delicious gold, gold ! that wretchedly had lain 
 within his reach all those forty years! This miserable, in- 
 quisitive, ferreting youth had no right to such a discovery. 
 It was rank poaching, and of what possible use was such a 
 discovery to a mere boy ? 
 
 But Mrs. Blenk made Kirk sit by the fire, and insisted 
 on tea before the two departed in the carriage to visit the 
 ravine. Before they set off, she made Kirk wrap a rug round 
 himself, to prevent chill after his three-mile race. When they 
 arrived, the climb down was found quite impossible for Mr. 
 Blenk, so he stood in the darkening forest, and watched 
 Kirk's unconsciously perilous descent. Kirk at length sig- 
 I nailed the place of discovery to Mr. Blenk, shouted a descrip- 
 tion to him, and then climbed back. 
 
 Kirk was to measure up and make a most complete sec- 
 tion of the strata, and was to write a paper. Mr. Blenk said 
 that he would himself personally read it at the Geological 
 Institute, on behalf of Kirk. He would help him in every 
 way, correct the manuscript, and place his library at Kirk's 
 disposal. Kirk was deeply grateful, and happy as a girl 
 newly betrothed to one she loves. 
 
 The new species and the very rare fish-fossils were sent 
 up to London for examination. Several scientific journals 
 published preliminary notes and mentioned Kirk's name. 
 The editor of a London paper sent a man to interview Kirk. 
 The Severnly and local press followed suit. These people all 
 asked for and received full, exact information. And each, 
 without consulting Kirk, or any ordinary geologist, cut down 
 the copy, and printed a kindly and imposing notice; which 
 was indeed full for the scientific of amusing, annoying, 
 or astounding misconceptions, misspellings, and omissions. 
 These printings filled Kirk with a mingled gratitude and con- 
 fused vexation. The specimens were returned from London. 
 They would go up again with Mr. Blenk. Kirk said nothing 
 to his father, but other people did, and Mr. Clinton was 
 annoyed to find himself in the dark. He turned up the local
 
 THE BORN FOOL 113 
 
 papers for the last few days, glanced through them and then 
 sent for Kirk. 
 
 "What are these things you have been finding? Let me 
 look at them." 
 
 Kirk brought the treasures. "Please handle them with 
 great care, father, they are very fragile." He was on pins 
 while his father looked carelessly at several specimens. 
 
 "Dear me ! bits of stone ! bits of old shells ! Is all this fuss 
 merely about these things, Kirkpatrick ? . . . You are spend- 
 ing too much time, far too much time, on this kind of thing. 
 ... I am indeed surprised that a clergyman should occupy 
 himself with such trifles." 
 
 Three months later, Kirk, with highly pleasurable anti- 
 cipation, opened the first copy he had ever possessed of the 
 Geological Institute Journal. Mr. Blenk had sent it with- 
 out a note Kirk knew the book contained his own paper. 
 He found the place, glanced, and went pale. Most piercing 
 grief seized him for a moment. Then a tumult of great 
 anger and resentment, utter exasperation, humiliation, and 
 a ferocious will to revenge, raged in him. 
 
 The discovery was recorded, the paper printed, in the 
 name of the Rev. James Blenk, F.R.S., etc. There was 
 no mention whatever of Kirk. He sat down and wrote a 
 short letter to Blenk. He informed him that he was "a liar, 
 a blackguard, a ca<J, a thief, and a typical minister of God." 
 He finished it, "Yours detestingly." He then wrote several 
 long letters to London, and in each gave an exact and full 
 account of all that had been done. 
 
 To prevent scandal, the authorities after some delay wrote 
 Kirk very sympathetically and pointed out the age and grey 
 hairs of Mr. Blenk, and promised to set things right in some 
 way; and, later on, at the meeting of the British Scientific 
 Association of that year, the novo species were publicly 
 named, one of them after Kirk. But his hero-worship of 
 scientists had for the time utterly departed. He went once
 
 114 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 more to the ravine. He carefully dug away or hid all traces 
 of the place of his discovery, and he spent a long time in re- 
 planting the disturbed and cleared ledges with moss, grass, 
 and seedlings. With thorns he filled up the little paths and 
 apertures he had cut, and he closed up the way to the place 
 of the shells a short way that he had cut upwards from be- 
 low, and up which he had helped Mr. Blenk with great diffi- 
 culty. In this ledge-path he now balanced some great stones, 
 in the evil hope that one might tip over and throw his enemy 
 into the chasm and the water, should he attempt to revisit the 
 spot. Alas! that lonely, strange, and beautiful place was 
 all spoilt for Kirk. Never again would he wish to go to the 
 ravine. 
 
 This affair led to Kirk's third and last quarrel with his 
 father. Blenk wrote a copious letter to the son, complaining 
 of the shocking language he had used, and arguing that it 
 did not matter in whose name the discovery was set down, and 
 that he had told every one that Kirk had participated in it 
 in fact, had been perhaps the chief actor in the matter, 
 which was, however, only of trifling import in any case, and 
 certainly did not from any point of view merit the use of 
 the disgraceful language Mr. Clinton had seen fit to address 
 to an aged clergyman ; to one who had helped him one who 
 had felt an interest in him, invited him into his house, and 
 even made him gifts. He was very grieved to receive such 
 ingratitude from a young man. 
 
 This letter Kirk found prominently placed on the dining- 
 room table; and as he took it, he thought his father looked 
 strangely at him. 
 
 Two days later, at lunch, Kirk asked his father 
 
 "Mary and myself are asked to the Moresbys' private 
 theatricals on Thursday ; may we be out till eleven, father ?" 
 
 "JNo, sir ! you may not." . . . Mr. Clinton was preparing 
 to carve, and stood up. He held the knife and steel in his 
 Lands.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 115 
 
 "... Why not, father ?" 
 
 "Because you have disgraced yourself. You have written 
 an insulting letter to an aged clergyman." 
 
 Kirk stood up opposite his father, leaned forward, fixed 
 his eyes upon his father's, and spoke slowly. 
 
 "How dare you open my letter ? . . . I now think the same 
 of you both." 
 
 Mr. Clinton's face changed, he looked down, the position 
 was very awkward. 
 
 "You . . . you viper !" said he. He struck his son's hand 
 with the steel ; but his son did not move, and the blood ran 
 on the table-cloth. Mr. Clinton unexpectedly flung the steel 
 down and left the room. 
 
 "Oh, Kirk! this is so horrible," said Mary reproachfully, 
 pale and greatly distressed. 
 
 "He's a cad, and he knows he's been a cad, and we'll have 
 lunch now, dear," said Kirk, trembling with passion. He 
 tied a handkerchief round his hand, carved, and attempted 
 to eat. 
 
 After this unhappy event Kirk and his father did not speak 
 to each other, unless it were unavoidable. But the son con- 
 tinued to obey his father's house-rules, with a few exceptions. 
 
 Kirk now was reading in secret the works of Darwin, 
 Drummond, Wallace, and the geologists; but his thoughts 
 turned more and more to the beauty, mystery, wonder, and 
 sadness of nature, apart from apes or men. He began to 
 view all religion in a different light ; he began to despise and 
 dismiss it. Mankind as a whole took on a sordid aspect, and 
 nature seemed ever the more beautiful and beloved. He lived 
 in dreams, poetry, strange beliefs and thoughts, unusual sur- 
 mise, feelings of superiority of soul and mind, solitary 
 ecstasies and he read more and more extensively in Landor, 
 Macaulay, Emerson, Eroude, Carlyle, George Eliot, Paul 
 Jean Richter, and Eranz Hartmann. But above all these 
 he read, re-read, pondered on, and loved Richard Jefferies,
 
 116 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 the one and sole apostle of earth-life outside the human race ; 
 perhaps the only man of genius who ever consciously in- 
 carnated his soul in all those beautiful living things not hu- 
 man ; for Richard Jefferies both saw and left the "pageant of 
 summer," as might sense and live in it a wild flower, or a 
 nightingale.
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 MR. CLINTON articled his second son as a pupil to 
 himself, the term being for three years. Kirk had 
 made no objection. There had been no alternative. In- 
 heriting from his father and his grandfather, he took easily 
 to civil engineering. He learned quickly to use with skill 
 and accuracy the level and theodolite. Drawings of the most 
 complex nature he soon made, or read with facility. But de- 
 sign, creation of things, alone held any real interest for him. 
 The early glamour of the profession soon passed away, and 
 he viewed his work solely as a means of livelihood. In de- 
 sign only did he obtain pleasure, and in design he was, like 
 his father, markedly inventive, fertile, resourceful, and rapid. 
 His pupilship was now nearly finished. Life with his father, 
 both in office and at home, was become very irksome, most 
 limiting. . For nearly three years these two had travelled 
 together daily between Severnly and the office. Clinton used 
 the first class, and provided Kirk with third-class travel. 
 The reserve between father and son had not been broken. 
 There was scarcely a subject apart from business on which 
 they could converse. Kirk chafed and suffered more and 
 more under the severe material, financial, mental, and 
 spiritual restraints forced on him by the strong will and pe- 
 culiar views of his father. He was now determined to leave 
 home at the first opportunity, and forever free himself from 
 his father. 
 
 To this end he now made effort after effort. He wrote 
 many letters, and applied for every appointment he thought 
 he could undertake. But he was not successful. Good posts 
 are always obtained by influence. 
 
 117
 
 118 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 His father still had valuable influence in Victoria Street, 
 but would not exert himself even a little to use it on Kirk's 
 behalf. It was too much trouble to take : his son should not 
 go "to that hot-bed of vice, London ;" he would get him some- 
 thing himself, when the boy knew more. For in Clinton's 
 eyes Kirk was still only a boy. 
 
 Then there was the true motive Mr. Clinton had during 
 the past two years found Kirk more and more useful in his 
 own office. He thought he could ill dispense with him just 
 now ; really, it would be very annoying. It was best for his 
 son to live at home for the present. The peculiar parsimony 
 of Clinton was now becoming strongly rooted. He did not 
 like parting with money especially to son or daughter. He 
 had no conception of their wants or of their feelings. He 
 had never pictured himself in some one else's place or cir- 
 cumstance. He had no imagination in matters emotional or 
 spiritual. Only in civil engineering problems did he use 
 imagination. This lack was his great defect in life, for it 
 shut him out from understanding others. It made him both 
 act and seem very much more selfish than in truth he was. 
 The loss of Agnes, his wife, had for him been a cruel ca- 
 lamity. The bereavement had been for him the setting-in 
 of winter, the end of interest in all present human life. 
 In nothing did he take real pleasure. Moths had destroyed 
 the covers of his fine fly rods ; and he lived wholly reserved 
 and self-absorbed, either in theological abstractions, or in his 
 civil engineering and matters of routine. Of late years 
 Clinton had but once or twice deviated from the narrow 
 road of life he followed. On the last occasion he had been 
 shown, and had closely examined, a small kinematograph, at 
 that time a new invention. This was at the house of an 
 American, a very wealthy member of the Church, who re-, 
 cently had married and settled in England. Mr. Clinton 
 woke up as it were at dinner one night and described the 
 apparatus to Mary and Kirk. Novel things of that kind had 
 attracted him in his young days. Somewhere in the house
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 119 
 
 lay long-forgotten models of telephones, radiometers, and 
 dynamos. In the lumber-room were several antiquated 
 cameras and a magic lantern. One evening Kirk and Mary 
 were astonished at the actual arrival of a kinematograph, all 
 complete, with heavy steel cylinders containing gas, a bun- 
 dle of rubber tubes, and half a dozen boxes of accessories. 
 At first Kirk took some natural interest in this thing, but 
 presently he discovered the apparatus was not lent, but had 
 been bought outright by his father, and the cost ran well over 
 a hundred pounds. A month later the kinematograph stood 
 covered with dust in a corner of the library, but more than 
 once Mr. Clinton spoke of it. He intended, he said, to ob- 
 tain films showing the perfect manipulation and deposition 
 of concretes, the drilling and blasting of tunnels, the raising 
 and placing of bridge-girders, the flow of water through ori- 
 fices and over various weirs ; the action of steam-navvies, the 
 manufacture of steel, the stamping machinery of mines and 
 he would then lecture "like those Americans" there was a 
 great deal of money to be made in that way, said he. But 
 he did nothing more, and the dust of a second month ac- 
 cumulated on the apparatus, for it was forbidden to be 
 touched by any one. When Clinton next spoke of it, uncon- 
 sciously desiring his listeners' sympathy the almost penni- 
 less Kirk burned with secret anger, and showed his contempt 
 silently, by his expressionless face, and by his icy lack of 
 interest, all of which his father noted. Later in the evening 
 Kirk was absent without leave from prayers, and his father 
 told Mary that her brother was "a callous, and, I much fear, 
 an unspiritual youth;" and though she was so young, Kirk's 
 sister had learned it would be useless to protest. As a rule, 
 she did not answer her father when he said these things, but 
 often she felt it a duty to ask Kirk not to rail so bitterly ; for 
 Kirk had developed a biting criticism, and saw no good in 
 his father. The young man had forgotten the father's brav- 
 ery and achievements for which, as a boy, he had given 
 genuine respect. But personal bravery appeals with greatest
 
 120 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 force to women and children, and Kirk was now almost a 
 man. 
 
 True, Kirk found it impossible not to admire his father's 
 inborn skill and resource as an engineer ; but in ordinary life 
 he thought him most selfish, hypocritical, and narrow-minded. 
 
 It is not good for young engineers to be articled to their 
 own fathers unless later on they are going into partnership. 
 This possibly had been Clinton's idea three years ago, but 
 now he, too, felt the incompatibility between himself and 
 Kirk. 
 
 When a "pupil" has served articles for three or four years, 
 the testimonial and influence of the engineer under whom 
 he has learnt and served is of great importance in securing 
 a first appointment. But, unaided by influence, of what 
 value in the open market is the testimonial of a father? 
 
 Kirk had written to a public works contractor, a success- 
 ful man who once had done work under Mr. Clinton both in 
 France and England. After waiting a month Kirk had 
 given up hope of a reply. 
 
 But during breakfast on a Monday morning in April, 
 Kirk's father, after turning a letter over to examine the post- 
 mark, handed it to Kirk, and watched suspiciously while his 
 son read the contents, which were as follows: 
 
 "Mr. K. Clinton, "London, April 2nd, 19 . 
 
 "C/o Richard Clinton, Esq., M.I.C.E., M.I.M.E., etc. 
 "The 'Gates/ 
 
 "Severnly. 
 "DEAR SIR. 
 
 "I can offer you a small berth as resident engineer on the Ciren- 
 hampton Water Scheme. 
 
 "Until I know what you can do, your salary would be at the rate 
 of sixty-five pounds (65) per annum. If you are prepared to ac- 
 cept this offer, please write me forthwith and say if you can report 
 yourself at Cirenhampton (L. & S. W. Ry.) by mid-day on Monday 
 next. 
 
 "Please give my kind regards to your father. I trust he is well. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 
 "JAMES BENDIGO."
 
 THE BORN FOOL 121 
 
 Kirk, cold and restrained in his father's presence but 
 highly delighted handed the letter to him. 
 
 "I've got a berth, father. Cirenhampton Waterworks." 
 
 Mr. Clinton read the note, put it down, and said, incisively, 
 "You have secured an appointment, is better English: the 
 name is pronounced $tsshampton." He went on with his 
 breakfast. 
 
 Mr. Clinton presently looked across the table at his son 
 and noted the risen colour, sparkling eyes, and suppressed 
 excitement. Should he prevent him . . . ? Write to old Mr. 
 Bendigo . . . ? He did not admit it, but he felt his son 
 would resist him, to some violent extreme, perhaps, most 
 probably. He supposed then . . . as he finished his break- 
 fast, that Kirkpatrick must really go. It meant he would 
 have to employ and pay an extra assistant engineer. It was 
 far too unlikely that he would find another pupil as clever 
 as Kirkpatrick. 
 
 Having come to this conclusion, a new thought arose, and 
 after a moment's mental calculation, he spoke it 
 
 "Twenty-five shillings each week; you can keep yourself 
 very well on that; young men should not have too much 
 money." This was his sole remark for the present. 
 
 As soon as prayers were over, and after Kirk had spoken 
 cheerily in the hall to Mary, he rushed off to the station, 
 and three-quarters of an hour later he burst excitedly into 
 his father's drawing office, waving the letter 
 
 "Cirenhampton Water Scheme! Hurrah, you fellows! 
 I'm off at last! out of this rotten life" 
 
 The assistant engineers and the two pupils read the letter, 
 and gave him congratulations, for they all liked him; he 
 would always help a fellow in his work; he could always 
 interpret Mr. Clinton's ideas, and they were all rather afraid 
 of their chief. Twenty-five shillings per week seemed very 
 much more to Kirk than to his brother-pupils, whom money 
 matters had never troubled, for their parents were fairly 
 wealthy and were normal.
 
 122 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Calming down a little, Kirk wrote on his father's special 
 paper a letter to accept the appointment. He posted this 
 precious letter himself, and then at once returned home, for 
 his father was to attend a diaconal meeting that afternoon 
 and would not go to the city. 
 
 For five years past Mr. Clinton had refused his son a suffi- 
 ciency of clothes and money, and Kirk often had felt keenly 
 the shabbiness of his own clothing. He had been too sensi- 
 tive and proud to write Mrs. Athorpe on the subject. Be- 
 sides, since his mother's death, she had never been invited 
 to the "Gates." Indeed, the family had become very isolated. 
 Even the ministers seldom came now to dine at Severnly. 
 
 Kirk forthwith needed ready money, and he feared his 
 father's refusal. The matter would have to be settled at 
 once. Mr. Clinton had not gone out, so Kirk went to him, 
 and spoke respectfully 
 
 "I shall want a little money, father ; you see I don't possess 
 a decent suit of clothes, nor have I a box or portmanteau 
 Edward and I always shared one before he went away. I 
 don't want to go there like a beggar; then I have only just 
 enough for the railway fare, and I shall have to live until I 
 draw my first pay . . . and I shall never again cost you any- 
 thing." 
 
 While Kirk spoke, his father had fidgeted crossly, and he 
 now flung down a morning paper and stood up. For a mo- 
 ment he scanned Kirk. 
 
 "What is amiss with your clothes, sir ?" 
 
 "The trousers are nearly through at the knees, father, 
 look ; and they are all frayed at the bottom Mary has darned 
 them twice you see, father ?" said Kirk, exhibiting the back 
 of his trouser legs, and he added, "They are quite green, you 
 see ; they look so very shabby, and they are so short and small 
 all over. The coat is no better . . . . " 
 
 His father reddened ; he hated to be bothered in this way ; 
 it did not at all trouble him that his son was shabby; he 
 had no idea how it felt to be shabby. He could not see that
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 123 
 
 so trivial a thing mattered for a boy ; but he sought for words. 
 It always angered him to find the least opposition to the 
 powerful ascendancy he had exercised for so many years over 
 his family. 
 
 With difficulty restraining his impatience, he spoke, "You 
 do not need good clothes on engineering works," and he 
 added with a superior contempt, "No one will expect you to 
 arrive looking like a perfect dandy." 
 
 "I don't look very much like a dandy now, father," said 
 Kirk, dispassionately, and he turned his frayed trousers more 
 into view, looked at them, and stood there patiently. Neither 
 spoke for a few seconds. His father sat down, took up the 
 paper, and attempted to read it. 
 
 " . . .If you will lend me a few pounds, I can get all I 
 want, and I will pay you back all right, father. I give you 
 my word of honour . . . you know that I would." 
 
 Kirk waited, and his father raised the paper brusquely, 
 lowered it again, and said 
 
 "It is a wrong principle, Kirkpatrick." Gripping the 
 paper with both hands, he shook it fiercely to emphasize the 
 remark as he repeated it. But he did not meet Kirk's eyes. 
 
 "Hundreds of young men are ruined every year by bor- 
 rowing. No; I cannot go lending you money at the outset 
 of your career. No. You will be receiving your regular 
 salary ; then you can get any luxuries you like. I have kept 
 you and fed you for nineteen years ; plenty of boys are earn- 
 ing their living at ten years of age ; I am short of money at 
 present, very short ; I have no money to lend people." 
 
 "Well, father, I can't go there like this," persisted Kirk, 
 looking away, "and at present I have only a few shillings 
 of my own." His father wanted to read the paper; he was 
 being interrupted most tiresomely ; the subject of money had 
 always been one highly distasteful ; the mantelpiece was lit- 
 tered more than ever with sheaves of unpaid accounts. Mr. 
 Clinton suddenly felt a hot irritation ; red cords rose on his
 
 124 THE BORN" FOOL 
 
 forehead ; he sat up rigidly, and stammered a moment before 
 he spoke. 
 
 "The the the youth of this age is pampered and dis- 
 obedient, a stubborn-and-rebellious-generation ; if you were in 
 the backwoods-of- America, you would be thankful to be well 
 clothed, and have a good-horn e-to-shelter you !" 
 
 Kirk replied with an attempt at good humour, "Good Lord, 
 father! you must see we are not in the backwoods of 
 America !" 
 
 But his father angrily jumped up. "How dare you use 
 that expression ? I will have no swearing here. 'Thou shalt 
 not take the name-of-the-Lord-thy-God-in-vain !' Remember- 
 that!" fiercely cried he. He threw the paper down, glared 
 at his son's cold, sarcastic face, and rapped out, "I know 
 fathers who would take-the-skin-off-your-back, old-as-you-are- 
 Sir!" 
 
 Kirk looked at his father and then turned slowly, mutter- 
 ing something to himself as he left the room. He shut the 
 door too sharply. It was instantly re-opened; his father 
 called after him, "I shall be glad when you leave this house ; 
 you have always stirred up your brother and sister to-rebel- 
 against-their-f ather ! You have an evil and callous mind !" 
 
 Kirk stood a moment to sneer the words "Minister of 
 God !" and then he left the house. 
 
 In the afternoon Kirk went into Severnly to see his 
 father's tailor. He would get clothes without his father's 
 consent. 
 
 "Mr. Cubell, I'm leaving home next Monday, and I want 
 you to make me a suit, as quickly as possible, light tweed of 
 some kind." 
 
 "Certainly, Sir. I'll just show you what we are doing a 
 good many gentlemen in at present." 
 
 He began to pull out rolls of fine Cheviot, unfolding them, 
 and wrapping them round his plump leg to show their ap- 
 pearance.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 125 
 
 Kirk was greatly annoyed to feel a kind of inferiority in 
 this large, quiet, well-lit, particularly prosperous shop; he 
 hoped no one else would come in while he was there. Here 
 it was so painfully obvious that he lacked clothes. He had 
 read the "Clothes Philosophy" ; but philosophy does not sup- 
 port the young. It is only a grim solace to the intellectual, 
 when broken in spirit. Kirk was by no means broken in 
 spirit, but he was very sensitive. 
 
 Mr. Cubell had taken his measure carefully in more ways 
 than one. He had curtly transmitted his tape figures to a 
 smart assistant in a large kind of glass and mahogany box; 
 and now he kindly and cleverly manoeuvred his customer be- 
 yond the ears of this assistant until Kirk and himself stood 
 near the shop doors. 
 
 "You must please excuse me, Mr. Clinton; but do you 
 intend to pay for this order before you go away ?" 
 
 "No, Cubell; I can't; I want you to put it down to my 
 father's account." 
 
 Mr. Cubell slowly folded his arms, and leaned back against 
 his counter ; he looked down and said gravely 
 
 "I'm very sorry, Sir, but I really can't do that. You see 
 your father owes me money now. I look on it as a bad debt ; 
 perhaps you don't know, Sir, that your father didn't place 
 his last order here ? . . . After the years I've done for him." 
 
 Kirk, likewise looking down, had blushed slowly to his 
 ears, "the dark unbecoming blush of a man." 
 
 "No. I didn't know that. Well, Mr. Cubell, will you 
 make them for me, and let me pay you as soon as I can, say 
 in three months ?" 
 
 The spruce old man looked searchingly at Kirk, at the 
 truthful grey eyes, and was about to say yes, for he felt that 
 he could trust him; but Kirk, already outraged and hu- 
 miliated, stung to the quick by this pause, abruptly said, 
 "Good morning, Cubell," and left the shop, smarting with 
 vexation and shame, and, as he walked, he cursed his father.
 
 126 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 He imagined how differently himself would treat a son. Oh, 
 how differently ! 
 
 The "Old Lane" was a much longer way back to the 
 "Gates," but it was secluded. 
 
 On the way home he decided he would have to sell his 
 geological collection. Anything rather than ask some one to 
 lend him money, be refused, and go again through the hu- 
 miliation he had felt in that shop. 
 
 Immediately after lunch Kirk went to a young geological 
 friend who was well supplied with money, and who often 
 had bought duplicates from Kirk's collection. They had 
 together sometimes made excursions, and Kirk, ever willing 
 and eager to impart any knowledge he possessed, had taught 
 him the elements of stratigraphy, and how to proceed in the 
 field, map in hand. In return, young Minnitt now and then 
 lent Kirk his cycle, and thus enabled him to visit distant 
 fields of search. 
 
 "Minnitt, you can have my collection for five pounds if 
 you will buy it to-day; I am leaving home, and want some 
 money; in fact, I must have it." 
 
 "No 1 1 Going away ? Why, where are you going to, 
 Clinny, old man ? What's the geology like ?" 
 
 Kirk gave him some particulars, and then passed lightly 
 over the fatherly interview. 
 
 "As to geology, it will be in the Chalk and Eocene." 
 
 "By Jove! the Eocene ! lucky beggar !" exclaimed Minnitt, 
 and they shortly returned to the "Gates," and went up to 
 Kirk's bedroom, where he kept his collection. 
 
 He had there fitted up a number of heavy shelves, on which 
 were arranged, in perfect scientific order, some two thousand 
 specimens. 
 
 To obtain these Kirk had walked hundreds and hundreds 
 of miles. He had found with his own eyes and fingers the 
 great majority. A small number were absolutely unique; 
 and of these he had made casts, colouring and finishing them
 
 THE BORN FOOL 127 
 
 by his own methods and with such uncommon artistic skill 
 that only by actual handling could geologists themselves de- 
 tect the real from the unreal. 
 
 Kirk gave generously, and some of his beautiful casts may 
 still be seen in several national museums. 
 
 Every one of these silent things on the shelves had its 
 own associations, its glamour, a place in his imagination, and 
 in his affection. 
 
 For Kirk, an endearment of recollection clung to each of 
 these slowly-garnered treasures. To him alone, they spoke 
 of many a long, happy, and often solitary day spent in the 
 friendly countryside, for twenty miles around. Some were 
 gifts from great geologists ; and all were cherished, labelled, 
 dusted, and brooded over as he dressed or undressed. !N"o one 
 touched them but himself. The vision of these one-time 
 ferns and insects, of these fish, trilobites, old pearly nautili 
 and reptiles of ancient seas, fascinated Kirk, and filled him 
 with deep thought when he dreamed over them, or with hap- 
 piness when he remembered the silent, beautiful woodlands, 
 under which, after their remotely past life, they had come 
 to find a resting-place. 
 
 To Kirk, geology was a noble field for vast imaginations. 
 It was indeed the second science, ranking second only to the 
 human penetrations of eternal space. 
 
 He had absorbed the scientific side of geology with marked 
 intuitional ease; but the solemn order, the profound vision 
 of the procession of ancient upward life, the mightier hori- 
 zons evoked these he dwelt on with secret intense thought. 
 And often the exceeding sadness of the ever-passed-away 
 overcame him. 
 
 He had collected since he was a boy of twelve. 
 
 A great piece of ammonite weighing twenty-five pounds 
 had been brought here on his back, carried by stages fifteen 
 miles one frozen day of March. A much heavier slab, splen- 
 didly ripple-marked, and pitted by heavy drops of rain that 
 fell millions of years before the dawn of man this, Kirk
 
 128 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 had brought home by sledge over seven miles of ice-bound 
 canal. Here, too, on a special shelf, were the few and rare 
 treasures garnered from the long search in the ravine. 
 
 All these neatly-spread small things, these heavy-written 
 slabs set on edge in the best light, had been personally car- 
 ried here, along miles and miles of the roads or lanes that 
 radiated from Severnly town towards Tewkesbury, Halvern, 
 Bredon and Pendock in the south, to the Liassie Shakespeare 
 border of old Warwickshire on the east, and towards Ledbury, 
 far westward. 
 
 Kirk had brought some of them even from those dis- 
 tant hills that look down on the battlefields of Edge Hill, 
 and from the new distant collieries northwards that rose 
 amid yet unsullied cowslips and hawthorn blossom in their 
 seasons. But especially had Kirk roamed the deep clayey 
 lands of the Blue Lias, where the limekilns send their smoke- 
 drifts trailing away over the treeless meadows. And, gazing 
 on his treasures, he remembered many a secluded rocky face, 
 yellow or red, hidden far away in the rich woodlands of 
 Arden and the Worcestershire border, that he had sought 
 out, examined, and mused upon. 
 
 Ambitions had grown in Kirk to make such a collection 
 that it would be acceptable in part or in whole by the national 
 museums, when the time came. He knew already that his 
 ravine fossils were all most rare, and would be gratefully 
 accepted by any national museum in the world. 
 
 On this important, fateful day, he stood still, and with 
 troubled eyes scanned his favourite specimens. They were 
 so much more than scientific to him. He felt, now it came 
 to the pinch, that he could not possibly part with some among 
 them. In his long fingers he took up the small pink slab 
 which held his two novo species, the rhynconella, which had 
 been named after him, and was one of those specimens he 
 meant to keep. He laid the small slab upon his bed. The 
 faintly impressed shells on the slab were new to the world
 
 THE BORN FOOL 129 
 
 two new species on one bit of pale pink shale ! He chose also 
 some slender brown dorsal spines of fish, and a few of the 
 opal-like palatal teeth. These spines and teeth were very 
 great rarities. Beside them he laid the perfect, large, seal- 
 like paddle of a baby plesiosaurus of a baby sea lizard. 
 Also he put aside one fine fragment of a silicified Permian 
 conifer an archaic pine-tree. This fossil wood had been 
 polished laboriously by Kirk, so that now it showed all the 
 structure of wood, though harder than steel, and exquisitely 
 coloured as a precious agate by the pink, yellow, black and 
 brown silica. 
 
 "Everything else you can have, Minnitt." 
 
 "Oh ! but by Jove, Clinton, you know ... I had counted 
 absolutely on having this, and this." He fingered carefully 
 those things laid on the bed. 
 
 "Dash it, man ! As it is you are getting a huge bargain. 
 Why! that ichthyosaurus head alone is worth I don't know 
 what ! . . . However, I cannot let these be lost ; it would be a 
 sin. I cannot do it. They go to London to-morrow." 
 
 "But they're just the very best things you have." 
 
 Kirk paused, his anger rose; he loathed meanness, and he 
 knew Minnitt understood the position. 
 
 He began to wrap up his chosen things, each separately, in 
 plenty of soft paper. 
 
 "Well, Minnitt, I shall send them every one to the mu- 
 seums unless you take the crowd as they are . . . though I 
 don't know what the devil to do for money." 
 
 "Four-pounds-ten," said Minnitt. 
 
 "No; five." 
 
 "I won't give you more than four-fifteen," said Minnitt 
 always his father's son. 
 
 Kirk walked away, looked out of the window, came back, 
 and said, "Very well, I accept that." 
 
 "Eight!" 
 
 "Very well. I'll begin wrapping them up for you, we 
 can get them downstairs and away by four o'clock or so."
 
 130 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "I shall not take anything else out of the collection, Min- 
 nitt," added Kirk, austerely. 
 
 "Oh, no, no ! I know that, old man. I'll go now and get 
 the money from the mater. I'm not paying it out of my 
 own pocket, and I'll bring our gardener along at once with 
 a barrow and he can keep fetching them." 
 
 Half-an-hour later, while the two wrapped the fossils up, 
 using quantities of old newspaper, Kirk said : "Minnitt, you 
 will not go and let these things be lost and thrown into some 
 old box-room, will you?" 
 
 "Rather not!" 
 
 "If you ever get tired of them, will you send the best to 
 London ? Or let me know ? I would buy them back. . . . 
 All these fossil Arachnidae* ought to go you would give 
 them in your own name ; it would be rather nice, you know, 
 'Presented by A. L. Minnitt, of Severnly.' ' 
 
 Minnitt stood up and smiled at Kirk. 
 
 "Clinton! What a rum chap you are! That would be 
 rather ripping ! Well, if I do get sick of them, I'll do what 
 you ask, there ! but I shall not." 
 
 "Thank you very much indeed. That is a promise. . . . 
 It would be such a great pity, so wretched, for them to be 
 covered with dust, and all forgotten, and at last be thrown 
 away by some ignorant person. ... I almost wish they were 
 all back in their ancient graves." 
 
 Before they parted, his friend said, "Give me your address, 
 Clinton, and if you ever come back, come and put up at our 
 place, will you ?" 
 
 "... Why, it's very good of you !" said Kirk, surprised ; 
 it had not occurred to him that he would ever come back. "I 
 should be very glad to." 
 
 He hastened off to order his clothes, but not, of course, 
 from Mr. Cubell. 
 
 * Fossil spiders.
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 MARY during this important week more than once 
 spoke to her father about Kirk. Her gentle nature 
 happily brought father and son to civil terms. Doubtfully 
 she divined that Mr. Clinton felt some stirring of affection 
 over the approaching departure of Kirk, for he was a strange 
 man, and not readily to be understood. He certainly re- 
 lented a little and, through Mary, he informed Kirk that he 
 would give him two pounds. 
 
 "I'll give it to him, I'll give it to him, child; leave me 
 now," replied Mr. Clinton to Mary's last hint that the 
 money should be given at once, for it was Sunday evening, 
 and Kirk was to leave early next morning. Her brother 
 counted on the forty shillings to pay his fare, about eight 
 and six; and' the remainder, with what he had left of his 
 own, would keep him for a month until he received his first 
 
 pay- 
 Next morning, an hour before Kirk was to leave the house, 
 
 Mary knocked at her father's bedroom door and standing 
 outside spoke to him. ^one knew better than she how to 
 mingle the gentleness and the persistence that alone gained 
 success with Mr. Clinton in these too common emergencies. 
 
 Kirk listened anxiously to her; if she could not get the 
 money he thought he would have to rush over to Minnitt's, 
 as a last resource. Mary had offered him ten shillings of 
 her own, but up to now he had refused ; it would not suffice. 
 He could not touch her little hoard. Unexpectedly, from 
 inside the bed-room Mr. Clinton replied 
 
 "I am myself going to see Kirkpatrick away, Mary." 
 
 131
 
 132 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "But, father dear, you will be late, he will miss his train !" 
 
 She heard a brisk noise begin. He was getting up; the 
 door opened slightly 
 
 "My bath, turn it on, quick, quick, child!" commanded 
 Mr. Clinton. Some strange reversion had seized him. He 
 came down earlier than usual; and walked off breakfastless 
 accompanied by Kirk and Mary. They had just enough 
 time, but Kirk was very harassed, and wished to go quickly 
 in case the clock were wrong; yet even Mary was powerless 
 to hasten her father. He had acquired a habit of exactly 
 measuring the time to go to a station. He was never in good 
 time, he never ran, yet he rarely missed a train. 
 
 This morning he went to the booking-office, bought a ticket 
 to Cirenhampton, and arrived coolly on the platform as the 
 express drew up. He gave the ticket, the change from a 
 sovereign, and another sovereign, to his son. 
 
 Kirk put his arms round Mary, strained her to himself, 
 kissed her, and then got in. She was in tears. Her last 
 words were 
 
 "You look so nice in your things, dear. . . . Write to- 
 night." 
 
 Through the window he shook hands with Mr. Clinton. 
 
 "Good-bye, father." 
 
 "Good-bye, Kirkpatrick" . . . Mr. Clinton gave his last 
 command 
 
 "Kirkpatrick, avoid women; they would be your especial 
 downfall. And remember, there can be no success without 
 God. I wish you well." 
 
 Kirk waved his handkerchief to Mary until he passed 
 out of sight. Then he sat down on a book he had put there. 
 He moved it further along, and smiled. It was Richard 
 Jeffei-ies' "Field and Hedgerow"; the title read plainly in 
 silver on a dark maroon back. It was a glimpse of this 
 book, thought he, that prompted his father's last words. He 
 had, a few months earlier, ordered Kirk to take Jefferie?' 
 works "from under this roof, sir! An abominable man! a
 
 THE BORN FOOL 133 
 
 man who actually places woman higher than his God. Out 
 with them at once ! or I will burn them." 
 
 "I am free at last," thought Kirk, and smiled again. 
 
 He was actually on the way to Cirenhampton, in the 
 train, and his relief was great. 
 
 About eleven o'clock, when twenty miles from Cirenhamp- 
 ton the train entered a wide valley that lay between the south- 
 ern gorsy heaths. In the distance were peeps of the high 
 downs that Kirk had so often read of. Now the train was 
 running through lush meadows in their April glory of yel- 
 low flowers. A white chalk-pit gleamed among the hanging 
 woods, and Kirk grew excited by the scenery and exquisite 
 southerliness. 
 
 He was so saturated at this time with Richard Jefferies' 
 influence that now, when he saw the lesser grebes on a back- 
 water of this broad swirling chalk-stream, he desired eagerly 
 to point them out to a stiff lady and her daughter, who sat 
 opposite in the carriage ; but the elder woman's face forbade 
 him. They would not know, thought he, how rare at Severnly 
 were these water-birds. 
 
 Wild things and creatures gave him such keen delight ; but 
 he was not of the race of "naturalists." Grebes were not 
 just birds to him ; no, they were of the unknown, of Richard 
 Jefferies' Nature, and Kirk, too, like Jefferies, felt deeply the 
 ecstasy of the wild flowers, and was so conscious of the rich 
 
 miracle in which he lived. 
 
 i 
 
 Two men awaited Kirk at Cirenhampton station. The 
 younger, Charlie Bendigo, walked somewhat unquietly up 
 and down the platform; he looked at every girl, briskly 
 swung his cane, squared his shoulders, lit another cigarette, 
 and often turned back smartly a step or two, to say some- 
 thing gay to his spare, large-limbed and hawk-eyed com- 
 panion, who walked slouchingly, deliberately, aggressively, 
 and looked powerful of both physique and mind. Charlie 
 wore excellent cord riding-breeches, perfect leggings, the
 
 134 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 shiniest brown boots, and large spurs. His very close-cut 
 dark coat showed a marked waist. The shoulders were 
 sharply square, and tight with padding. An over-heavy 
 gold chain crossed his light waistcoat. A neat jewelled pin 
 pierced his cravat low down. Beneath the latest tweed cap 
 his small blue eyes twinkled and laughed in a sunburnt and 
 pointed face. His dark moustache, trimmed carefully and 
 very waxed, hid the mouth. He was by no means a bad- 
 looking fellow, but his type made a great contrast with Bill 
 Colquhoun. The elder man who looked forty-five but was 
 ten years older wore thin grey tweed, well cut, but some- 
 what worn, and short in the sleeves. The big bony hairy 
 wrist showed beyond the sleeve and the flannel shirt. A 
 grey bowler of large size well suited him. His keenly intelli- 
 gent and large dark eyes habitually levelled themselves at 
 men and things with an air of critical command. They were 
 a good pair of eyes, and set well apart in a strong face of 
 bronze. The semi-Roman nose and clear-cut mouth belonged 
 indubitably to those falcon eyes. Protruding quite fifteen 
 inches from his right-hand coat pocket were the two ends of 
 a valuable rolled-up plan. Bill hated carrying things in the 
 hand, so he had doubled up the roll in its middle, and thrust 
 the crumpled nose made in the unfortunate thing, deep into 
 his large pocket. The two projecting rolled ends that wid- 
 ened from each corner of the pocket, his negligent tie, his 
 pocket-flaps half pushed in or unbuttoned, accentuated his 
 large-minded air. One sensed an impatience with the trivial 
 or the mean of spirit. 
 
 "Mr. Clinton?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Pleased to meet you, Clinton," said Charlie, with genuine 
 good feeling and a rather sweet smile. "This is Bill, Mr. 
 William Colquhoun, our walking bummer." 
 
 The eyes of Kirk and Bill met squarely. One second of 
 keen intuition passed. They liked each other. Then Bill put 
 his great hand forward, still intently looking. They loosed
 
 THE' BORN FOOL 135 
 
 hands, and the hawk-eyes looked downwards and sideways, 
 and Bill spoke with a kind of stern reminiscent emotion. 
 "Sir, I worked for your Forther, Mr. Clinton . . . when I 
 was young ... I was at Issac. . . . You've got his own 
 look about you." 
 
 A man of somewhat few words, Colquhoun habitually spoke 
 slowly, and with a peculiar deliberation and emphasis. He 
 was Scottish by descent, but had been born and bred in 
 London. 
 
 It was just noon, the men's dinner-hour would be from 
 one to two, and Charlie proposed they should all three visit 
 a near-by section of the work, "and we can tell Clinton 
 things as we go along." Kirk asked questions, made re- 
 marks, and began picking up threads of the work and its 
 problems. The head-works and wells were being built and 
 sunk at Daisy Mead, two miles outside the town, and for the 
 present they inspected a length of deep trench for a large 
 incoming main. Kirk noted with great interest the uncom- 
 mon marls, peat, clays and gravels, cut through by the trench ; 
 but he said nothing of this. 
 
 Bill observed with silent satisfaction that Kirk knew what 
 he spoke about, and further he learned quickly that Kirk 
 quite understood the social system, the peculiar and rigid 
 etiquette of Public Works. Presently they left the trenches 
 and went towards the centre of the town. Kirk would have 
 lunch with Charlie. 
 
 When they drew near an hotel, where Bill knew there was 
 a good-looking girl, he turned to Charlie, and said lan- 
 guidly 
 
 "Ain't it about time we hed a drink, Morster Chorlie ?" 
 
 <f Yes, I think it is ! Let's go in here." 
 
 Bill, whose face showed a faint, hard, sardonic smile, 
 went in behind him. Charlie felt his tie, re-twisted his 
 moustache, and then from breeches-pocket ostentatiously drew 
 forth a handful of sovereigns and put them on the bar. He
 
 136 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 picked one out and gave it to the saucy girl, who evidently 
 well knew him. 
 
 "The usual for me and Bill, Mabel. Mr. Clinton? I 
 don't know what you take ?" 
 
 "Ginger-beer, please." 
 
 She put the drinks down, and jerked her chin away from 
 Charlie's hand. Bill's drink seemed to be merely a small 
 tumbler of water ; and he turned to Kirk, saying in a calm, 
 cynical kind of way 
 
 "I'm a'most a teetotaller, myself, Sir." 
 
 Charlie laughed; and Kirk laughed out of politeness, but 
 could not see the joke. Later on, he found Bill drank un- 
 diluted gin, and gin only. 
 
 To impress Clinton and the pretty girl Charlie gave way 
 to an impulse. He looked gravely at Bill and spoke in a 
 business-like voice 
 
 "I've been out to Daisy Mead this morning." He sipped 
 before he went on, but Bill at once smiled cynically and 
 said good-humouredly 
 
 "Did you get to see 'er then, Morster Chorlie ?" 
 
 The girl and Kirk both smiled, but taking no notice 
 Charlie continued in a louder voice : "And I must say you're 
 not making much of a job of it. There ! Why ! you'll have 
 the timbering in ! especially No. 3 shaft, if you aren't care- 
 ful." 
 
 Bill stood up, large, indignant, his eyes on Charlie. This 
 was an unforgivable slander upon his reputation, and pur- 
 posely made in the presence of the new engineer, and before 
 a nice girl and he saw why. He fiercely gulped down his 
 drink, thrust back his hat from his great forehead, and 
 glared at Charlie. He would humble him indeed! He 
 spoke deliberately: with astonishment, indignation, contemp- 
 tuous sarcasm 
 
 "Ye-oo ! . . . Ye-oo ! . . . 'oo are ye-oo ? It's becawse of 
 ye-oo, we ain't gort enaff timber ! Why, yer encle keeps you! 
 Bin with yer encle, for ten years, and don't know natthin'
 
 THE BORN FOOL 137 
 
 nar. Cornt use a theodolite; orfter ten years! Cornt earn 
 
 yr livin' ! You orter be ashimed of y'rself, coming out 
 
 like this agin me, before a hingineer, and one as looks as if 'e 
 worze a hingineer." 
 
 Drawing breath and standing up squarely, Bill put his 
 glass down and pushed it further on to the counter. 
 
 "Yr kin tell yr encle, end your Forther, what I say ;" and 
 turning round the big man went out of the hotel, followed 
 in a few minutes by Kirk, and reluctantly by young Ben- 
 digo, .who was as red as though his face had been struck. 
 
 The lie of the land was now clear to Kirk. He judged 
 that young Bendigo was not equal to his post, was not trained 
 in engineering, ran after girls, and could not get on with 
 his manager. Therefore himself, Kirk, had been appointed 
 more or less to replace Charlie his chief's nephew. . . . 
 It would require nice handling. 
 
 Feeling glum and sulky, Charlie solaced himself at lunch 
 with a very large whiskey and soda, and by the time he had 
 devoured a good steak and seen the bottom of the glass 
 moodiness had left him. Suddenly smiling, he threw down 
 his serviette. He sat up and stuck his chest out. He twisted 
 his moustache, and burst into a hearty laugh that showed 
 his white and even teeth. 
 
 "Dear old Bill! Isn't he a character? So touchy! 
 Thinks he ought to have charge of the job, you know. Dear 
 old mother, he is! Of course he's been with the Old Man 
 since he was a boy. Thinks he knows more than any engi- 
 neer ! So jealous ! But you'll like him, Clinton ! All right 
 when you know him. He's not a bad sort. Bit difficult at 
 times ; can't bear to be criticised. I have to have a bit of a 
 row with him about once a month, just to let him know who's 
 master. But there's more work on now than Bill can man- 
 age; so you and me are to run the works together. I'm 
 agent, of course, and you'll be my engineer. I shall leave 
 all that side to you." 
 
 It was not long before Kirk found that Charlie had cer-
 
 138 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 tainly been in full charge of the work, and that he was sup- 
 posed to be an engineer; but, except for good care of the 
 stables he had soon left all real management to Bill. The 
 setting out with level and theodolite had become dependent on 
 the caprice and good-will of the Clerk of the Works, who rep- 
 resented the London engineers who designed the scheme. 
 These engineers but rarely visited the works. Colquhoun 
 had become very much overworked, and greatly hampered by 
 lack of an engineer-in-residence ; the works, too, were daily 
 extending, and it was Colquhoun who privately had asked Mr. 
 Bendigo for help, resulting in Kirk's appointment.
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 LIVING was cheap at Cirenhampton. Kirk found pleas- 
 ant rooms in one of several small villas. These stood 
 behind pretty gardens in John-and-Mary Road, a quiet place 
 on the border of the town. The odd name of this road had 
 first enticed him. His landlady was a quiet, clean, respect- 
 able woman. Although past fifty-five, her cheeks were rosy, 
 her face attractive, her dark hair still abundant. For some 
 years she had remained a widow; but, being of very inde- 
 pendent mind, she brooded over the fact that she was become 
 largely dependent on her children's contributions. She 
 grieved that she caused them an expense. So, suddenly, she 
 married a Church of England colporteur. The wedding cards 
 gave her children the first intimation, and they all promptly 
 fell out with her, poor soul. 
 
 Her new husband decided where she was to live. Three 
 or four months often passed between his visits. He was a 
 colporteur in the Church Army, and travelled all Oxfordshire 
 in a van, selling tracts and books, and preaching the gospel. 
 His wife knew no one at Cirenhampton, and had made few 
 acquaintances. She told Kirk her troubles, bit by bit. The 
 very pretty young woman whom Kirk saw when he arrived 
 was her youngest daughter, married two years ago. All her 
 other children refused even to write to her. It was a pity 
 her new husband had such an ugly name. . . . 
 
 Kirk could give no philosophic advice, but he did feel sym- 
 pathy for her. Often he purposely led her into conversation, 
 because he saw it eased her and that she was rather lonely. 
 He always smiled and spoke when she brought in his meals 
 unless he happened to be too deep in a book and besides, 
 
 139
 
 140 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 she was such a clean, well-mannered, bright-faced, honest 
 soul, ne could not help liking her. 
 
 Life at Cirenhampton was to make the inherent duality 
 of Kirk's character become very pronounced. He lived to 
 the full, whether in his practical life or in his idealistic life, 
 but between them he set a locked door. The spare evenings 
 of the first month and all free Sundays he spent in delicious 
 dreams and explorations in the new country-side. 
 
 In this same month he dined a few times with Charlie, 
 who, after dinner, initiated Kirk in the art of billiards. 
 
 Kirk by rare special invitation went to tea at Bill's house ; 
 and Bill several times came round to Kirk's rooms. When 
 Bill made a visit he would come in and sit down deferentially, 
 and tell Kirk shrewd and amusing stories about work; and 
 presently he would bring forth a crumpled plan or sketch and 
 sound Kirk's ideas on the best methods to be pursued. One 
 evening Bill found himself surprisingly disappointed because 
 Kirk was out, and in future he gave early notice of his calls. 
 
 Kirk laid in not for himself a supply of gin, and this 
 attention raised him further in Bill's estimation. But the 
 elder man made his visits fewer, and never took more than 
 three good drinks on each occasion. He knew he was a very 
 much richer man than Kirk. When Kirk first went to Bill's 
 house, he was very much surprised to find Mrs. Colquhoun 
 immensely fat, for she was the mother of the two neat, pretty 
 little maids, who went to the Girls' High School, and whom 
 Bill one morning in the town had introduced to Kirk, with 
 a very lordly and a fatherly pride. 
 
 Their house seemed to be full of gilded clocks under glass 
 shades. Kirk certainly counted four in the front room. Dur- 
 ing tea Bill pointed solemnly to the largest, and said 
 
 "I've promised to give thet to Morster Chorlie, as a little 
 enkeregement." " Win 'e gits merried !" added Bill, smiling 
 cynically, while Mrs. Bill really shook with good-natured 
 mirth.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 141 
 
 Kirk had been on the work only three weeks when Bill first 
 came round to his room, and was shown in. 
 
 "Good evening, Sir," had said Colquhoun. "Maybe you 
 wouldn't mind stepping round and looking at the most cussed 
 pump the Old Man ever bought for us ?" and Bill drew his 
 breath in with dissatisfaction, and glanced down darkly, right 
 and left. 
 
 They went out together. It was just dusk. A deep exca- 
 vation for the extensive foundations of a massive water-tower 
 was in progress close to the river, and two roaring lights 
 known on public works as "Lucy Janes" lit up the crowd of 
 men. One-half of them were in thigh-waders and overalls, 
 and should have been continuing the excavation and its care- 
 ful timbering in the wet bottom. But, instead, they lounged 
 idly between the piled-up earth, sand, gravel, brick-stacks, 
 and spare timber. The belts from a pair of very large port- 
 able engines were driving at a rocking pace, a double- 
 pulleyed, twelve-inch centrifugal pump. Men were strength- 
 ening the massive staging that it occupied, and a boy continu- 
 ously brought and poured water over one of the bearings 
 to help keep it cool. But only a miserably attenuated stream 
 of water and a loud, steady, empty roar issued from the 
 mouth of the big pump. Two other steam pumps were hard 
 at work, but could not keep the water down. All these idling 
 men were making "time-and-a-half" for night-work. They 
 could not enter the excavations, for these were half full of 
 water, the work being in deep saturated sands and flint 
 gravels. 
 
 Bill spoke with great resentment as he and Kirk approached 
 the scene of operations. 
 
 "Every blorsted thing ready for the night the mill as 
 you arranged, Sir, drawring the water dahn at eleven ; every 
 man we wornt is 'ere, seventy-nine of 'em, and nar! the 
 blorsted pemp weaunt work !" Bill's feelings rose in a vicious 
 crescendo. 
 
 "End these blorsted villagers Orlorfin' et us, Sir !" vexedly
 
 142 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 added he. London was the only town, all else were "villages." 
 
 Kirk and Bill now went up and looked very closely over 
 the large pump; she was making some thousand revolutions 
 a minute, and the heavy staging tremhled strongly over the 
 dark water. 
 
 "What about the foot-valves?" asked Kirk. 
 
 "Cornt find nething wrorng, Sir Ginger, 'ee's a bleddy 
 pengwin, s' stripped 'isself twice and dived down to 'em 
 'ee ses they're eb-so-lootly free and clear workin-easy. Cornt 
 think wort the 'ell's wrorng!" 
 
 Bill felt the main bearings scowled at the boy and 
 shouted in his ear "Yr not keepin' 'er cool, yr lazy young 
 'ell-bag! Put it on thicker! Dem yer!" 
 
 Kirk, after watching the flying belts, stooped again over 
 the pump, and then stood up quickly. He drew Bill fur- 
 ther from the pump, and spoke decisively 
 
 "Stop her, Colquhoun." 
 
 Bill passed on the order. 
 
 As the engines slowed down tne drivers opened their fire- 
 boxes, and the unused steam instantly began a deafening and 
 increasing roar through the safety valves. 
 
 "Why! Bill!" shouted Kirk in his ear. "Isn't she run- 
 ning the wrong way ? . . ." 
 
 Indeed, it was so, but Kirk showed no shadow of a 
 smile for he did not wish to hurt Bill's feelings. Bill 
 himself with furious vigour ran to the drivers and cursed 
 them sharply the engines were wedged and jacked for- 
 ward, the belts were crossed, and soon the pump restarted. 
 Quickly a full volume of water burst forth, filled the shoots 
 and began rushing off steadily to the river. 
 
 Bill that night wore a very "fancy" pair of trousers. 
 With a grim face he watched the water sink rapidly. He 
 was consumed with anger and chagrin. It would be dis- 
 gusting for Charlie to hear of this. He knew young Mr. 
 Clinton would never tell. But what about gossip and the
 
 THE BORN FOOL 143 
 
 men ? . . . When only two or three feet of water remained, 
 he called out cynically, and forcibly 
 
 "Now, you old invalid women in the bloody boots! git 
 in here!" 
 
 He himself climbed down and dropped the last eight feet 
 into the shallowing water, offering up his light new trousers 
 to the gods. Quickly he was surrounded by his men, some 
 of them well-nigh up to their waists in water, for Bill in- 
 variably inspired them, and ever treated those well who were 
 deserving. The sheet-piling began to go down; the sum- 
 mer night shook with heavy blows, two or three together; 
 and the work went forward. There was no need for Kirk 
 to remain. He knew with great secret joy that in the esti- 
 mations of Bill and all the men he had made a record, he 
 had soared amazingly. 
 
 In less than two months, Kirk's early hours, his accurate 
 and quick work with level, tacheometer or theodolite, his 
 energy and foresight in keeping up the full supply of ma- 
 terials and plant, his prompt assistance and advice, his re- 
 sourcefulness in difficulties, had earned him a firm footing 
 on the works, and the cemented friendship of Colquhoun. 
 In addition, Kirk was well-liked by men and gangers. For 
 he had the happy gift that he could say to them a most funny 
 or familiar thing, without the slightest loss of discipline. 
 He was firm, but modest. He was gentlemanly, but he put 
 on no airs, and could speak with any one of them. 
 
 Gradually, the work of both the agent and the engineer 
 came into Kirk's hands. He it was now who made all ar- 
 rangements with landowners, with local tradesmen and au- 
 thorities. 
 
 Old Mr. Bendigo had for many years bred his own 
 horses. He said this did not pay financially, but was a 
 hobby. The fifty-odd horses at Cirenhampton remained 
 under the direct care of Charlie, who understood their proper 
 stabling, feeding, and management. He loved horses, and 
 would have made a clever veterinary surgeon. He had
 
 144 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 marked power over horses, and also over a certain kind of 
 girl. 
 
 It was Charlie's daily ecstasy, when, firmly seated on a 
 fine black polished thoroughbred, a gift from his uncle 
 he curvetted slowly along the main street of Cirenhampton. 
 This spirited horse reared every few yards and pranced now 
 on, now off, the flagged pavement, and more than one pretty 
 girl's heart beat faster, for Charlie was a born rake and by 
 nature and practice easily made his kind of love, not to one, 
 but to three or four at once, in this small town. 
 
 Considerable friction at last arose between young Ben- 
 digo and Clinton, the real point at issue being the chief- 
 ship of the works. 
 
 Colquhoun, a most astute diplomatist, secretly fomented 
 this state of things, and, without Kirk knowing it, he pow- 
 erfully backed him up; for he had liked Kirk from their 
 very first interview. He had given him much advice, always 
 respectfully yet always feeling quite aware of his own 
 superior and wide practical experience always excepting 
 steam pumps. 
 
 In addition to settling purely engineering matters, it was 
 become part of Kirk's duty to determine day by day the 
 work and distribution of the fifty horses and a traction- 
 engine. He had to regulate the supply and delivery of ma- 
 terials for the many different sections of work, and arrange 
 all in advance, so that there should be no loss of time or 
 money, through bad organisation, through lack of timber, 
 cement, stone, steelwork, tools, repairs, parts of machinery, 
 new and old iron pipes, valves, fittings, bricks, sand, coal, 
 oil, water supply, and so on. 
 
 When Kirk came to Cirenhampton Charlie was especially 
 busy, for he had two strings to his bow of Cupid in the town 
 itself, and also was laying siege to a slim and flighty girl 
 a few miles down the valley, at the "Angler's Rest." Charlie 
 also had a great friend in the local "vet," and now he rod&
 
 THE BORN FOOL 145 
 
 frequently with him to distant farms and sales, and had 
 made two good bargains for his uncle. Charlie and his 
 friend were both skilled at billiards, and, between horses, 
 billiards, and hot love-affairs, Charlie appeared on the works 
 seldom more than twice or thrice a week. 
 
 For a whole fortnight now, Kirk had scarcely spoken with 
 him at all during the day-time, except on Saturday morn- 
 ings when Charlie, accompanied by Kirk, went to the bank, 
 signed the cheque for his uncle, drew the wages money and 
 saw it paid out. Charlie was the person officially accredited 
 to conduct correspondence with the London office, but Kirk, 
 with Bill's frequent counsel and assistance, now wrote all 
 orders, letters, and advice-notes, and after office hours would 
 take the most important to be signed by young Bendigo. 
 
 Charlie for some two months was well content to leave 
 all to the new engineer. But lately, his hotel-bar friends 
 had conveyed in conversation hints of a loss of honour and 
 responsibility. But the very quick of Charlie's vanity was 
 sharply touched when one evening in the middle of a bil- 
 liard-match some insistent talkers stopped to look at him, 
 while one of them asked: 
 
 "Mister Bendigo, we're argying about ye and Mr. Clin- 
 ton, which o' t'other o' ye is really the master ?" 
 
 Charlie, reddening with vexation before the crowded room, 
 replied, "Why ! me, of course!" 
 
 "Thank'ee, Mister Bendigo thank'ee! There, genel- 
 men!" said the farmer laughing bucolically "I've won me 
 munney!" And every one else laughed. 
 
 Charlie awoke next morning with a head, ate very little 
 breakfast, and left his rooms about ten o'clock. He was 
 in no very good humour. He met a carter and asked him 
 where he was going. The man pulled up his horse, and 
 told him. Charlie peremptorily ordered him elsewhere. 
 Then, glancing down at his ultra-fashionable riding-breeches, 
 he swaggered off through the town, called at a bar and had 
 a double-stiff whiskey and soda, and immediately went out.
 
 146 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 He would just show every one who was the real boss at 
 Cirenhampton. It might disarrange things a bit, but what 
 the devil of that? The job was paying twenty-five per cent. 
 He stopped every driver he met and gave him new, and 
 senseless orders. The traction engine of the firm soon 
 blocked the main street at a narrow place while it man- 
 (Buvred an immediate return under Charlie's satisfied and 
 foolish eye. He stood rakishly a few yards from the small 
 crowd that looked on. He swore at the driver when he 
 broke two kerb-stones. But the driver a very good man- 
 flushed up and swore back at him, then deliberately backed 
 his engine further. The heavy wheels of the trailer-wagon 
 at once badly smashed the paving of the foot-path. 
 
 By lunch-time all was in confusion; several navvies and 
 time-keepers came in together at headquarters with mes- 
 sages of missing materials that had not arrived, and were 
 urgently in request. Quite non-plussed, Kirk was just set- 
 ting off in haste to see about all this trouble when Colqu- 
 houn, hot and angry, met him at the office door. Bill en- 
 tered, took his hat off, violently threw it on the floor, and 
 wiped his broad forehead. 
 
 "It's thet bleckhead bin rahnd agin, Mr. Clinton I but 'e 
 won't do it agin; I've seen 'im, and cussed 'im, and I've 
 wired to 'is encle to come dahn!" 
 
 "You should not have done that, Bill. That is my busi- 
 ness." 
 
 "I've put it wuss nur you could put it, Sir, and I've been 
 with the Old Man twenty-five years. Don't go for to think 
 I was usurping your authority, Sir, but me and the Old Man 
 knows Chorlie better nor you. An' I don't wornt 'im to 
 be your enemy. I Tcnoo what it would be when 'e kem, 
 an' when you kem, Sir !" said Bill, getting warmer and the 
 Cockney coming out of him. "Sooner or liter, orn beach 
 jorb, 'e hess to ge-au; or be'ive hisself !" 
 
 Old Mr. Bendigo came down next day and saw Kirk and
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 147 
 
 Bill together, and then Charlie, and from that day Kirk was 
 left untrammelled and in full charge, subject as a very 
 young engineer, to Bill's fatherly and respectful advice. 
 
 Charlie was too weak or too generous to hate or retain 
 anger, and his sulkiness rapidly vanished. Soon he was 
 again quite happy. He was still the important man on 
 Saturday when he and Kirk went to the bank, and he gave 
 out that his business was the financial side of the work. He 
 had a good deal of generosity of a kind, and he bore Kirk 
 no ill-will. He remained friendly to him, and Kirk on his 
 side carefully avoided wounding Charlie's vanity. 
 
 With the busy yet romantic South England town Kirk 
 from the first was charmed. It was so light of hue, so clean, 
 so kindly, and yet so ancient. In the evenings and on holi- 
 days Kirk explored, wandered in, and was enraptured by 
 the South. Here, felt Kirk, human life had always held a 
 deep civilisation, that would ever be unknown to Midland, 
 Celtic, and the Northern folk. 
 
 His eager mind and body drank in the new airs with 
 delight. The whole world was before him in those days. 
 Vague ambitions stalked like Thor through his imagination. 
 His consciousness seemed so great; he felt that success 
 yes, even fame and immortality awaited him, in some di- 
 rection. 
 
 Time lay ahead to a boundless horizon. What would 
 come? Far away seemed to sparkle some future culmina- 
 tion that was splendid. 
 
 The sweetness of the South country entered into him. 
 The Midlands were heavy ; there one thought more slowly, 
 like the crimson fox-gloves, pondering in the deep shade of 
 noon, under the great trees. There the rivers flowed slowly, 
 with power, deep, unrippled, and the red earth, though dear 
 to him, was yet heavy, dormant, and sober. There the wood- 
 pigeons faintly clapped and murmured in the shadowy 
 depths, and nightingales thrilled far in the solemn woods,
 
 148 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 in the silence of the still moon, in the lofty chancels of 
 that ancient forest-land. 
 
 But this dear South country took him by the hand. A 
 hundred larks sang in the air, trees were so young and 
 green and growing. Even in old age, they were somehow 
 young. The gayest flowers were so plenteous. Rivers ran 
 so swift and clear and swirling. The big trout rose and 
 walloped briskly. The green hedgeless downs spread them- 
 selves im floods of light. The fresh air dry and trans- 
 lucent streamed joyously past from the not so far away 
 blue sea. Brown and red and white and yellow flints 
 so pleasant hued made warm fields, warm roads, light soils. 
 The dear South came to him like a young laughing girl, and 
 he feM in love with her for ever. Surely this was his own 
 land.
 
 CHAPTEK XVIII 
 
 KIRK was keenly engrossed and energetic in the work, 
 so long as he was in the midst of it ; but when th day's 
 labour ended he hastened to leave it far behind. 
 
 The sweating men, their curses, their striving, the plan- 
 ning and directing, the strong shrewd humour of men all 
 faded to forgotten unrealities. He sought solitudes. 
 
 He hastened in the evenings to lay his hands in those of 
 his young goddess, Nature; who hid among the blossomed 
 hawthorns, waiting for him, clothed in dewy gossamer, 
 bugled and spangled with the starry treasures of the flower- 
 ing earth. Then they roamed together, musing and filled 
 with sweet converse, while the souls of the flowers poured 
 themselves up in countless aspiring hosts. Fragrant lady- 
 smock in hundreds sweet enough and pure enough to lie in 
 the bosom of a girl ; thousands of the golden kingcups glowing 
 in the marshy carrs; buttercups uncountable, millions upon 
 millions wide tropics of yellow gold enriching and enriching 
 beyond the ken. 
 
 There he wandered in these evenings of June, as roamed 
 Perseus in ancient Thessaly, meeting Immortals and setting 
 forth solemnly and joyously upon his dear quest, his great 
 travel. 
 
 Kirk lived vividly in his fine sensuous mind and body, 
 deeply understanding the flowers, entering into the delight 
 and beauty of the sky and earth with ecstasy, with a pure 
 intoxication. 
 
 But his spirit sometimes stood as it were afar off, and 
 waited; knowing what had gone long before, and what was 
 again to come listening with an overwhelming fear of sor- 
 row for the first far-off sound of the pursuer. 
 
 149
 
 150 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 One Sunday morning in June Kirk walked out towards 
 the high downs. He chose bye-ways, and went through deep 
 lanes, worn for centuries in the chalk. The vertical chalky 
 sides of these well-nigh forgotten tracks were clothed richly 
 with flowers and with grasses craneshill showed against 
 the creamy rock, tall red and white campions reached up, 
 and about his feet the most brilliant of blue veronica jewelled 
 the deep grass through which he gently waded. He came 
 upon a thousand tall Canterbury bells standing in one great 
 clump glorious wild-flowers full of purple depth. Glimpses 
 of high smooth downs showed through gaps and the rare 
 gateways. The oaks were very late; the young leaves were 
 all tanned delicately to an ochreous pink, and pink-cheeked 
 oak-apples were among them. Thick pollard oaks and ash- 
 trees crouched over these deep hot lanes. Wild clematis 
 and opening honeysuckle festooned the lower branches of 
 the scented May. When near the foot of Junipen he left 
 the lane to go into a large and long-deserted chalk-pit. One 
 side of the deep recess was dazzling white, the other, in 
 grateful shade. 
 
 How silent and hot it was inside. . . . No sound came but 
 a faintly carried snatch of lark-song, that ineffably moved 
 him ; and once again, when a bee swept over the white chasm 
 from edge to edge, singing on the wind an eager happy note. 
 Full of a sweet wonder and poetry, intensely conscious of 
 the Earth and all her beauty, Kirk ascended the huge down, 
 mounting slowly up the dry mossy grass. 
 
 Having reached the summit, he lay down on his back in 
 a hollow as had done his beloved Richard Jefferies and 
 he looked straight up into space. 
 
 The summer "Winds of Heaven," laden with the scented 
 breath of beanfields, drew up the smooth slopes beyond him, 
 leaped over the hollow, and left him in almost still air. He 
 could hear the soft fingers of the air drawn through the gorse 
 and the grass. And at last a low intermittent rhapsody of 
 sheep-bells made him rise: and ho lay on his breast and
 
 THE BORN FOOL 151 
 
 looked down ; there, far below him, he saw a countless flock 
 of sheep, with one shepherd. No faint rattling of myriad 
 hoofs ascended; only the musical "ponkling," now heard, 
 now carried away by the hot zephyrs. 
 
 Far away to the south and hiding the sea lay the Downs, 
 stretching east and west, far as eye could reach. A tiny 
 gap marked ancient Winchester. 
 
 Between Kirk and those downs there seemed to lie a val- 
 ley of vast width; full of trees and fields and woods that 
 faded into one another. The distant, bluer, greener patch, 
 so small, was Harewood Forest. The trees diminished into 
 blue dots, near Winchester. The little white changing spot 
 he watched; creeping; creeping; for so long hidden away; 
 then out again like an ant in the grass ; that was the steam 
 from a liner-express, "trailing clouds of glory," flying from 
 Southampton to old Basingstoke and on upon its distant 
 journey. 
 
 Full of thought, often remaining motionless for minutes, 
 at length Kirk unawares fell asleep. 
 
 The wondrous nights had drawn him out and he had come 
 in late evening after evening from musings in the water- 
 meadows or roamings on the lonely heaths. 
 
 When he awoke it was late afternoon, and the sun had 
 richly browned his face and hands. 
 
 Very faintly the sweet laughter of young girls rose up 
 to him from the old prosperous house far below, a south- 
 country farm, standing close under Junipen, at the edge of 
 the illimitable open sea of English fields and downs. 
 
 Overshadowing beeches had gathered protectingly round 
 the homestead. Looking far down, as he lay, Kirk caught 
 a bright glimpse of a young girl in pale blue, and hatless. 
 She had danced across the lawn. The air was very clear, 
 his eyes were perfect. 
 
 Always in reverie he had been filled by lovely dreams 
 in which no sound of a young girl's voice had ever consciously
 
 152 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 thrilled and echoed. ~No voice of woman's love had ever 
 trembled the air, the silent peace, the sunlight, the enchanted 
 secret glades of his soul. But on this late and golden after- 
 noon this delicious laughter, silvery and rare, seemed to 
 pierce his heart. It made him unaccountably, inexpressibly 
 sad. A sense of grief unspeakable came to him like a premo- 
 nition. 
 
 By another road, Kirk walked back the long way from 
 Junipen to Cirenhampton. He went meditatively, through a 
 still and lonely English country-side, under over-arching 
 trees, in the gathering dusk. 
 
 From an old convent remote among the darkening wood- 
 lands came a far silver voice, tolling the Compline or the 
 Angelus ; a solemn pure voice from mediaeval times. 
 
 Old unconquered sorrows, long lost to his consciousness, 
 arose from the past and spread dark arms above his soul, 
 and he walked sorrowfully through the gloaming. Those 
 sorrows were to be re-entered. His reason could not tell 
 him why he was so sad. 
 
 He met no one. White moths fluttered by the dewy 
 hedges; and in the still evening air as it cooled bats issued 
 from deserted barns, to wheel silently across the appearing 
 stars, that hung in depths of space. 
 
 Unseen night- jars, crouching lengthwise on the level 
 boughs, in the black and resinous gloom, uttered without ceas- 
 ing their low, unearthly incantations; and in the loneliest 
 places of the formless woods solitary nightingales poured 
 forth their mysterious grief and rapture.
 
 CHAPTEE XIX 
 
 KIRK had given the first month of his new life almost 
 wholly to his work. But presently, his routine estab- 
 lished, he had more time for breathing, and when visiting 
 a section he would first scan the work, deal with things and 
 men, and then look upon the geological. He began system- 
 atically to take evidence, in writing and by measurements, 
 of all strata exposed by the numerous excavations. He be- 
 gan to connote and theorise upon the evidence. Very soon 
 he gave Bill a forecast of the "muck" that would be met 
 with on the "No. 7 Line." He prophesied it would be treach- 
 erous running sand. Bill was dubious but respectful. Be- 
 fore the turf had been removed, Kirk had the prepared 
 special timber "runners" all stacked ready for the bad 
 ground. His forecast proved true; Bill had hoped that it 
 would not. 
 
 "But," said Kirk, "don't worry yourself, Bill, for we 
 shall strike no more of it." 
 
 Many interesting and unique antiquities had lain buried 
 under Cirenhampton and were now brought to light; and 
 Kirk found himself attracted keenly by the historic, as well 
 as by the pre-historic. 
 
 Cannon-balls, sword-fragments, and other relics of the 
 Civil War, were frequent in the topmost layer. Below this, 
 in the persistent thicknesses of many ancient road-mendings, 
 were found things Elizabethan; below these again were Ro- 
 man tiles and pottery, spatulse, horseshoes of bronze and 
 iron, also large soft-headed nails whose heads were rough 
 with fine, indented, triturated flint a condition that 
 greatly puzzled Kirk. 
 
 153
 
 154 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Deep below these human-made deposits came Neolithic 
 peats and marls, charged with razor-like flint weapons, carved 
 bones, charcoal layers and burnt flints. Deeper still, and far 
 more archaic, were found ruder stone weapons; and of the 
 mammoth, mighty bones that now lay in river-gravels far 
 from the present river. At these depths Kirk found also 
 the bones of ancestral reindeer, reindeer owned or hunted 
 once-upon-a-time by the old race of long-headed men, be- 
 fore France and England were divided by twenty miles of 
 sea. 
 
 Kirk could not resist taking up and caring for all these 
 rare and precious relics. He began day-by-day to collect 
 them. 
 
 Bill at first viewed Kirk's hobby with secret surprise and 
 a puzzled good humour, but Kirk said to him "It was by 
 the evidence of these things and the notes and measure- 
 ments I made, that I told you about the muck in No. 7." 
 And that afternoon, Colquhoun himself sternly and gravely 
 gave the order to every ganger: 
 
 "All rum stuff as is turned up is to be kep' for Mr. Clin- 
 ton, and mind! don't, you, let, me, ketch, you, a-letting any 
 of them Worsted villagers a-sneaking-any thing !"- -"If our 
 young hingineer wornts thet stuff: let-'im-'ev-it ! 'E's, mose, 
 right." "There ain't no hentiquity clause in the specifica- 
 tion corze 'e and me, looked-it-up-d'yee-see ?" 
 
 It was shortly after this order had become very effective 
 that Kirk, one showery morning, saw a tall, fine, grey-haired 
 man wrapped somewhat artistically in a great black cloak 
 and gazing down upon a piece of Samian ware that lay near 
 the edge of a trench. 
 
 This obvious aristocrat, and something more, was a Mr. 
 Ferrars Lucy: and at this moment he looked vexed and dis- 
 satisfied. A navvy standing in the shallow trench with his 
 shovel drew the ^beautiful fragment of pottery closer to him- 
 self, for he had just refused it to this stranger, who now 
 turned away.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 155 
 
 Kirk came and gave the man two pence. He picked up 
 the prize and hastened after Mr. Lucy, to whom he spoke 
 
 "Sir, I saw that you appreciated this ... will you ac- 
 cept it?" 
 
 Mr. Lucy's quick glance shot from the pottery to Kirk's 
 face and remained there. He smiled, and Kirk smiled back. 
 Soon they were deep in conversation, and went to look at 
 several of the nearest excavations. A strong mutual attrac- 
 tion worked in them, and before parting Mr. Lucy, although 
 thirty years the senior of Kirk, decided that he had found a 
 kindred spirit. 
 
 Ferrars Lucy was an historian and archaeologist of con- 
 siderable note. He was a wellknown Fellow of the Anti- 
 quarian Society, was an authority upon ancient glass, and 
 had written much on Norman times and life. He was 
 wealthy, and lived in his own ancestral pre-Elizabethan 
 home Cloud Agnell, distant about one mile from Ciren- 
 hampton. The old Early-English pile was curious and beau- 
 tiful, and Mr. Lucy always pointed out with perennial grief 
 and wonder how, in 1688, a Lucy had seen fit vandal ously 
 to add a Jacobin porch ! and substitute for the high secluding 
 walls built round the gardens in Henry Eighth days the 
 present scalloped walls and seventeenth-century gateway. 
 
 On the Sunday but one following that first meeting in the 
 street, Kirk, about noon, having made a careful toilet, set 
 off on foot for Cloud Agnell. 
 
 A few days before this he had met and talked again with 
 Mr. Lucy, and in the same evening came a pleasant note 
 from Mrs. Lucy : 
 
 "Cloud Agnell. 
 
 "Wednesday. 
 "DEAR MR. CLINTON, 
 
 "My husband has told me about you, and we shall be so pleased if 
 you will dine with us next Sunday that is, if it will be quite con-
 
 156 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 venient for you and we hope you will spend the afteraoon and 
 evening here if you care to. 
 
 "We are only three my husband, my daughter, and myself. We 
 dine at one o'clock. 
 
 "Please let me know if you can come. 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "MARGARET LUCY." 
 
 The Sunday came as a glorious blue day of June. Every 
 window at Cloud Agnell had stood wide open all the morn- 
 ing. The roses were at the full of their first sweet and vigor- 
 ous flush. Long borders of white pinks scented the air like 
 clove. From the row of elms that bounded Cloud Agnell on 
 the east, came ripples of bright song from two happy chaf- 
 finches who sang alternately, hidden somewhere in the deep 
 shade of noon. 
 
 In the drawing-room at midday were seated Mrs. Lucy 
 and her daughter Beatrice. The mother was a vivacious 
 woman of forty; she was elegantly dressed, and she looked 
 much younger than her age. Not a single line of silver 
 showed in her full and glossy mass of dark hair. Her 
 brown eyes, large and beautiful, her fine eyebrows, the deli- 
 cate nose and natural pink and white of her face, made her 
 a very handsome woman ; and her figure was that of a young 
 matron of thirty. 
 
 She had been seated near the large window but a few 
 minutes when she rose again, smiling to herself, and then 
 walked a little aimlessly but quickly about the room, until 
 she returned to the window. Here she lightly rested the tips 
 of her white and pointed fingers on a Sheraton table as she 
 stooped, to touch with her face a bowl of red and white 
 roses. 
 
 "Delicious!" cried she, again dipping her face in the 
 flowers and scent. Then moving only her supple neck and 
 shoulders she glanced round at Beatrice who sat dreamily 
 in a small open-wood arm-chair. The girl was a virgin like- 
 ness of her mother, but with a difference. She showed a
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 157 
 
 graver face and more thoughtful brow. One pretty hand 
 and arm hung down outside the light woodwork of the chair ; 
 the other hand held a small green-leather book, the Ro- 
 maunt of Isolde in which Beatrice read, near to the end. 
 
 Mrs. Lucy looked out over the gardens, through which 
 came the drive. Smiling, she turned and looked a second 
 time at Beatrice who seemed conscious of the glance, and 
 let her book sink on the chair-arm. She raised her face and 
 smiled back a world of sweetness in her dark eyes. 
 
 "Mother dear? . . ." 
 
 "I believe you're really in love with that wretched Tris- 
 tan!" 
 
 "No, dear . . . but with Isolde ..." said Beatrice, smil- 
 ing inscrutably. 
 
 Mrs. Lucy considered this a second and then turned to the 
 garden. 
 
 "I don't see dad's young man coming ! What is the time, 
 Beata? I hope he's a presentable creature; father never 
 knows how they are dressed, who they are, or anything es- 
 sential " 
 
 "Of course he is, mother, or father would not have been 
 so taken with him he said he was about thirty and talked 
 most beautifully." 
 
 The young girl put her book down, to come and stand be- 
 side her mother. 
 
 "How lovely you do look! darling . . ." said Beatrice, 
 eyeing her mother closely and affectionately. She put her 
 arm round her mother's waist and clasped her a little. 
 
 "Well; I only hope I keep young like you!" She laid 
 her head on her mother's shoulder, and Mrs. Lucy curved 
 her neck and kissed the fair cheek, saying, "Goodness ! child, 
 of course you will ! But I was married before I was your 
 age. . . . Oh ! there he is !" cried Mrs. Lucy, and Beatrice 
 stood up to look. They could watch him, but he could not 
 see them.
 
 158 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "His clothes fit him ... I think he's a gentleman," said 
 the mother. 
 
 "A straw hat becomes him! why, mum! he's quite 
 young!" 
 
 "Run, Beata-love, and try and find father !" 
 
 Kirk was now passing the window at a little distance and 
 his sunburnt face was quite nearly observable. Beatrice 
 took another peep and then lightly left the room. 
 
 Though they were of a far more impressionable, delicate, 
 and conscious nature, her feelings were very like those of 
 a young man who is knowingly about to meet an attractive- 
 looking girl. 
 
 Kirk arrived beneath the Jacobin porch and was about 
 to ring when the oaken door opened slowly from inside and 
 he was bowed in solemnly by William, an old servitor in 
 black livery. 
 
 Kirk found himself in a cool ancient hall, lit by a large 
 stained-glass window. Around the walls glittered old 
 Genoese and Saracenic armour, and coloured light was re- 
 flected from many polished battle-axes, pikes and swords. 
 As Kirk opened his card-case he heard steps, and William 
 said, "Mr. Lucy and Miss Beatrice, Sir." 
 
 Mr. Lucy came forward quickly, smiling and putting for- 
 ward both hands 
 
 "I'm delighted you've come ! This is my daughter, Beat- 
 rice Miss Lucy Mr. Clinton." 
 
 Kirk looked in her eyes, and then bowed. Beatrice went 
 with them to the drawing room thinking to herself, "I like 
 him, I like him not : I like him much, I like him not a bit 
 what is it in him ?" Mrs. Lucy was speaking 
 
 ft l suppose you find Cirenhampton a very quiet place, Mr. 
 Clinton ? But Beatrice and I love the country." 
 
 "But so do I! Why! I loathe cities, Mrs. Lucy, and I 
 am newly and deeply in love with the South," said Kirk, 
 smiling and looking down.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 159 
 
 "But you do like London, mother," said Beatrice, mis- 
 chievously. 
 
 "Of course, dear, but I'm always glad to find myself back 
 in the pure air. We spend all our days out of doors, Mr. 
 Clinton, don't we, Beata ? We garden, and sew, and do ac- 
 counts, and pick the heads and tails off gooseberries and 
 black currants for cook, and read, and what not, mostly in 
 that old summer house over there" Mrs. Lucy pointed to 
 it. "Cook's very good but in the kitchen they always leave 
 half the heads and tails on ! and my husband is so particular ! 
 Men are so faddy over food when they happen to notice 
 what they are eating !" 
 
 "Really, dear !" interjected Mr. Lucy, laughing. 
 
 "You read a great deal, Mr. Clinton ? My husband said 
 he thought you were a great reader. Have you read Hardy's 
 latest ? 'A Laodicean' ? Beata and I don't like it as well as 
 the 'Woodlanders.' " 
 
 "I'm afraid I haven't read them, it seems a waste, for 
 me, to read novels, when there are so many great books 
 classics more than one can hope to read even in a life- 
 time . . ." 
 
 "But all young men should read novels! They are such 
 an education," said Mrs. Lucy. 
 
 "Well . . ." said Kirk, smiling "I have read nearly 
 every one of the poets, and surely they cannot be surpassed ?" 
 
 Beatrice laughed gently, glanced from her mother to Kirk 
 and said 
 
 "They write of the ideal, do they not, Mr. Clinton ? But 
 Hardy writes of the real of real men and real women; 
 mother and I read every one." 
 
 "I did try one, I remember, but it had split infinitives in 
 it, I think it had, and was entirely about ever so much de- 
 lay and worry and trouble over some one who had fallen in 
 love with some girl ; and the split infinitives I think they 
 were in that book so astonished me." 
 
 "Ha ! ha ! ha !" heartily laughed Mr. Lucy at his women-
 
 160 THE BOR:N T FOOL 
 
 folk and then at Kirk while Beatrice blushed slightly 
 "You are suhtle! You are subtle, Clinton! Pretends he 
 knows nothing of these things ! Don't you see he's cleverly 
 ironical ?" 
 
 It was now Kirk who blushed as he spoke 
 
 "I am sorry . . . but I spoke quite sincerely . . . I cp.n- 
 not understand it ... fully. It seems to interfere so much, 
 all that, with great and real things." 
 
 "Well ! Well !" laughed Mr. Lucy, and his wife archly 
 asked Kirk, 
 
 "Then you are a woman-hater?" 
 
 "Me ! No I No indeed ! Why should you think that, Mrs. 
 Lucy? ... I think they are heavenly, so infinitely differ- 
 ent from men, . . . they are like Mature . . . especially 
 the young girls. . . . Why ! they are like the pure and sweet 
 flowers !" 
 
 "And if plucked they wither ?" cried Mr. Lucy. 
 
 "... I have not thought all about them yet, but they are 
 delightful to watch all good women are." 
 
 "Mr. Clinton !" said Mrs. Lucy, "my prescription for you 
 is an immediate thorough course of Hardy and Meredith!" 
 
 Thought Beatrice to herself "He's a nice fellow I like 
 him a quite uncommon, clever boy but far too wrapped up 
 in himself and his thoughts even now he is, this minute." 
 
 ". . . You see, I come from the Midlands," said Kirk, 
 speaking impersonally "and all there ... all the scenery, 
 is more meditative . . . less joyous and young than here 
 that is what I feel; here one is further from iron: that, I 
 think, must be the geological reason." 
 
 At this moment a bell rang, and Mrs. Lucy stood up brisk- 
 ly, exclaiming 
 
 "Dinner! I hope you are hungry, Mr. Clinton? All 
 young folk should^ be !" 
 
 "I'll do my best!" said Kirk, cheerfully. 
 
 "That's right! Come along, all of you we've a salmon 
 from Eomsey, killed by a doting friend of Beatrice's."
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 161 
 
 "He's not my friend altogether!" cried Beatrice, laugh- 
 ing and blushing, "he's more mother's than mine." 
 
 Mr. Lucy, standing, said grace, and as he seated himself 
 Kirk asked, 
 
 "Do you remember the Scottish Grace ?" 
 
 "No, what was it ?" 
 
 "If the meenister had dined well with a member of the 
 kirk, he said, 
 
 " 'Oh Lord ! for all Thy good and manifold blessings 
 vouchsafed to us this day, we deeply thank Thee'; but if 
 the dinner was a poor one, he said 
 
 " 'Oh Lord ! even for these, even the verra least of Thy 
 merrcies, we give Thee thanks.' " 
 
 Mr. Lucy, laughing, asked Kirk 
 
 "Are you a Presbyterian ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "What then ? Church of England, of course ?" 
 
 "I like it best," said Kirk, somewhat indifferently, and 
 Beatrice asked him 
 
 "But don't you attend Church, Mr. Clinton ?" 
 
 "Well Miss Lucy I go every Sunday to hear Dr. Green- 
 field preach." 
 
 "Oh? Who is he?" 
 
 "Silly!" laughed her mother. "Mr. Clinton means he 
 goes for a walk!" 
 
 "I take a book with me or I paint wild flowers or just 
 sit and think, if it is too hot and lovely." 
 
 "So you paint?" exclaimed Mrs. Lucy, greatly interested. 
 "Well, I began with water colours three years ago ! just to 
 keep Beata company!" 
 
 "That reminds me of something," said Kirk. "A man 
 who paints seascapes told me that Moore never touched can- 
 vas until he was fifty-five, and Moore made a name and 
 he began a full twenty years later than you have done, Mrs. 
 Lucy." 
 
 "Quite sure ?" quizzed Mr. Lucy, laughing.
 
 162 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 "Positive," replied Kirk, glancing admiringly at Mrs. 
 
 Lucy. 
 
 "Well !" cried she. "If you will show us yours, we will 
 
 show you ours !" 
 
 "I will with pleasure. . . . But mine are only queer little 
 things still, I'll bring them so I may see yours. Painting 
 attracts me very much." 
 
 "Those are some of mother's, those on each side the fire- 
 place," said Beatrice. "Her trees worry her dreadfully; 
 she will never touch them while I watch her." 
 
 "And Beata can only do old houses and gardens !" 
 
 "Yes, we always sit back to back; but remember, Mr. 
 Clinton, you have promised to bring your own sketches !" 
 
 "Oh ! all right, but they are very small and rather queer, 
 and it takes me at least six hours to do one wee one." 
 
 "Why! that's like me!" cried Beatrice. "But mum se- 
 cretes all my biggest brushes, and simply flops away with 
 them at ever such a rate ! half her time she waits for the 
 paper to dry !" 
 
 Cloud Agnell held a rich treasury of antique art, enliv- 
 ened by many beautiful water colours, big and little, painted 
 by the mother and the daughter. In this ancient house Kirk 
 soon felt deeply at home, soothed, and in his natural environ- 
 ment. He spent all the afternoon with Mr. Lucy detailing 
 to him, and sketching for him, the strata of Cirenhampton 
 and their contents. His host was delightful, such was the 
 knowledge he possessed, so interestingly did he converse, and 
 so winning were his manners. Mrs. Lucy in the drawing- 
 room after tea, and despite her husband's silent dissent, gave 
 Kirk a full and most amusing description of Cirenhampton 
 society, and, after supper, Beatrice played the violin very 
 sweetly and truly, while her mother gave a delicate accom- 
 paniment. Their music was of a high order, and ravished 
 the soul of Kirk. He accepted gratefully an invitation to
 
 THE BORN FOOL 163 
 
 return next Sunday, and lie walked home late at night, in a 
 charmed state of body, soul, and spirit. 
 
 Kirk and Mr. Lucy had talked over the question of the 
 splendid finds daily turned up in Cirenhampton. There was 
 no museum, but Kirk said that if a museum were started he 
 certainly would give all his collection to it; and if such a 
 movement came to nothing, then he and Mr. Lucy would 
 make a division of spoils, the scientific and prehistoric to 
 Kirk, and the antiquities to Mr. Lucy barring a few pre- 
 cious things that Kirk desired to keep: among them a girl's 
 open-work Elizabethan shoes, a great demi-culverin ball, a 
 fragment of gilded Norman chain-mail, and two skulls of 
 Saxon origin, deeply sword-smitten, that brought forgotten 
 memories of 
 
 "Old unhappy far-off things, 
 And battles long ago." 
 
 Next Sunday, Kirk found two other guests at the Lucys'. 
 The one, an iron-grey colonel home from India, who gave 
 attention solely to Beatrice and Mrs. Lucy ; the other, an old 
 man, with a splendid brow, an open noble face, a great shock 
 of snow-white hair, a white clipped beard, and the bright 
 sparkling eyes and animation of a young man. This was 
 Professor Eally, F.K.S., F.G.L, F.S.A., etc. He had been 
 born at Cirenhampton, and was a very old friend of the 
 Lucys. He now lived in London, where he had charge of a 
 government museum. From Mr. Lucy he had heard dila- 
 torily about the excavations, and at once had hastened down, 
 eager for research, and with an eye to additions for his own 
 museum. 
 
 He was a man generous, honourable, unselfish, intuitive, 
 and he was one markedly distinguished in scientific circles. 
 Kirk knew the latter fact, but he knew not his character. 
 The desire for retribution against the Reverend Blenk, though 
 neglected, still smouldered on. He was preparing that revenge
 
 164 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 at leisure, and in his own way. Kirk's host had written to 
 Professor Rally, telling him of Kirk, and, somehow, he hoped 
 great things from their meeting. He had been much taken 
 by Kirk's wide reading, by his idealism, his appreciation of 
 beauty of nature, and of Ancient Art ; and especially was he 
 impressed by the peculiar union of these with so obvious an 
 aptitude for civil engineering. 
 
 The Professor on being introduced at once opened a 
 fire of questions upon Kirk, mentioning that Lucy had told 
 him of the admirable records, the organised collection of 
 materia, the excellent water-colour sections, that Kirk had 
 made. 
 
 But to Mr. Lucy's extreme secret surprise Kirk merely 
 bowed, smiled, seemed quite dull and indifferent, and evaded 
 every question with subtle replies that constantly led away 
 to other things and other places. 
 
 Professor Rally suddenly dropped his subject, and was 
 silent a few minutes; and then he and Lucy mutually re- 
 counted great archaeological days they had spent together, re- 
 calling funny things the wonderful Roman coin brought to 
 them, green with centuries, and bearing the impress "150 
 B. o./' and Kirk listened eagerly, and laughed with the two 
 elders. 
 
 The following Sunday again found Kirk at Cloud Agnell ; 
 and, after early cups of tea, Beatrice with Kirk and her 
 father walked out along a hedge-path. This led through 
 deeply undulating country-side full of scents of honeysuckle 
 and through richly nourished fields of rising corn, and so 
 onwards to a winding grass-lane. 
 
 In this they walked between immense hedges, that now 
 were covered by the wild June roses pale and widely open 
 in the shade and delicately flushed in the hot and slanting 
 sunbeams. 
 
 Mr. Lucy and the two young people stopped a few mo- 
 ments beneath a noble line of elms. From these, great 
 shadows lay out over a sloping field of vivid yellow charlock,
 
 THE BORN FOOL 105 
 
 and across a pure crimson spread of dark trifolium. Kirk 
 was quite moved, for lie had not before seen this, the most 
 beautiful, the most striking of all flowering fields crimson 
 trifolium in mass for, as he said to them, "It is a dark 
 flawless ruby, worn only on the lovely breast of this beloved 
 South." 
 
 The trio walked on, and presently arrived at a small grey- 
 green church set quite by itself upon the verge of a wild up- 
 land heath. 
 
 Mr. Lucy, some years before, while poring in Norman 
 manuscript and searching for quite other information, had 
 read of mural paintings in this church done by one Fra 
 Belesme. 
 
 Three years ago, now, upon a certain ardent afternoon, 
 Mr. Lucy and the incumbent, both archaeologists, removed the 
 back from a seventeenth-century chancel stall and carefully 
 flaked off a little plaster, and then some more, and lo ! a dis- 
 closure of painting the sienna-hued lines of a sandalled foot. 
 Later, by skilled men the plaster was all removed. Figures 
 of saints and angels were now seen to cover the whole of the 
 chancel walls. Mr. Lucy had brought Kirk to see this tri- 
 umph of research. Kirk sat by Beatrice in the cool, very 
 ancient place of worship, and looked at the Norman faces 
 on the walls, and he thought of Beatrice's face, and of her 
 father's: there was a likeness undeniable, and he knew the 
 Lucys had descended in unbroken line right from those days, 
 over seven hundred years ago. 
 
 "It must be good to know so much of one's ancestry" 
 thought he "it must explain so much of one's self, to one's 
 self." He looked out through a leaded, clear-glass but medige- 
 val window, and thought back into the past, and wondered 
 how his old landscape had looked seven hundred years be- 
 fore this evening. But at this moment the pretty Beatrice 
 smiling discreetly whispered something to him 
 
 "I forgot to warn you ! the old clerk reads the lessons, he'a 
 rather peculiar !"
 
 166 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 This old functionary now approached the lectern ; his face 
 was remarkably sour, and he began to read very deliberately, 
 with a continual accent of aggression and surprise: 
 
 "In the third reign, of 'ard-word, King of Judah, came 
 'ard-word King of Babylon, into Jeehoorusalem, and be- 
 sieged it. And the Lord, gave 'ard-word, King of Judah, 
 into 'is 'and " 
 
 But it was Beatrice who first gave way to a nervous irre- 
 sistible desire to laugh, and when Kirk during prayers found 
 her shaking silently beside him, he laughingly whispered, 
 "This is too unkind of you ! I shall have to go out !" and 
 poor Beatrice was again seized, though in terror of the end 
 of the prayer, and aware that her father, though indulgent, 
 was quite used to this strange " 'ardwordness" and was al- 
 ready a little vexed at her behaviour, which she now felt 
 powerless to control. Indeed it had reached that painful 
 and very infectious state of nervous tittering, known to most 
 young folk at some time or another in a serious or public 
 place. 
 
 During the hymn Kirk and Beatrice shared the same book, 
 and Kirk said, "At the end of this verse we go straight out 
 through that side-door ; you follow me." 
 
 Beatrice obeyed him, and they left the church quietly, but 
 blushing, and feeling every eye was upon them. They went 
 along the flint gravel path that crunched too loudly, but 
 quickly they passed over and below the heath, and they drew 
 free breath. The inclination to laugh had passed, and be- 
 tween them Kirk felt an unexpected shyness. They loitered 
 slowly along beneath the arching lane. Beatrice seemed to 
 avoid his occasional glance. She began to gather wild flowers, 
 stooping gracefully to take small fox-gloves and a few tall 
 white campions. He stood behind her, and she spoke, 
 
 "We're so glad . . . Mater and I ... that you and 
 father like each other . . ." 
 
 "Are you? Why? I didn't know that. ... I am so 
 glad!"
 
 THE BORN FOOL 167 
 
 Beatrice arranging the flowers turned to him and spoke 
 diffidently, though knowing that he would understand 
 
 "He used to get so bored, you see. We cannot really talk 
 to him intelligently about fossils and old things, and he isn't 
 as musical as you are. He so wanted a companion in hi8 
 hobbies, some one clever, and mother and I knew that, al- 
 though he didn't, I think; being by himself so much, with 
 two women. He has so few friends, and those all at a dis- 
 tance of course we know plenty of people. . . ." 
 
 Kirk felt pleased and touched, but sorry, for his mind 
 flashed on to the end of the works and his departure, and he 
 replied to her : 
 
 "But you are dearer to him than any fossil." 
 
 "Ah yes," said Beatrice smiling sweetly "I know, in that 
 way . . . but would you be happy if you had only women 
 companions?" As she spoke she was again bending among 
 the pink willow herb. 
 
 "... I think that I should ; I've always imagined that my 
 greatest friend will be a girl. The only ones, real friends 
 I've felt affection for are one, no: two women and two 
 girls." 
 
 "Two girls!" 
 
 "Why, you see, one was mother, one is my great aunt, 
 one's my sister, and the other is a girl I knew for a time until 
 I was sixteen." 
 
 "Oh! . . . What was she like?" 
 
 "She was very gentle, and made you feel so calm and at 
 peace ; and I remember I told her all kinds of things I thought 
 about at that time." 
 
 "How old was she ?" 
 
 "Older than I was : about as old as you are now." 
 
 "How old am I ?" asked she. 
 
 Kirk laughed and Beatrice turned and smiled at him with 
 some hidden thought, while he regarded her. 
 
 "Eighteen ?" 
 
 "No, I'm nineteen. . . . Was her hair dark ?"
 
 168 THE BOKST FOOL 
 
 "No, quite fair, very pale brown, and grey eyes." 
 
 "Do you like dark hair best ?" 
 
 "You do, of course!" Kirk was smiling and Beatrice, 
 surprised at bis sally, bad laugbed and coloured a little. 
 
 "Sbe was not as ... well ! as pretty, and enchanting, as 
 you are, Miss Lucy." 
 
 "Oh! thank you!" 
 
 Again, he could not see her face. 
 
 "I had no idea you even noticed us poor things!" said 
 she. 
 
 "Why! What a humbug! . . . you must know that I 
 deeply like women, and you, and your mother." 
 
 She glanced sideways and saw his reddened cheek. 
 
 "Yes ... I was only funning Shall we go back and meet 
 father?" 
 
 "I do like dark hair best, and dark eyes, they've more 
 emotion, dark men and women except when they've steely 
 eyes like me." 
 
 "They're not steely, are they ? Aren't they dark ? May I 
 look?" 
 
 They laughed, feeling a delicious confidence of some kind 
 and Beatrice looked into Kirk's clear-cut eyee and in- 
 stantly looked away. 
 
 "Yes ... I fancied your eyes were dark, they're grey 
 now, but at night they go nearly black." 
 
 "Simply marvellous!" whimsically cried Kirk, making 
 her laugh again, and then Mr. Lucy joined them, and said 
 they were quite disgraceful, while Beatrice danced along on 
 his arm in a sudden mood of gaiety. 
 
 "How acutely clever of you, dad, to race the congregation ! 
 in another moment we should have set off home, I never 
 ould hare faced them again !"
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER XX 
 
 FEW days later Kirk was surprised and touched by 
 a letter he received from Professor Rally: 
 
 "DEAR MR. CLINTON, 
 
 "My old friend Lucy has written and told me all about yonr dis- 
 appointment over your discoveries. It never occurred to me that 
 you were the 'Clintoniensis' of those valuable novo species. I under- 
 stand, I am sure, your wounded feelings ; but do not, my dear fellow, 
 allow yourself to judge all by the shortcomings of one. I Buffered 
 a very similar wrong in my own youth, and the best thing is to dis- 
 miss it from your mind and go on to fresh conquests which I feel 
 sure you have before you in the good work Lucy told me you are 
 doing at Cirenhampton and I should so like to have seen those 
 water-colour sketches he spoke of, also the palaeoliths. 
 
 "With the certificates you hold, and the fact of your remarkable 
 work in those barren strata (known, I find, to far more of us than 
 you imagine), you are quite eligible to become a Fellow of the G.I., 
 and it will give me great pleasure to propose you myself, and I will 
 find a good seconder; and you can then read your own papers. 
 
 "Meanwhile, I shall be glad to help you in every way, and I can, 
 I think, obtain for you the temporary use of the library. You should 
 give every reference to previous authors who touch on Cirenhampton 
 geology, and, also, you must quote verse and chapter from all au- 
 thorities whom you mention. The matter put forward must be new, 
 it must be genuine research, and the English should be good; other- 
 wise work is not passed by the referees. In many ways I can help 
 you; for example, by reading your proofs. I strongly adrise you 
 to obtain and study Meiklejohn's little book on English.' 
 
 "But should you prefer to keep all to yourself until you have 
 finished your paper, why, then, so let it be: and I shall see and 
 appreciate your work in good time : and you will come to know me. 
 
 "I would very much like to borrow the remarkable book of Terse 
 by Stoddart that you showed me; I find it, as I feared, quite out of 
 print, but my daughter has offered to copy it all out for ma My 
 
 169
 
 170 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 memory is still so good, and I was so impressed, that I was able to 
 quote to her the whole of the first poem. 
 
 "Believe me, dear Mr. Clinton, 
 
 "Yours sincerely, 
 
 "T. A. RALLY." 
 
 Clinton wrote a warm letter in reply, gratefully accepting 
 the proffered help. 
 
 Fellowship of the Geological Institute would cost him 
 seven guineas. At present he could not afford this. He had 
 just spent nearly that sum upon evening dress. His old suit 
 had once belonged to Ted, and was become out of date and 
 worn. He therefore wrote that he would prefer to wait a 
 few months, and if by that time he had finished the Ciren- 
 hampton monograph, it would be a good help towards election. 
 
 When Rally next came down, he and Kirk and Mr. Lucy 
 spent the whole afternoon from two until six-thirty in delight- 
 ful investigation, theory, and discussion. Upon a large-scale 
 map, Kirk showed the lines of the curious submerged gravel- 
 barriers that he had by now partly traced out and proved. 
 He theorised that they were old storm-beaches ; he showed to 
 the Professor type specimens of battered flints. In the 
 lagoons gradually formed behind these barriers suggested 
 Kirk had been laid down the freshwater marls, peats and 
 clays. The Neolithic men had for protection built and lived 
 on rude timber crannogs in the shallow waters. Carcasses of 
 many kinds of deer and of an extinct horse now and then 
 had been brought down by floods into the lagoon, and there 
 had sunk their bones, and thus one found bones of land ani- 
 mals in this fresh-water marl. At times, the sea would 
 break in, a barrier be breached, and thus one had an explana- 
 tion of certain curious "washouts," and those puzzling local 
 mixtures of sequence. Also, what of the effects of stranded 
 ice, or of river ice ? The Neolithic fauna certainly showed a 
 cold climate. Archaeological questions also arose, and Lucy 
 frequently took his turn in the conversation.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 171 
 
 At twenty to seven Mrs. Lucy followed by Beatrice came 
 into the study. 
 
 "Mr. Clinton! We've come to your rescue! Of course 
 you three old dreamers never heard the first bell ? It's now 
 nearly seven !" 
 
 "Ah ! Mrs. Lucy !" laughed Kirk, "and it was so simple to 
 bring us, you had but to strike one chord, and she to draw her 
 bow twice and we would have come to you !" 
 
 "Oh ! Flatterer ! ! this is Mr. Clinton in a new light 
 Oh ! ! and what is this horrible black mess in my lovely 
 Worcester ?" 
 
 "That, dear lady," laughed Rally taking up the bowl 
 "is a little pure washed peat, quite clean and harmless, and 
 let me tell you it contains no less than fourteen coldly-tem- 
 perate flora of Neolithic times." 
 
 "Aren't they ogres, dear ? Devoting themselves to all these 
 poor old ugly dead things ? I call it simply living in the past ! 
 Morbid ! I haven't forgotten Professor What's-his-name, the 
 Egypt man, he's grown just like a mummy, exactly like one 
 of those graven images, and your father, dear, I declare al- 
 ready looks most Gothic! The Professor is the Old Astrol- 
 oger and Mr. Clinton is going to be a sort of dreamy scientific 
 Galahad !" 
 
 "And what better! what better could he be, Madame?" 
 said Rally, darting at her a bright merry glance from beneath 
 his shaggy brows. 
 
 "What better? Why, a young human being, of course, 
 living for men and things !" 
 
 "And women?" interjected Lucy, laughing. 
 
 "And women!" cried his wife, curtseying disdainfully. 
 "What is there better ?" 
 
 "Young women !" declared old Rally, laughing at Beatrice. 
 
 "Dad, darling," said she, releasing herself from her 
 father's arm. "You three boys are to go and dress, at once. 
 Come along, mother." 
 
 Kirk began to collect the maps and papers. Lucy was
 
 172 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 replacing books of reference. It flashed through Sally's 
 mind as an unimportant thought while he tenderly handled 
 precious flints that Kirk and Beatrice might make a match 
 of it. ... "But in about five years, when he's thirty." H 
 thought of Kirk's election, and asked him, 
 
 "And how old are you, Clinton?" 
 
 "Nearly twenty-one." 
 
 "Not twenty-one ? dear me ! Lucy ! he's not twenty-one !" 
 Then continuing later in a low voice, he had said aside to 
 Kirk, "Look after all that our friend finds ; record and label 
 all, in your clear handwriting; he is so learned, but he has 
 no marked gift of order, you see." 
 
 But the strong internal desires in Kirk for just law, for 
 harmony, for permanence and fixity, for ideals-^ set a limit to 
 experience, made him over-rebellious of seeming injustice, 
 and were to be a cause of sorrow. 
 
 Sometimes fell a distant shadow in his bright sky ; a sud- 
 den feeling of irreparable grief, when, in moments of reverie, 
 he realised the eternal decay of all beauty, the death of 
 flowers, the inevitable separation for ever of all who love, 
 of lovers; and especially at such times was he grieved and 
 deeply moved by the virginal form and being, the beauty so 
 exquisite, fresh and tender, of young girls. All that highest 
 individual loveliness, irretrievably passed away, changed to 
 'something else, and for ever died. 
 
 It was to some extent the alleviation of these feelings that 
 gave him interest in a curious book he bought at second-hand 
 "The Science of Finite and Infinite Life." At that time 
 but few in England were conversant with theories of re-incar- 
 nation. Kirk saw how heavenly an explanation of mysteries 
 that might be, if it were true ; if it were but true . . . 
 
 He saw his dear flowers come up year by year but they 
 were not those of the last year. The flowers were only 
 racially eternal, and even racially, century by century, they 
 changed and changed for ever. It seemed so clearly similar
 
 THE BORN FOOL 173 
 
 with mankind. The individual in all things living, the only, 
 the dear, the specially desired loved-one, perished. This deep 
 irreparable grief underlay ideal human love ; because it was 
 so fleeting, so finite, so sad, yet so great. 
 
 Knowing little or nought of woman, unconscious of mutual 
 sex-attraction, he viewed that great mystery in a manner 
 both much older and much younger than his years. To him, 
 all that should take place between man and woman lay either 
 in a pure mental-spiritual friendship, or in perfect wedlock. 
 Every other relation between a man and girl was palpably 
 futile, wasteful, despicably dilettante, or deeply evil and 
 cruel to the girl. 
 
 Kirk was hard-worked but so active both of mind and 
 body that he found time for much beside his daily work. He 
 had long nursed an idea that some day, by some means, no 
 longer would he be an engineer. Some day, he would be 
 either a geologist, or a man of letters. But he had not com- 
 menced to work with fixity and definite foresight towards 
 his purpose. Instead, he was drawn irresistibly by his youth 
 into the minglings of sport, pure science, poetry, writings, 
 beauty and nature worship, that encompassed and allured 
 him. He was but twenty and the next five years that long 
 bright vista would give time enough and plenty for him to 
 pass examinations and obtain diplomas. Besides, civil engi- 
 neering came so easy to himself, it was mere child's play! 
 thought he, and he could win diplomas when he liked. His 
 firm and easy grip of Cirenhampton engineering work, his 
 obvious success, gave him confidence and a quiet enjoyment 
 of his young manhood and command. He enjoyed greatly 
 his new found liberty and independence, after the long sub- 
 jection to his father. The present was entrancing, full, vivi- 
 fying. He was living in this southern beauteous and ro- 
 mantic countryside ; such wonderful geology and pre-histology 
 absorbed him. Daily unfettered converse with the finest 
 books enlarged his mind, and he felt a noble pride of intellect,
 
 174 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 the joy-in-growth of a strong sapling in the Spring. Nature, 
 ever new and radiant, brought him ever fresh and lovelier 
 thought, a deeper ecstasy ; he seemed to know and share even 
 the passionate emotions of aspiring flowers. 
 
 Except at times with the Lucys, Kirk no longer went to 
 Church. The ceremonial and the words seemed to him 
 strange and ever more strange. In congregations he felt he 
 was alone. He was hut the foreign looker-on at devotions 
 in which he no longer had part or place. 
 
 When by power of imagination he passed easily into dis- 
 tant space, and from there consciously looked down upon the 
 earth one side all in golden light a great ball revolving 
 through the black invisible on her eternal journey then 
 somewhere on that ball, knew he, was the speck in which his 
 own body existed at that moment; and in that church 
 that speck of artificial shelter were the tiny human beings, 
 engaged in those most curious, sad, very extraordinary, and 
 minute complexities of their microscopic lives. "They live in 
 a profound dream," thought he "a close, rapt dream ; an an- 
 cient, beautiful, but tiny consciousness; one that extended 
 never beyond the outer clinging film of planetary air, and 
 rarely to that!"
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 THEN at times powerfully occupying Kirk there were 
 those lowlier enjoyments, those that satisfied the tre- 
 mendous instinct for the chase. That satisfied that desire po- 
 tential, often long-buried, yet living on, and very present to- 
 day, strong in flesh, bone, and brain, of almost every dog 
 and man, from times remote, from countless vanished genera- 
 tions of the pre-historic, to the living day. 
 
 Kirk in boyhood had seen a stout rheumatic labourer at 
 sight of bent rod and vicious plunge throw down his axe and 
 run, clamber and fall over a stiff fence, pick himself up and 
 run again panting like a dog, for what ? To see the chase ! 
 be in it! handle the net! be in at the death! of something 
 the size of a mackerel ! living in a little lake ! 
 
 For hundreds of thousands of years the forebears of the 
 present human race lived by hunting, fishing, killing, en- 
 snaring in the wilds. The skill instinctive, the desire, lived 
 on in Kirk, as in most. 
 
 Tr outing was held in high honour by all native folk at 
 Cirenhampton. There the Piscatorial Society had waters. 
 A single mile of fishing often let for three hundred a year. 
 The Cirenhampton Club, first embodied in the times of 
 Izaak Walton, possessed old-time privileges. The modern 
 members were land-owners, farmers, and well-to-do merchants 
 and townsmen of Cirenhampton. Lord Laymead was Presi- 
 dent. Mr. Bumper, the fat and jovial miller, with whom 
 Kirk dealt amicably when river crossings were in hand, was 
 Vice-President of the Club. Mr. Bumper it was who intro- 
 duced Kirk. Despite his floury work-a-day clothes, he was 
 a fairly educated man and brother to Bumper M.I.C.E., 
 
 175
 
 176 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 F.R.S., the eminent mathematician, now Professor in a well- 
 known chair. 
 
 "Fred has all the trains but I've got all the money ! He ! 
 He! He! He!" laughed Mr. Bumper, digging Kirk in the 
 ribs. He had the merits of a good citizen, he ran the water 
 down well in advance for each operation, charged a very low 
 compensation for each stoppage of his flour mill, had for 
 nothing lent Kirk a barge, and did all he could to help for- 
 ward the public work of his own town. Standing above his 
 great weir he one day asked Kirk if he were not a fisher- 
 man, and told him tales of mighty trout. He took Kirk that 
 evening to the Club. 
 
 This for a century had been housed in a large and quaint 
 old timber-ceiled room, part of an historic inn. The low 
 leaded windows were continuous all along one side, and looked 
 out upon a garden. At one end of the room was a little bar. 
 Upon a massive side-table stood a pair of antique scales ; one 
 side bore the weights, the other held a long, curious, and 
 polished copper pan. Beside these lay a worn book of records. 
 Inside the cavernous fireplace stood a big bouquet of wild 
 flowers. The large and easy chairs and half a dozen little 
 three-legged tables all looked as though in daily use. The 
 monster trout, perch, grayling, and pike that filled the many 
 cases on the walls, the library of sporting books, the entry 
 of a youngish member with a creel of trout, the lowness of 
 subscription for temporary members all decided Kirk ; and 
 he was that evening made an associate. The Club, Kirk soon 
 found, was rather like that of the Tarascon Alpinists. 
 
 Upon the next Whit-Monday, his old rod in hand, weather- 
 beaten basket on back, Kirk walked beside the fine but very 
 difficult piece of club water. The deep and narrow chalk- 
 river here wound and swirled along at a speed quite unsus- 
 pected, for the valley sides were far apart, and miles of flat 
 fen-land lay between them. Acres of reddish tufted reeds, 
 immense withy-beds, miles of rushes that concealed old water- 
 dykes and carriers, made the valley almost pathless. Often
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 177 
 
 one came on openings of vivid green, where the rich and 
 starry moss spread smoothly and invitingly above dangerous 
 semi-liquid peat. The river banks were treacherous, very 
 low, soft and much caved ; they came up vertically out of deep 
 water. Great twenty-yard tresses of clear-water weeds every- 
 where swung gracefully and often swiftly, and left but few 
 spaces where one might cast a fly, or bring safely to bank a 
 heavy trout. The fish ran very large, and, under club-rules, 
 trout of less than one-and-a-quarter pounds if taken were to 
 be returned. Only normal flies were permitted. The "Alex- 
 andra," the spinning-bait, the worm, were debarred abso- 
 lutely, and to use them would forfeit membership. The rules 
 were truly sporting, the water strictly cared-for. Presently 
 Kirk saw advancing leisurely a large party of the club-men, 
 each in Harris tweed, each armed, belted, strapped across 
 and hung about with quantities of kit. A dozen shiny rods 
 wagged overhead. All caps and hats were rough and fuzzy 
 with the multitude of artificial flies stuck in them. 
 
 These fishers sounded very merry. The water-bailiff with 
 an assistant brought up the rear, carrying between them a 
 most monstrous hamper. The Vice-President, shaking with 
 laughter, led the procession. 
 
 "Well, Mr. Bumper !" laughed Kirk, caught by the mirth, 
 "You do all look the part ! Had any luck ?" 
 
 "Rather! ! Young Brown's hooked his own dog ! ! he ! he ! 
 took him in his bit of tail ! just seen 'em right out o' sight ! 
 he ! he ! he ! ha ! ha ! ha-ha ! ! dog yelling ! Brown going like a 
 four-year-old! Tom's bull-dog after him! View hallo! God 
 bless me ! . . . God bless me ! . . . nearly killed us all ! I 
 shall put it in the minutes of the Club, he ! he ! he ! he ! he ! 
 God bless my soul ! Well ! well ! . . . Gentlemen ! if the fish 
 won't feed, we will, Mr. Clinton ! not a soul's killed a fish ! 
 He! he! he! he! scooting dog yelling, Brown yelling, and 
 jumping bull-dog jumping at his jumping bag ! Stuff falling 
 off him, bully shakes 'em and off again for Brown ! He ! he ! 
 joke of a lifetime !"
 
 178 THE BDKN FOOL 
 
 It was but eleven-thirty, but they had the basket set down 
 then and there. They insisted on "our young new member," 
 "the destroyer of our peaceable roads and countryside," like- 
 wise sitting down amid the quick pop of corks, the gurgling 
 of abundant bottles, the clatter of the knives and forks of 
 good trencher men : and when Kirk, oddly accelerated by his 
 first champagne, burst into sharp unexpected wit and joke 
 with Mr. Bumper, and all laughed uproariously, he felt a 
 novel, very warm sensation of humanity and unity, that 
 lasted many hours. Luncheon finished, they were scrupulous 
 that no unsightly paper, cork, or smallest remnant remained 
 to sully the flowery margin of the pure river. "In vino 
 veritas" laughed the big and Jupiterian man, as all said fare- 
 well to Kirk. "Blest if I didn't think him the gravest boy 
 I'd ever met ! But not now ! not now !" 
 
 For three evenings Kirk was unsuccessful. He hooked and 
 lost two fish. Plain it was there was much to learn, before 
 one could take these cunning fellows from their intricate 
 jungles in the eddying convolving water. For the stream was 
 shadowed in the deeps, and slowly traversed back and forth, 
 by incredible lengths of living floating weed deep rooted, 
 and combed from root to tip by deep and fast current. Even 
 one dropper and the tail-fly was, Kirk found, too risky, and 
 next he used but a single fly. He lurked stealthily, watched 
 the dim shapes of big trout, drew conclusions, and made ex- 
 periments. On two calm evenings from behind a little bush 
 he knelt and cast his very gentlest right to the further side, 
 above a fine fellow who inhabited beneath an old hawthorn. 
 Rise after rise could Kirk see, just a foot below a rich tress 
 of May-blossom that nearly swept the water. He quietly 
 moved away, changed his fly, came back later, and tried again. 
 He came a third evening : the first tinge of brown was on the 
 May-blossom, a wind slight and warm rippled the surface 
 now and then against the stream. Kirk put on a large moth, 
 held his rod far back and crept behind the little bush. The 
 filmy gut floated out and straightened perfectly, his moth
 
 THE BORN FOOL 179 
 
 alighted like the living thing, and by the swift current was 
 swept beneath the bough. The fish rose, Kirk struck, the 
 moth whirled back. "Too soon ! too soon !" thought Kirk, his 
 heart beating. He waited a full minute; then cast again 
 perfect as before but just within a moment's lull of wind 
 and the moth alighted on the bough and stopped there. With 
 raised rod to free the fly, Kirk sent a coiling undulation, 
 down dropped the moth Whallop ! ! ! fast in a good 'un ! ! 
 Down-stream, down-stream Kirk forced the fish ! Each time 
 he bolted up Kirk bolted faster on the very edge. The pull 
 upstream reversed the fish made him dash down stream 
 thus he rushed and slid safely through the long open fingers 
 of the swaying weed until far below the rise, and come to 
 freer water. There he leaped twice, came up, turned a 
 gleaming flank, bored deeply at Kirk's very feet, dashed out 
 again, made a half leap, then suddenly gave up the fight, 
 Trembling with delight, Kirk immersed the landing-net, 
 stood motionless, and, ready for a sudden plunge, he quietly 
 drew the heavy fish to bank, adroitly raised the net, and next 
 moment gazed admiringly upon the bright red spots, the 
 rich bronze and silver of a splendid fish, a full two-and-a-half 
 pounder. 
 
 Having learnt his water, Kirk seldom went fishing but he 
 brought back a big trout or two. One he gave to Bill, one to 
 Charlie, some to the Lucys. They were good to eat as sal- 
 mon; pink, flaky, and delicious. Kirk took his largest fish 
 by means of a "moth" that never was on land or sea. 
 
 "I will try something absolutely out of the ordinary," 
 laughed he to himself one wet evening, and he dressed a 
 medium hook on fairly strong gut, with a whole handful of 
 white hen feathers. From a good knot full three inches 
 above the hook, he worked downwards, and formed the mon- 
 ster wings and hackles, laid a wondrous triple tail, and, 
 using half a ball of soft white darning-wool, he wound on a 
 flexible body like a little bolster. Just where the tail forked 
 from this body, there was the wicked little hook !
 
 180 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Kirk held up the finished apparition. He thought of his 
 father's classic notions, and chuckled. "Well! they can't 
 miss this at dusk: and for pike, the bigger the bait the big- 
 ger the fish! Bickerdyke and Jardine proved that. And 
 why not likewise for trout ?" 
 
 The next evening when dusk came down, he put on a 
 well-stained cast of salmon-gut, he looped on the new idea, 
 and waved his long rod. Instantly two big bats pounced and 
 whirled about him following the apparition till it took the 
 black water. Away it swept, down, across, then again Kirk 
 put it in the air and down shot the bats ! Again the monster 
 moth whirled away and then alighted. Kirk could see it 
 carried down stream to the limit of the line. As he drew it 
 quickly up stream towards himself came a ferocious rush he 
 was unprepared for. "It's a beastly pike !" ejaculated he 
 and out again sailed the lump of wool and feather, and 
 daintily alighted. Instantly a great rush half a second 
 pause and whew! ! ! the tip of the tall rod wrenched to 
 the very water ! Kirk instantly recovered. Fifteen minutes 
 later, and three hundred yards down stream, he safely grassed 
 a big trout. 
 
 Too large was this fish for his old creel, so Kirk spread 
 some dewy grass and flowers in a serviette that had contained 
 some cake, and knotting it, carried the fish straightway to 
 the Club. There he found Mr. Bumper and half a dozen 
 members. 
 
 "By Jove ! A very large fish ! indeed ! a grand fish ! and in 
 perfect condition," said Mr. Bumper, as he laid it cere- 
 moniously in the scales all crowding round him. "Four 
 pounds and five ounces, no less!" . . . "Nineteen inches 
 from eye to fork ! . . . fourteen inches girth . . . the larg- 
 est of the season ; a great fish, Mr. Clinton ; what fly did you 
 kill him on?" 
 
 "Here it is," said Kirk modestly producing it and forth- 
 with sent Mr. Bumper and his friends into fits of laughter. 
 
 "Caught it with a live chicken ! he ! he ! he ! That's what
 
 THE BORN FOOL 181 
 
 he's done, gentlemen! he! he! he! Dragged for it, with 
 half a hen ! God bless my soul, these engineers ! Just like 
 my brother! found him on our water with a damned thing 
 he wound up ! he ! he ! he ! Have to pass a new rule ! No 
 member shall use sparrows, cocks and hens, clock-springs, 
 bantams ! he ! he ! he ! . . . Well, Mr. Clinton, you've taught 
 us something new, you have. What the devil do you call it ? 
 'The Flying Hen' ? he ! he ! he ! ha ! ha-ha ! !" 
 
 Kirk wished to preserve this fish, and, late as it was, he 
 took it to the local man. The taxidermist told him he could 
 not set up so large a fish for less than about forty shillings. 
 That would be the lowest price say, two pounds-ten with 
 the case. This was more than Kirk cared to spend. Be- 
 sides, he had thought of sending the fish to Mrs. Athorpe, 
 and he now decided he would do so. 
 
 Very few members fished habitually, and when they did 
 they preferred the forenoon. On Sundays fishing was not 
 permitted; it was a day of peace for trout and man. So 
 Kirk seldom met a brother sportsman, for his leisure was at 
 evening. 
 
 The swarming bird-life, the myriad flowers, the coming 
 sunset, the sweet solitude, often bade Kirk lay aside his rod, 
 to sit and dream, undisturbed and isolated, surrounded by 
 the beauty and the labyrinth of fen and of golden quashy 
 water-mead, by acres and acres of trackless reed and flag 
 and iris, by distant spaces pink with ragged robin, yellow 
 with the water-ragwort, blue with mallow and forget-me-not. 
 
 The net of stream and ditch and dyke was pink with 
 tall willow herb, purple with loosestrife, creamy with 
 meadow-sweet, mauve with tall wild mints. Underfoot, the 
 luscious yellow money-wort everywhere spread tresses. Filmy- 
 winged dragon-flies hovered in scented air along the deep hid- 
 den paths, or clung, rapt, to the green sedgy blades. In May 
 the hawthorn edged the marshlands with distant walls of 
 blossom; and June saw a darker line the elder-trees in
 
 182 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 dark leaf thickly barred with level creamy flower. Beyond 
 these rose the hanging woods, the distant curving downs. 
 
 Here in summer beside the river, while the sun still 
 pours his rays, ever more mellow, more level, and more 
 golden the air each evening fills with sound the cease- 
 less liquid twittering of swallows, passing and re-passing, 
 the scream of the black swift, mad with joy and speed, swoop- 
 ing to his darting love the snipe, coursing by himself sud- 
 denly careers obliquely downwards, humming uncannily, 
 then re-ascends. His mate oddly bleating sits on the rotten 
 hatch and watches him. From every side one hears the 
 sharp "bik! bik! bik!" of coots, the "croog!" of water-hens, 
 the rapid rising pip ! pip ! pip ! pip ! pip ! ! of the shy grebes ; 
 and close at hand the restless sedge warbler chatters, stops 
 and chatters, all the time. 
 
 But sound decreases with the fading light ; bird after bird 
 goes to rest. With dusk comes a great stillness; and then 
 from some fastness of the marshes, rises at last a single un- 
 remitting sound; monotonous, lonely, endless; it is the 
 weird nocturne of that rarest bird, the grasshopper warbler. 
 His song is not of joy, nor sorrow, and is inarticulate and 
 yet as meaningful as those sounds that rise at night from 
 distant falling water when all else is still and one senses 
 the murmur that rises ever fainter and fainter from oblivion 
 and the past. 
 
 Kirk, in darkness, came homeward along the river-side 
 from one of these reveries, with basket on back and rod held 
 gunwise beneath his arm and in his free hand he carried a 
 bouquet of wild flowers. His mind was peaceful and har- 
 monious as the silent rich trees. His eyes, full of far-away 
 imaginings, were fixed on Venus, who shone, ethereally pure 
 and steadfast, in the darkening west. 
 
 "Clinton!" 
 
 Kirk stopped and turned as Charlie issued from a hiding 
 place in the hedge and came close to him.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 183 
 
 "Flowers, old chap! who the dooce are you after?" and 
 Charlie laughed. 
 
 "No one/' said Kirk, good-humouredly. 
 
 "Why! then you just stop with me! just the very, very 
 thing!" cried he with suppressed gusto "I've got two girls 
 coming along directly. I thought it was them coming when 
 I heard you it's before time yet so I hid, to jump out on 
 them ! Those Miss Taylors, you've seen them ? Jolly pretty 
 bits ! and they're all right, naughty little things ! Look here, 
 Clinton, I'll take the eldest and you take the youngest. By 
 Jove ! I don't believe you've ever had a girl ?" 
 
 Charlie laughed and giggled softly to himself and hit Kirk 
 on the back "I'd love to see you with your first!! I'll 
 never forget mine " 
 
 "Thanks, Charlie, I don't really take the slightest interest 
 in 'em." 
 
 "Oh ! but don't be such a fool, Clinton." And he button- 
 holed Kirk, who had begun to move. "Most chaps would 
 give a fiver to be in your place to-night ! I tell you they are 
 ripping bits ! all the f un-o'-the-f air besides, can't you see ? 
 It's so darned awkward with two girls to one fellow I 
 shall have no end of trouble to separate them. Go a walk 
 with her, there's a good chap, and tell me to-morrow what 
 happened !" And Charlie sniggered over the idea. 
 
 "Thanks, no, good night." 
 
 "Oh, damn you !" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "... Oh, go home and get your milk, you bally eunuch !" 
 
 "Take that!" fiercely replied Kirk as Charlie fell back 
 into the hedge. He reclined movingly in it, cursing the 
 myriad thorns, and Kirk went on. He found he had dropped 
 the flowers, but he did not go back. He quoted Sweden- 
 borg, "O God, what penal blindness hast thou laid upon these 
 peopla" 
 
 He looked for trouble from this incident, but was sur- 
 prised two days later when Charlie met him with a per-
 
 184 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 fectly good-humoured broad smile and laugh, and Kirk also 
 smiled. 
 
 "How dy'ye do, Clinton ! I'd no call to say that to you 
 but I was so damned disappointed at the moment. How- 
 ever, my son, it was all right. Miss Number One was far 
 too fly for her little sister and got there first! and my!" 
 laughed Charlie, with gestures "Isn't she a giddy little 
 canoodler ! ! We had a lovely time " 
 
 Kirk had to listen to details. 
 
 . "So it all turned out all right; but my jaw's still sore, 
 you hot-headed devil you! Y'know, Clinton, you didn't 
 knock me over, I'm a stone heavier than you. I'd got my 
 heels together in the rut Ha ! ha ! I told her I'd got tooth- 
 ache and she must only kiss me on the right side ! ! Oh, 
 Maudy darling!" laughed Charlie catching Kirk round the 
 waist for a moment and waltzing. 
 
 Who could be vexed with Charlie ? He was so hot-hearted, 
 so gay, childishly frank, amusingly vain, rampant with 
 health! and Kirk laughed heartily despite his disapproval.
 
 CHAPTER XXII 
 
 THROUGH conveying to hospital one of his men, in- 
 jured by an accident, Kirk met the surgeon-in-charge, 
 who glanced at the bandaging and asked with a slight rise 
 of eyebrow 
 
 "Who put this on?" 
 
 "... I did," said Kirk, feeling the rebuke. 
 
 "What! a civil engineer, and not an ambulance man?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You ought to be, you know," said the surgeon, as he took 
 off the wrappings. 
 
 "Better join my class, beginning next week, one evening a 
 week ; ten shillings the course." 
 
 Kirk said he would, and, later, he paid the fee. He 
 showed aptitude, and before the end of the second month, 
 helped the surgeon with the more backward members of 
 the class. 
 
 As though purposely prepared he soon dealt with a seri- 
 ous injury. He arrived one evening early in September at 
 the small house whose two front rooms he occupied, and he 
 found his landlady's neighbours round the doorway. A few 
 minutes earlier she had fallen in the garden. Her leg was 
 broken. Going in he saw Mrs. Higgins lying on the couch. 
 Her left leg plainly was bent slightly backwards from half- 
 way down the shin. Both bones obviously were broken, and 
 very plainly the leg was in a shockingly bad position, hanging 
 half off the sofa-end, and causing such extreme pain that no 
 one dared even touch the sufferer. Kirk instructed two 
 women, who stood ready to take Mrs. Higgins by the arms, 
 and then Kirk firmly and gently drew on the heel the while 
 
 185
 
 186 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 be straightened the leg. The bones went into place, the 
 sharp cries of pain ceased, and Kirk held the limb rigidly 
 in position while the two women drew the patient well up 
 on the sofa. With cushions Kirk now firmly propped up 
 the controlless foot. He sent a woman for brandy, bade the 
 patient keep absolutely still, and, there being no one else 
 as speedy as himself, he rushed off for the doctor. 
 
 During the weeks that followed he endeared himself to 
 the old lady by helping to nurse her. He took turns fre- 
 quently with the young married daughter, who had come 
 on hearing of the accident. She was a capable girl but 
 burdened with her first baby, which was only twelve months 
 old. Kirk offered to go elsewhere but the daughter said they 
 could manage, and they did. He entered into the difficul- 
 ties of the little household and learned to scramble eggs and 
 do other useful operations. He even "took the baby" on 
 occasions, made good friends with the wee girl, and learnt 
 what he called "the correct handholds." He brought the 
 pretty old lady flowers and delicacies, and read to her. She 
 was cheered, too, by the fact that this accident had brought 
 about a genuine reconciliation with her married sons and 
 daughters. 
 
 On receipt of Kirk's telegram, her husband, Mr. Higgins, 
 left his van-full of tracts and travelled down reluctantly 
 from Oxfordshire. He had tea with Kirk. He was a lean, 
 yellow, frog-mouthed person in semi-clerical attire. Every 
 time he opened his mouth to speak, a text came unctuously 
 out of it. He ate surprisingly and when at last satisfied he 
 confided, hoarsely whispering : 
 
 "I left my van and came down, Mr. Clinton, because of 
 what the neighbours might say if I remained absent; a 
 broken leg is a broken leg, and we cannot scrutinise the will 
 of God. Is there any afflicted among you (Mr. Higgins's 
 voice became louder, and very sanctimonious) let him pray, 
 James, five, thirteen, again I considered all travel and every 
 right work that for this a man is envied of his neighbour,
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 187 
 
 Ecclesiastes, four, four, and them shalt visit thy habitation 
 and shalt not sin, Joh, five, twenty-four " and the old man 
 stopped to take in more wind. 
 
 "Good Lord!" 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Sir ?" 
 
 "Nothing, thank you, I must go out now." 
 
 "I thought you had only just entered from your affairs of 
 business, Sir?" 
 
 "Well yes, but I shall go for a walk now." The old 
 man retained a glassy gaze, and before Kirk could escape 
 and close the door was saying in oleaginous trance-like sing- 
 song "Ephesians, five, thirteen, see that ye walk circum- 
 spectly not as fools but as . . ." 
 
 "This old Asiatic wine," thought Kirk, "swells these ugly 
 little modern bottles into no classic shape !" 
 
 Kirk continued systematically to gather his geologic data, 
 both in Cirenhampton and the neighbourhood. And as he 
 collected, he wrote. Not yet did he believe the proper study 
 of mankind is man. His Gaelic-Celtic strain of blood was, 
 however, stirring more and more within him. 
 
 "For acuteness and valour the Greeks." 
 
 "For imperious pride, the Romans." 
 
 "For love of beauty and amouressness, the Gaedhils." 
 
 The hard still records of countless life gone to dust re* 
 volted his youth, and he began to cast a glamour over those 
 bare facts. He felt the very air and saw the waves of an- 
 cient seas; he carried himself back to old lands, long gone 
 to sands and silts. He seemed to feel the spirits of the pre- 
 historic men move about him as he found their old weapons. 
 He imagined their voices in the voices of the waters rippling 
 through the flinty river-strands, on which he stood and 
 dreamed. He accumulated his facts from the prehistoric 
 gravels and the peaty graves, and inlaid them with a magic 
 of his imagination when he wrote them. He could hear
 
 188 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 the chipped flint tinkle as it fell, struck from the forming 
 weapon; he could hear the wild children laugh; and it had 
 all gone, for ever ? 
 
 ". . . For not dubious or uncertain , 
 
 Man then lived with subtle brain; 
 Lived and hunted, loved and hated, 
 
 And o'er the world's domain, 
 His lordship by his soul alone 
 
 Victorious did maintain. 
 
 "In this frayed chip that bears the mark 
 
 Of a primEeval hand, 
 The newer man, with eyes to see 
 
 And soul to understand, 
 May see and dimly reckon up 
 
 The stages sure and grand, 
 In the vast stretch of time between 
 
 The ancient hand and mind. 
 
 "And the last touch of skill in work 
 
 The last thought has defined, 
 In the lustrous strength of reason, 
 By the genius of our kind. 
 
 "For all our work, our highest soul, 
 
 Is present in the face 
 Of this old weapon thrown aside 
 
 By a half-human race, 
 In darkest prehistoric time, 
 
 And its last resting place." 
 
 The old professor, full of years, travels, honours, was 
 often moved despite himself, while in the first portion of 
 the thesis he perused the written thougnts of Kirk. But 
 resolutely he cut out all that inlaying. For the severely cold 
 atmosphere of the scientific is at enmity with all but hard 
 fact. 
 
 One chilly day in October Kirk entered the office and 
 Charlie gravely handed him a letter and remarked as he did 
 so
 
 THE BORN FOOL 189 
 
 "I've had one from the Old Man on the same subject, 
 worse luck." 
 
 Kirk read the letter, gave it to his colleague, and stood 
 motionless, filled with sadness, feeling himself exiled. Char- 
 lie read these words: 
 
 "London, Oct. 15, 19. 
 "DEAR MB. CLINTON, 
 
 "Your work is now drawing to a close at Cirenhampton, and I 
 have decided to place you in charge of a more important contract 
 in the north. Richard Brongh, my chief agent for the north of 
 England, will instruct you, and advise you when necessary. Please 
 report yourself to him this day fortnight, at No. 345 Cross Street, 
 Manchester. In the meantime, please see that all is in order on 
 your present work, obtain and certify all accounts outstanding, and 
 leave all as straight as you can, before handing over charge to my 
 nephew. 
 
 "I am pleased with your work and service at Cirenhampton. You 
 have done well; and, from date of joining in the north, your salary 
 will be ninety pounds (90) per annum. 
 
 "Yours faithfully, 
 
 "JAMES BENDIGO." 
 
 "I'm awfully sorry you're going, Clinton. ... I don't 
 really know what Bill and me will do without you you've 
 
 got into things so well, and now . . . well ! " Charlie 
 
 shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "It's good of you, Charlie, to say so, but I do feel it ... 
 this uprooting." 
 
 "So do I, I'm damned if I don't ! . . . Never mind. . . . 
 Come and have a drink! Come on, Clinton, you're upset; 
 then we'll go and tell poor old Bill. It will wax him up. 
 . . . 'work drawing to a close !' indeed ! that's just like the 
 Old Man, it's a long way off the close, and he knows it, too. 
 That's three times he's left me in a hole at the end of a job 
 . . . and then you, Clinton, I must say he might have made 
 the figure higher. . . . Yes, you'll be with Brough, at first, 
 I suppose. He's chief agent in the north. He's very clever, 
 but he's got a temper. Won't have me near him ! The Old
 
 190 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Man's fond of him thinks he's goin' to marry one of my 
 cousins ! ha ! ha ! but we know Old Brough, Jim and me do ! 
 He's fond of all girls, but keeps it quiet. Not like me ! what ? 
 ha-ha ! But you'll like him, his people are regular nobs ; got 
 a place down in Somerset, regular old county family, you 
 know; thinks no end of himself, and he's an A.M.I.C.E., 
 but he does damned well for the firm. I've thought for some 
 time the Old Man would send you to a bigger job." 
 
 Quickly the fortnight passed away. On a mild clear morn- 
 ing faintly sunny after rain, Kirk said good-bye to his land- 
 lady. She had limped to the garden gate, and two tears ran 
 down her old apple-cheeks. Kirk turned back a couple of 
 strides, leaned over the gate, put his hands on her shoulders, 
 and kissed her on each cheek, and then again set off. 
 
 But Bill had arrived first on the platform; and clasped 
 against his manly but slouching form was a large parcel. 
 The queer shape lent some apology for the hopeless struggle 
 Bill obviously had undergone with string and wrappings. 
 Gingerly he set down the package between the chocolate and 
 try-your-weight machines. He grunted with relief as he freed 
 himself of this incumbrance. Soon afterwards, Kirk was in 
 the carriage and leaned from the window, his hand firmly 
 gripped : 
 
 "Good-bye, Charlie, you've been very kind to me. Good- 
 bye, Bill, old friend. I hope we'll do more work together." 
 
 "Good-bye, Morster Clin Dem!" cried Bill, forcibly re- 
 versing himself. "I'd forgit thet bleddy clock !" 
 
 Darkly glancing, stern with suppressed emotion, Bill 
 brought and thrust into Kirk's hands the enormity of card- 
 board, insufficient string and paper. 
 
 "F'r you, Sir, from me and my old-ton-o'-beef. F'r win 
 you gits merried!" 
 
 Bill and Charlie silently watched the tail of the train di- 
 minish and pass from sight. 
 
 Feeling a mutual bereavement, they left the station, and
 
 THE BORN FOOL 191 
 
 early though the day was they turned into the nearest bar. 
 Bill cast a morose downward glance at Charlie, then took up 
 the glass and at one gulp swallowed his gin. He put the glass 
 down too smartly, with a movement of irritation, and turned 
 to Charlie. 
 
 "Each time I brings up a young hingineer . . . learns 'im 
 wat 'e knows, . . . then Brough or one o' them swell duds 
 womts 'im . . . must 'ev 'im !" 
 
 "What ? Brought up Clinton ! Why, Bill, my boy, he's 
 taught you a thing or two ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! I like that, Bill ; 
 you're getting too blown up, dashed if you won't be shoving 
 M.I.C.E. after your name next !" 
 
 <f Yus, and I've a right to" darkly said Bill, very delibe- 
 rately and emphatically "when I think o' some of them as 
 'ev got it." 
 
 "Here ! Poor old Bill ! cheero ! mop another ! here you 
 are, mop it off! dashed if I don't feel, wat-the-devil ? Sad 
 or something . . . hope he won't go and get caught by some 
 rotten fool of a girl . . . yes, now I think of it, that's what 
 I've thought about him, Bill. You needn't sneer; I'd be 
 damned sorry to hear that . . ." 
 
 "Well, Morster Chorlie, ... if you worze a bit like 'im," 
 . . . Stumped for analogy, Bill moved his great gaunt body, 
 smiled sardonically, and concluded 
 
 "I seppose ! . . . you'd not be Morster Chorlie ! wd-yer ?" 
 
 About noon Kirk walked up from the station, by himself, 
 for Mary was in London. Severnly seemed most strange, yet 
 familiar, and very dear to him, and he was filled with emo- 
 tion. He made several hasty calls every one seemed to 
 bear very kind feelings towards him ; each was so glad to 
 see him, and to hear of his success. At length he approached 
 his own home. 
 
 He stood beneath the curved Georgian over-porch and rang 
 the bell. The well-remembered sound awoke in him feelings 
 from the old life. He felt glad that he was free.
 
 192 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 The maid, astonished, exclaimed, "Master Kirk!" then 
 opened the door wide and let him in. She showed him into 
 the drawing-room, which was fireless. He remained standing 
 and his father entered. 
 
 "Is this you, Kirkpatrick ?" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 Mr. Clinton fixed his piercing eyes on his son. "You have 
 altered very much. Come into the dining-room. This room 
 is cold." 
 
 A large fire blazed there and Kirk remembered his fa- 
 ther's susceptibility to cold, due to residence in hot countries. 
 
 "Sit down, Kirkpatrick." 
 
 They began to speak of engineering, and, warming a little, 
 Kirk told his father of certain new methods used at Ciren- 
 hampton. But the conversation soon flagged for Mr. Clin- 
 ton each time replied carelessly, 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know all about that yes." 
 
 "But surely, father, there are new ideas and methods ?" 
 
 "Not at all I think we did just the same when I was a 
 young man, just the same, yes . . . yes." 
 
 Kirk mentioned that he was on his way to the North of 
 England -but his father appeared not to hear him. 
 
 "What Church do you go to ?" 
 
 "... Well, father ... I have lately been to the Church 
 of England." 
 
 "You will not succeed in your profession without God. I 
 have heard rumours about you." 
 
 The son did not reply. After a slight pause he stood up. 
 
 "Well, father, I must be going now." 
 
 "Why? Where are you going to? When are you going 
 on?" 
 
 "At eight, to-night." 
 
 "Then come and dine with me at six-thirty." 
 
 "Thank you, father, but I have already accepted Mrs. 
 Dugdale's invitation. ... I met her in the town." 
 
 "Humph! you are going there?"
 
 THE BOKK FOOL 193 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "Well, you can stop and lunch with me." 
 
 "I'm so sorry, father, for I had no idea ... I have prom- 
 ised the Minnitts and I have to go there now." 
 
 "Ah, very well," said Mr. Clinton, resuming his ordinary 
 manner. 
 
 "Good-bye, Kirkpatrick; and remember, you will not suc- 
 ceed without God." 
 
 Kirk took his father's proffered hand, then glanced round 
 once more at all the familiar things in the room and depart- 
 ed, unconsciously breathing freely when the heavy outer door 
 had cl<5sed behind him.
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII 
 
 RICHAKD BEOUGH better known as Dick from 
 early boyhood desired to be a farmer, a great farmer. 
 His parents well knew their son's wish ; but they ignored his 
 bent. Dick, like his father before him, went first to Charter- 
 house, and thence to Oxford. When he left school, he begged 
 hard that he might go to a college of agriculture. But the 
 father overruled the son, who went with but an ill grace to 
 Oxford. The young man predetermined that he would not 
 long remain there, and, in his first term, after increasing of- 
 fences and deliberate indiscipline, he was sent down for in- 
 geniously removing and secreting the "doors of his college 
 chapel. The disappointment hardened the father's heart. 
 He refused his son permission to learn agriculture. Dick, 
 become much bored at home, finally acquiesced in his own 
 articleship to the Chief Engineer of an English railway. The 
 agreement was signed, and Dick left home. 
 
 In the five years that followed he lived mostly in a large 
 northern city; and under a very able man, sympathetic, of 
 firm character, young Brough did well. A strong liking grew 
 between himself and his chief. Farming began to be forgot- 
 ten. His chief scrupulously saw to it that Brough was well 
 trained in both theory and practice: andSvhile nominally a 
 pupil in the office, Dick, for two years of the five, studied in 
 the somewhat famous technical university of the city. These 
 five years of conscientious effort, hard brain-work, hard hand- 
 work in the "Shops," the very early hours, the bitter winters, 
 the daily contact with hard heads, the influence of a clever 
 finely-bred man, the chief all these had wrought together 
 well upon the natural determined character of Brough. And, 
 
 194
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 195 
 
 through all, he had preserved the courteous manner of his 
 youth. His accent had remained pure, and he possessed good 
 taste in dress. 
 
 Brough was now in his thirty-fifth year. Moderate in stat- 
 ure, he was yet well-built. Habitually he bore a somewhat 
 gaily-aggressive air of capability, a calm alertness, a look of 
 cheerful readiness for anything. His eyes, greenish brown, 
 were shrewd and frank; his thick and brown close-clipped 
 moustache and his ruddy skin bespoke good health. His 
 shaven chin was strong and slightly pointed. The hands were 
 email but knotted, well cared for, and were far too scientific 
 for a farmer. 
 
 Brough mentally was penetrative and agnostic ; morally he 
 was truthful, frank, honourable ; yet he was very shrewd. He 
 possessed a lively sense of humour, and his laugh, short and 
 quick, never failed him. He spoke habitually in a vein of 
 gentle irony and raillery, seldom appearing to regard life with 
 any seriousness. He was never damped, and he never lost his 
 temper. Antagonists amused him. The more serious and 
 angry a letter, the more did Brough amiably chuckle. 
 
 Brough was much occupied when Clinton arrived. After 
 a brief word or two, Kirk sat for some time and waited. He 
 saw Brough was in the middle of a knot in some design ; and 
 soon he guessed Brough was impatient or dissatisfied. Kirk 
 thought he looked very tired about the eyes. After much use 
 of india-rubber, the elder man stood up from the drawing; 
 and, keeping his eyes upon the board, walked shortly to and 
 fro mentally absorbed the while he filled a pipe. He did 
 not speak, but once more bent over the work. More measur' 
 ing, pencilling and rubbing out followed, and then Brough 
 suddenly threw down his dividers, turned round on his stool, 
 laughed slightly, and spoke to Kirk. 
 
 "I'm engineer to 'Chiltern Water Limited.' Was before I 
 joined Bendigo. Chiltern held on to my valuable services. 
 "Not enough water now. Got to sink another well. . . . 
 L.G.B. worrying us too, about a siphon. By-the-bye! Old
 
 196 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Man Bendigo in long character-sketch of K. Clinton told me 
 you're a geologist ? That's so, isn't it ?" 
 
 "Oh ! . . . I know a bit," said Kirk, and smiled. 
 
 "Then what would be the effect of a second well ? Say, fifty 
 feet from the first ? You see I could then do without a second 
 boiler-house and of course still further away means buying 
 more land, in fact it means another station. What supply 
 would I get from a second well, close to the other ?" 
 
 "Your present well is in chalk ?" 
 
 "Yes, all in chalk." 
 
 "What depth ?" 
 
 "Sixty feet of dug, and three hundred bored, eight-inch 
 bore." 
 
 "Well," said Kirk, "in general, if only fifty feet apart, 
 you would not get as much from the second as you now draw 
 from the first. You might secure only a 25 per cent, increase 
 over your present supply, but you might possibly get even a 
 75 per cent, increase. It depends chiefly on relative position 
 of the two wells, and on the regional nature of the chalk." 
 Kirk took a sheet of paper, and made two dots upon it a few 
 inches apart. 
 
 "Suppose those are two wells. Pump them continuously 
 and each drains a cone of chalk round itself. The point of 
 each cone is the bottom of each well. These two circles I draw 
 round each dot are the rims of the inverted cones, at surface- 
 level or, rather, at water-level. You see how they inter- 
 sect each other ? how they cut into each other ? So when the 
 cones of drainage intersect, the maximum supply of each well 
 is of course definitely lessened. Their drainage areas overlap. 
 When the chalk is very dense and rather impermeable, these 
 wells can be put closer, without one affecting the other. But 
 if the chalk is open, loose, and thoroughly permeable, then 
 the cones of drainage will be very large, and two wells beside 
 each other will drain practically from the same cone. If your 
 Chiltern well fills very fast after long pumping, it indicates 
 open permeable chalk. You see, there is a good deal to be
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 197 
 
 considered. In dense chalk, or the chalk-marl, the first well 
 may strike a fissure ; the second may miss it. Then, too, when 
 boring, the chalk interstices sometimes get choked badly by 
 the debris from the bore tools, and so, although in good por- 
 ous chalk, your cone may yet be rather narrow, or irregular in 
 shape; but there's a new remedy for this charges of high 
 explosive banged off in the bore-hole ! they make cavities, and 
 thus increase the infiltration-surface. Of course, if you dug 
 all your present well, you would get more water; and more 
 storage; and then, too, if you liked you could drive adit- 
 tunnels from the bottom ; but how far down is the Greensand ? 
 That might pay for a deeper boring in the present well? 
 There is a good deal to be considered,, isn't there ?" 
 
 "... Where did you pick all this up, young fellow ?" said 
 Brough, regarding Kirk with much interest. 
 
 "You shall give me a hand with my report later on if you 
 will. That was very well put. Very sound. We'll experi- 
 ment. I've got all the geological maps and sections here. 
 I'll take you down there !" 
 
 Kirk smiled with pleasure, but said modestly, "My father 
 is clever at wells, and the rest is merely elementary geology." 
 Brough looked at him, then took a deep breath, jumped up, 
 took his pencil, and cried 
 
 "Once more into the breach, dear friends ! Once more into 
 the breach !" He bent over the drawing and remained silent 
 for but a few moments. 
 
 "I was never much good at design ..." murmured he 
 "had no need of it for years, now . . . forgotten it ! Come 
 and look at this." . . . "Chamberhead of a big siphon; if 
 siphon burst it would wash a dear lil village away, so Papa 
 L.G.B. says" . . . "The idea is, in such a case, to close the 
 conduit gradually, automatically, infallibly, see ? . . . Well, 
 what do you think of that ?" 
 
 Kirk for a full minute looked closely at the drawing. 
 
 "Too elaborate," said he very quietly, and then he pointed 
 out what appeared to him defective. He stood up from the
 
 198 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 table, and looked at the drawing, intently thinking. Brough 
 turned his head and watched him with great secret interest. 
 Kirk's face lit up, he seized a pencil and drew rapidly on a 
 spare sheet and then said, "How do you like that the idea?" 
 . . . and he explained his sketch. 
 
 "It's a positive inspiration, my dear fellow!" and then 
 Brough continued in a funny drawl "But you've been and 
 gone and spoilt the whole show ! Now I can't conscientiously 
 use my own notion ! and I'm over head and ears with work ; 
 eleven it was, last night, before I left this cube of air in which 
 we sit." 
 
 "Let me do it, Mr. Brough ; I can easily do it ! I love de- 
 sign!" 
 
 "Will you ? Will you ? . . . That would be a great help, 
 let me see : . . . yes . . . Bruside can well wait a day or two 
 for genius . . . you have something of that look about you 
 . . . Kirkpatrick . . . You shall be Kirkpatrick . . . save 
 when I am cross or grave." 
 
 At seven o'clock, Brough took Kirk from his drawing. 
 
 "Come! amiable, ingenious, industrious Kirkpatrick, we 
 must feed these mighty intellects, and return ... I hope 
 you are not tired, Clinton ?" 
 
 "Oh no, thank you." 
 
 At two o'clock in the morning they went to Brough's rooms, 
 and, the household being asleep, they put together a camp-bed 
 and Kirk slept in the same room as Brough. 
 
 Two days and evenings of hard work followed in which a 
 preliminary report on Chiltern was drafted. Next afternoon, 
 they were to go to Bruside. 
 
 Brough wrote a cheque for five guineas and gave it to Kirk. 
 "For geological advice, and many thank you's for it, Kirk- 
 patrick." 
 
 "But I'm already paid, by Mr. Bendigo ?" 
 
 "Not at all, not at all, most innocent cock-virgin ! he don't 
 pay you enough, nor do I. This is my own affair. Mr. Ben-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 199 
 
 digo would have no objection. Of course you needn't mention 
 it to bountiful beautiful Charlie." 
 
 So Kirk took the money with great pleasure. Generosity 
 was a trait he very much admired.
 
 CHAPTER XXIV 
 
 THIS was a crowd of people quite different from any he 
 had seen. They poured in and out of the big dirty and 
 endless station. Kirk, deeply absorbed, looked at them as he 
 waited. These new people were in the mass small, or thick- 
 set, alert, intelligent, merry, witty yet uncouth in movement, 
 speech and dress. Yes, they were warmly, but very badly 
 dressed, the women equally with the men. 
 
 It was plain, too, that they were remarkably social. Most 
 of the people on these platforms stared rudely at Kirk, and 
 made very audible remarks. His general manner and calm 
 aloofness, in especial his puttees, excited interest and a rude 
 wit, for he was in that part of the station where terminates a 
 long line from one of the most enclosed and clannish dales in 
 south-east Yorkshire. "Ay! they're rough fowlk there!" say 
 even Yorkshiremen, from districts but little better polished. 
 
 The engine was painted black. Even the first and second- 
 class carriages looked bare and dirty; they were inferior to 
 many a third-class carriage on southern railways. Brough re- 
 turned with two first-class tickets. He and Kirk took their 
 seats in the crowded train. Silent surprise filled the younger 
 man as he found his fellow first-class passengers were merely 
 some of the crowd, awkwardly dressed in top-hats and cut- 
 away coats. This dress was their only distinction. They 
 spoke the same broad dialect as the crowd, and all their con- 
 versation was commercial, kitchenly domestic, or of very local 
 athletics. Kirk began to see that differences of caste among 
 this folk were solely financial. Money, and brains for money- 
 making forthwith determined one's position. It seemed that 
 breeding, science, learning, art and literature, could have no 
 
 200
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 201 
 
 place or voice or power in this unknown part of the world he 
 was to live in; and he felt a painful separateness and revul- 
 sion. To relieve this feeling he conjured up with intense af- 
 fection visions of the heaths and rich vales of Cirenhampton, 
 now so divided from him. He knew not yet how kind were 
 these people; he was unaware they admired refinement in 
 others, even though they did not permit it, except with great 
 suspicion, in the clan. 
 
 Presently the train began to grind and thump its way out 
 over very bad permanent-way, first between successions of 
 blank begrimed walls, and then through broken and precipi- 
 tous clay-ground all thickly built over with factories, or rows 
 of small blackened houses. These black buildings and dwell- 
 ings were set at every possible angle and direction with each 
 other. There was no order. The environs of the city were 
 heavily palled by smoke, the sky was foully soiled, and dark- 
 ening. Kirk looked down into steaming oily reservoirs of con- 
 densing-water ; and up again at greasy works built on highly 
 sloping ground having every window lower than its neigh- 
 bour, and already, at half-past two filled with yellow lights. 
 He saw houses on the verge of cliffs of drab clay, naked, 
 dirty clay deeply furrowed by rain, and dangerously cut 
 away from the buildings it supported. Every solitary tree 
 and bush and flower had many years ago given up the struggle 
 for life. Not a pot of flowers or fern showed inside a dwell- 
 ing-house. Kirk now discovered more and more frequently 
 the small dirty river that made polluted way beneath and 
 through this mournful complex. At last houses became less 
 frequent, less up-and-down-hill, and soon he looked out at 
 miles and miles of passing mounds and shapeless banks ; they 
 too were all trodden or poisoned bare of every vestige of. 
 living green. Even the coltsfoot, spreading coarse grey leaves, 
 opening in March its welcome yellow flowers on the grey ruin 
 of coal-mines, here was absent. A drizzling rain commenced, 
 and the drear hardened surfaces Kirk looked on became wet 
 and slippery, and reflected dully the light that filtered through
 
 202 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 the unbroken canopy of smoke. After this waste came a mile 
 or two of melancholy parkland, still preserved from the uni- 
 versal digging, delving, and building, yet all the more drear 
 from the blackened dying trees that looked so miserable and 
 dirty like the shabby-genteel starving, whom one sees sitting 
 dejected on the public seats of the wealthier British cities. 
 
 Presently the population became less dense, the sky light- 
 ened, and Kirk looked forth upon the almost unbroken suc- 
 cession of great woollen mills, dye-works, bleach-works, chem- 
 ical-works, brick-works, calico print works, engineering works, 
 and an occasional cotton-mill. Brough in somewhat unusual 
 serious and kindly mood pointed to several of these as they 
 were passed. 
 
 "Those people make half the serge for the Navy."- -"All 
 those white sails at Cowes come from that dirty place."- 
 "Yes, I suppose it does seem ugly to you, Clinton, but you'll 
 soon get used to it; I remember I thought once I never could 
 live here ! I had just come down from Sussex, but now, you 
 know, it seems all right. . . . You feel like that, don't you ? 
 Yes, I thought you did." 
 
 Brough turned a hard smile and a kind eye on his young 
 companion. He was a keen observer. "They are not bad 
 people, Clinton, you will soon get used to it all. It's dirty, 
 but it's where the money is made, and you'll have excellent 
 experience." Somewhat comforted, Kirk sat and listened to 
 the extraordinarily harsh accents that burst in when the car- 
 riage door opened at one of the work-a-day stations. 
 
 Low distant hills appeared on each side ; they were void of 
 trees or beauty, and looked cold, naked, and begrimed. These 
 hills grew nearer and higher, puffs of steam were seen upon 
 them, their sides were scarred and deeply trenched by cable- 
 ways, brick-works and quarries. Soon afterwards the train 
 entered a deep but open valley in which grass and trees of a 
 kind at least relieved the eyes. The station-names were now 
 very expressive Eamsclough, Little Shaw, Grinden, Old
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 203 
 
 Mill, Stcneyclough, Strubble Carr, Mon End, Delfhole, Blue- 
 pits, Quarrside, Cablefoot, ISFew Mill, Brickhouse, Moorbot- 
 tom, etc. They were, indeed, in keeping with the bare stone- 
 walled pasture of the hill-sides, with the cold discoloured 
 river, rushing between the greasy boulders and among the 
 littered slabs of grey shale ; they were in agreement with the 
 ugly buildings of laborious human life, crowded in patches 
 along the narrowing valley-bottom. 
 
 The sky had cleared before the train drew up at Bruside. 
 Clinton with his companion stepped out into an air smokey 
 indeed to a fine observer, but much purer and colder than that 
 which they had left behind. Here the valley-floor widened, 
 and here in consequence the water engineers had determined 
 to spread out and build their works, their great filters, wells, 
 reservoirs, and pumping-stations. The long oval flat, or 
 "carr," was hemmed in eastwards by the dirty river, rushing 
 in a great curve beneath high steeps of clay and stone ; above 
 this curve rose heavy shoulders of grey tumbled grass, set with 
 naked stunted hawthorn bushes. Five hundred feet higher, 
 hidden by the shoulders of the hills, stood the little town of 
 Bruside. 
 
 Westward the rough pastures rose up more smoothly from 
 the carr, and in this misty afternoon one could not see the 
 more distant hills and moors: nor were visible the factories 
 and works that everywhere occupied their deep folds, A 
 small tenacious winter-beaten wood, already leafless, filled the 
 narrow side-valley that entered at the far end of the carr. 
 
 Brough and Clinton made their way, between heaps of plant 
 and materials, towards the middle of the open land, and there 
 they looked round. Brough explained the works, the arrange- 
 ments, what had been commenced, what was immediately to 
 be done. As they walked about he gave Kirk many useful 
 hints and particulars. From the painful intensity of new im- 
 pressions, of gazing on these new unfriendly scenes, Kirk 
 with effort drew himself down into his objective self. He 
 forced himself to listen and attentively observe. As they
 
 204 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 walked about they were at times almost choked with heavy 
 green cement dust, with fine red dust from the crushers, smoke 
 from the pumps, and hot fumes from several kilns that were 
 burning rough bricks. The navvies, Kirk noticed, were all 
 Irishmen, "They come over to Liverpool and find their way 
 here," said Brough "They make very good navvies, but are 
 no good as gangers. . . . Well, we'll now go and have a look 
 at the plans." 
 
 They approached two old cottages of grimy stone, which 
 stood in a waste of upturned boulder-clay. Kecently there 
 had been three cottages, but one prematurely had been pulled 
 down wrenched off as it were from its fellows. On the ex- 
 posed gable-end, the blue lime-washed plaster of the vanished 
 bedroom and the marks left by a staircase showed in the raw 
 afternoon. 
 
 The remaining cottages were now being used as stores and 
 temporary office. 
 
 The Bruside* quarry owner who supplied the works with 
 stone and rubble awaited them. Brough spoke to Kirk as 
 they walked towards this gaunt north-country man. 
 
 "You will find Aikrigg a very decent fellow, Clinton, and 
 he said he would get some rooms for you ; he says there is no 
 hotel or inn where you can stay. I have never myself been 
 up to Bruside." 
 
 Kirk struggled with an intense nausea and repulsion to all 
 this. He felt unaccountably unwell. He knew at heart, now, 
 that he hated the engineering life, that he longed to be freed 
 from it for ever, to leave for ever all these people so deeply 
 wrapped in work and money. But his inbred sense of duty 
 and obedience was stronger, and in the midst of physical 
 and spiritual depression he sought conscientiously to forget 
 no detail essential to his immediate charge of these works. 
 
 The plans were unrolled upon a rough table of boards, a 
 lamp was lit in the dark cottage, and Brough pointed out par- 
 ticulars while Kirk listened, or questioned. Then the chief 
 * Bruside should be pronounced Broo-side.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 205 
 
 foreman, the timekeeper and the accountant were introduced 
 in turn, with scant ceremony, and, of course, without hand- 
 shake. 
 
 "This, Stallabrass, is Mr. Clinton, your new engineer." 
 
 They greeted him with friendliness, it seemed, after keen 
 glances 
 
 "Good afternoon, Sir." 
 
 "Good afternoon, Sir." 
 
 It was quite dusk when Brough prepared to return. With 
 Aikrigg, he and Kirk left the cottages. White mists were 
 creeping and rising from the heavy and saturated clayey 
 ground. 
 
 "Well, good-bye, Clinton; send for me or come down and 
 see me, if you want anything important, and . . . oh ! I for- 
 got old man Bendigo insists on his engineers in the North 
 themselves going to bank and personally bringing the money 
 back, so you better come and see me each Friday. You'll re- 
 ceive a blank cheque from London some time in the week, and 
 you must fill it up for what you require Baker here will 
 give you the amount, and you must look into it yourself and 
 personally see the men paid. It's a fad of the Old Man. . . . 
 
 "No ? you did not do that in the South ? . . . 
 
 "No, don't bother seeing me off, Aikrigg will take you up 
 to Bruside by some short cut he knows. Good-bye, Clinton 
 ... if you do as well as I hear you've done at Cirenhampton, 
 you'll do very well indeed." 
 
 Mr. Aikrigg soon after was toiling up to Bruside with the 
 new engineer. They went up through rough pasture-fields, 
 walking slowly up a cinder-path beside dry-stone black walls, 
 a path so steep that every now and then they halted for 
 breath. 
 
 The weak daylight of November had almost gone, the air 
 was become much colder, and the valley beneath them filled 
 itself with heavy vapours. Somewhere below roared a river- 
 weir. The large mill beneath them was brilliantly lit inside,
 
 206 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 and the windows of a second mill glowed faintly yellow at the 
 far end of the extensive misty works. But overhead the sky 
 showed a very dark grey-blue. The hills, that formed the dis- 
 tant valley-side to the south and west, were shrouded with be- 
 calmed smoke and fog drifts, but a ruddy sunset seemed to lie 
 beyond. 
 
 Kirk again felt that new and unaccountable deep depres- 
 sion. He also felt physically cold, and his skin shrank and 
 crept with the wretched sensations that indicate a tempera- 
 ture. He turned up the collar of his great coat. He felt a 
 tightness over his forehead ; he suffered a kind of homo-sick- 
 ness, and also a sickness of the body. He experienced a mis- 
 erable distaste and fear, quite new to him, and he conjectured 
 dully that it must be due to this barbarous environment. 
 Meanwhile he toiled slowly up with his big adviser. At 
 length they came into a broad road graded along the flanks of 
 a bare shoulder in the rounded lower hills. A few strong 
 bushes dotted the near slopes, but there were no trees. Ab- 
 stractedly Kirk noticed there were gas-lamps along this open 
 hill-road, that the paths were of black cinder, and, beneath 
 the lamps, his gaze fell on the uncommonly massive herb- 
 stones of the setted road. His intelligence, unasked, tokl his 
 weary mind "A stone country, with heavy wheeled traffic." 
 
 "Ar'm feared tha'll fainde this a cowd pierce, Mesther ?" 
 
 "Yes, it feels much colder here." 
 
 . . . "Art coom fra' South?" 
 
 "Yes, from Hampshire; a lovely country." 
 
 "Ar thote so, bey tha' talk. Mesther Brough cooms reet 
 fra South, he laffs at our talk!" Aikrigg himself laughed 
 shortly and good naturedly "He says konno unnerston it!" 
 not all." 
 
 "We're hey opp now, look yon!" said Aikrigg, turning 
 round and pausing to rest. 
 
 Kirk gazed over the dark tumbled country, and saw faint 
 distant rows of yellow lights, where the graded setted roads 
 climbed out of the valleys, only to descend again to the in-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 207 
 
 numerable towns and villages. He saw distant clustered 
 lights that marked townships that were unhidden. High and 
 dark hills spread out opposite to him ; the deep valley from 
 which he had ascended lay between. 
 
 "Yonder th' moors ! There's note but a farm or two for 
 mony a mile," said Aikrigg, looking with his young com- 
 panion, and he added in a friendly way, "It'll seem wild-like 
 to y'r, i' these parts ?" 
 
 "Yes . . . how high are all those hills ?" 
 
 Aikrigg laughed at the strange question 
 
 "Ay, ar'm sure ar konno tell tha ! . . . But there's soom 
 big uns ; Eebpike's biggest, ther ser." 
 
 They walked on: stone "flags" underfoot took the place of 
 cinders, and the small town of Bruside began with a house 
 or two on left and right of the broad stone road. Where the 
 gas lamps showed them, Kirk looked closely at the strongly 
 built stone houses ; they were somehow the barest he had ever 
 seen. They showed not an inch of eaves. A pair of hewn 
 stones, tall and rough, made the two doorway sides, a third 
 made the lintel. Window openings were the same. There were 
 no gardens, no hedges to the houses, and their enclosures were 
 fenced by means of paving slabs, set on edge, and clamped 
 top and bottom with rough iron. Through gapways he still 
 perceived dimly the hills rising steeply into darkness on the 
 left. On the right was the steep descent towards the dark 
 valley ; and the low mournful note, hollow and hornlike, from 
 an engine drawing its winding train down there, now came 
 up softly out of the deep trough. 
 
 Some women now passed Kirk, their heads and forms 
 shrouded by thick shawls. From these cowls they gazed 
 curiously as they hurried past. The unusual rattling of their 
 feet made Kirk ask Aikrigg 
 
 "Do they wear clogs here ?" 
 
 "Yi, all t'lasses wears clogs, except o' Sundays." 
 
 "Yool unnerstan, Mesther," began Aikrigg, walking still
 
 208 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 slower, "it's verra difficult to find where to put tha, here; 
 f owk lives ith ther orn pierces, and they mostly none wants 
 strerngers amoong them. They all warks at mill, tha knaws, 
 and gets good munney ; they'd rathher wark nor let lodgings. 
 Messes Gisburn's offen had fowk in, but i' Bruside tha mun 
 et and met wi fowk if tha unnerstons me, Mesther Clenton ?" 
 
 "You mean they must live and eat all together ?" 
 
 "That's it, young fella !" said Aikrigg, with relief. "That's 
 it, Mesther, they're verra proud fowk i' Bruside, tho arm 
 none so gradeley proud mysen, as soom. I'd a takken thee in 
 joost to please Mesther Brough Arve a respect to him, and a' 
 said thee wert a decent chap Yo could have tha orn pierce 
 and meat for awt I mind but ar'm thronged wi' children, 
 and all th'rooms takken-oop." 
 
 "Thank you, Mr. Aikrigg, for the kind intention." 
 
 "Oh it's nowt, Mesther. But this is Messes Gisburn's ; if 
 tha'll stop here a'll goo in and tell her." 
 
 He knocked with one hand as he turned the door-knob and 
 went in. He closed the door after himself. 
 
 There was a lamp-post quite near, and Kirk looked up at 
 the house. It looked older and was much larger than its 
 neighbours, and was quite detached. This house was pecu- 
 liar, for the entrance was at one side, the back faced the road- 
 way and the rising hills. In relation to the main street this 
 house was back to front. The broad gable-end that caught the 
 lamp-light had been tarred, it seemed. The ground or field, or 
 whatever it was, evidently fell steeply away from the hidden 
 front of the house, and, over the slab-stone wall, and past the 
 house, Kirk could see the opaque darkness of the distant 
 moorland, beyond the great valley out of which he had 
 ascended. 
 
 A short distance up the setted street stood a man in the well 
 of a sturdily built hawker's cart. Kirk had not before seen a 
 cart like this. Fixed to the uncouth vehicle flared a petro- 
 leum lamp. The brilliant light showed a strong cob that 
 stood still, but with head drooping. The bearded weather-
 
 THE BOR^" FOOL 209 
 
 beaten hawker took up an old bell, sad-voiced, mellow and low 
 of note. Strangely measured, "beat beat" . . . "beat 
 beat" . . . the four solemn clangs fell on the night, and in 
 the long pause following a sad dirge commenced in equal 
 rhythm a wild but slow and sorrowful tune through Kirk's 
 imagination, and he remembered the day at Junipen. 
 
 An approaching pattering of small clogs brought him back 
 to where he stood. Two forms shrouded in shawls were brisk- 
 ly coming towards him down the wide stone path, and with 
 them was a slim man. After them came a procession of peo- 
 ple; men, women, girls and boys, evidently returning from 
 the woollen-mills and the day's work. 
 
 Kirk stood beneath the lamp and the man and two girls 
 or women Kirk could not tell which slowed their steps as 
 they reached him, fell into single file, and almost stopped as 
 Kirk made way for them. The girls gazed at him intently 
 from beneath their shawls, then passed him to enter the 
 house. But the second girl hesitated, turned back, slipped 
 her shawl off her head, slightly smiled at him, then turned 
 again and went in, leaving the door wide ajar. Kirk had 
 caught a sharp view of a pair of broad young shoulders, a 
 good form, clear kindly eyes, two dimples, a smoothed head 
 of pale shining hair, a deep fringe on the forehead, a slightly 
 heavy chin, and full lips. At this moment a woman's voice 
 called out within "Gurls ! Marian ! Jim ! Whatever are ye 
 doing ? Ask him to come in, Mr. Aikrigg !" Aikrigg and the 
 girl who had paused now came out together. 
 
 "Ar think tha'll be ar reet here, Mesther Clenton" Aik- 
 rigg was smiling "Aw've seed th' owd leddy for thee. Aw I 
 Marian ! he'll n5ne be wi'out company, lass, eh ? Goodneet. 
 . . . Ay never mention it! tha'll be well looked after here* 
 Goodneet, Marian ! Goodneet !" 
 
 Jim asked Kirk in. Marian followed them. Jim was 
 tall, thin, about thirty-two years of age, and quite unlike his 
 sisters, for his face was thin and long, his nose large and
 
 210 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 long, his eyes brown, his hair black. He had a cheerful man- 
 ner, and a most musical voice. He helped Kirk off with his 
 great coat. Kirk unconsciously forgave the accent, for the 
 sweetness of the voice. Marian had waited; her eyes now 
 shone as she followed the two men. She looked all over 
 Kirk's form, especially at his well-cut breeches and his 
 shapely putteed legs. 
 
 In a large well-lit living-room Kirk found himself facing 
 a strong, tall, and spare woman, some sixty years of age. 
 Her thin hard mouth drooped at the corners. By her hard 
 face, her calm eyes, her deep lines, one judged correctly that 
 she had known and bitterly combated with trouble. 
 
 Jim, and his younger sisters Dinah and Marian, stood with 
 their gaze riveted on Kirk. But Ruth, eldest of the four, 
 went on with her work, quickly set the table for a meal and 
 went hastily to and from the kitchen. 
 
 Kirk first shook hands with Mrs. Gisburn, and then she 
 introduced him simply, giving each name. 
 
 "This is Marian, she's third . . ." and Kirk took the 
 girl's hand. She it was who turned back a moment at the 
 door. Kirk thought her about twenty. 
 
 Then he took Jim's rough and hard hand. "He's th' 
 second, he's fettler at mill. . . . 
 
 "This is Dinah, she's th' youngest here." Dinah had a 
 hard mouth but was otherwise a rather plump and pretty 
 little dark blonde. Her sharp eyes were blue. Marian's were 
 grey. Marian was a fair girl and had a splendid mass of pale 
 golden hair. Calling the eldest girl Mrs. Gisburn said, "This 
 is Ruth, she stays at home mostly . . . an' I've another gurl, 
 my own, t'youngest, Jane, oop at Thirsk, wi' her aunt and 
 uncle." Mrs. Gisburn paused a moment, then went on> 
 speaking. 
 
 "I call them mine, but I'm their stepmother. I've brought 
 them all oop, sin' they were varry small ... so like they'll 
 call me mother . . . their name's Butterworth." Then Mrs. 
 Gisburn again looked at Kirk, attentively and kindly.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 211 
 
 "Ay! but ye look fair peaked! Sit ye down now, do." 
 And turning on Jimmie, Marian, and Dinah, who had stood 
 there motionless and fascinated, she spoke sharply 
 
 "Gurls, be quick! Jim, lad! don't stand sturing! Get 
 the tea !" All three promptly moved off. 
 
 "All right, it's ready, mother," mildly said Ruth as she 
 went quickly into the kitchen. She had a steady patient 
 look in her dark grey eyes. Her high prominent forehead, 
 her small disciplined m6uth, her dark neat hair, the delicate 
 pale complexion, her unobtrusive useful figure, all were in 
 keeping with the gentle and resigned nun-like aspect that she 
 presented. It was very evident she would not be so worldly, 
 nor possess the temper of her stepmother under whose domi- 
 nation Ruth had spent twenty-five years of her life, and she 
 was now thirty-five.
 
 CHAPTER XXV 
 
 UPON getting out of bed on this first Sunday, Kirk did 
 not feel at all well, and in the glass he noticed how 
 oddly blue and shrunken his face appeared. But he went 
 to church with Jim and two of the girls. He went because 
 Ruth had smiled sweetly, and asked him, 
 
 "Would you like to come to church with us, Mr. Clinton ? 
 We have such a comfortable pew, and such a nice minister." 
 
 He saw instinctively that Ruth's religion was her life, 
 and on impulse he thanked her, and said he would go. He 
 went upstairs and brought down the Book of Common Prayer 
 given him by his Mother for use at Severnly. Ruth, now 
 ready, glanced down at the little book. 
 
 "May I look at your prayer-book ? Is it like ours ?" 
 
 Smiling, he said, "Look." As she took the book it opened 
 at the fly-leaf. 
 
 "What small, beautiful handwriting! . . . May I read 
 it?" 
 
 "Yes," said Kirk, with feeling. "My mother wrote that" 
 
 Kirk, as he looked at Ruth's severely neat dress, thought 
 to himself "She is very different from the others, and she 
 speaks quite well." He opened the house-door for Marian 
 and her brother, then he followed beside Ruth. Seeming 
 to know his thoughts, she said, 
 
 "I was to have been a teacher, I studied a great deal, and 
 passed several examinations, but you see mother, my step- 
 mother, wanted me at home and it was my duty, you see, 
 to be there." 
 
 Ruth by long habit again gently and easily repressed her 
 
 212
 
 THE BORN FOOL 213 
 
 one great sorrow ; she smiled, and Kirk with a feeling of re- 
 spect glanced sideways at the ecstatic face. 
 
 The church had plain windows, it was mill-like, newish, 
 and yet had a massive pair of galleries crowded within it; 
 the congregation was large, and mostly of families. To 
 Kirk's eyes they seemed badly, dingily dressed, and the whole 
 effect was, as Kirk expressed it to himself, "Old Wesleyan." 
 He was not displeased to note that Jimmie, Ruth, and 
 Marian, were among the better dressed. The vicar, Mr. 
 Vosper, was an elderly rubicund man, but of refined face. 
 He spoke with a pure cultured accent. Kirk, though grave 
 enough to outward semblance, was amused when he found he 
 was an object of great interest to the congregation, and at 
 least four times he met the inquiring eye of the vicar. 
 
 Kirk ate his Sunday dinner with the family. In daylight 
 he had noticed the dark rings beneath the girls' eyes, the 
 lines produced by chronic long hours and tiredness. He 
 felt sympathy for them having to do what seemed endless 
 housework. The Saturday afternoon when they were home 
 from the mill had been spent entirely in dusting, sweeping, 
 washing, scouring, and in polishing the furniture. He had 
 gone out for a walk, and on his return at dusk they had not 
 finished. Mrs. Gisburn was in firm and strong command 
 of these operations. Kirk thought the girls would have done 
 wiser to have gone out of doors, breathed the fresh air, and 
 enjoyed the pale unusual sunlight of November, on those 
 hills that he desired already to explore. The girls' week- 
 day hour of rising seemed most severe. In the cold and 
 darkness of each early morning, Kirk heard Ruth's footsteps 
 descend the faintly creaking stair. On the Monday morning 
 he struck a match, and found the time was but a-quarter-to- 
 five. Then he heard the heavier step of Mrs. Gisburn, and 
 lastly the others followed wearily, it seemed to him and 
 he felt a sense of shame, that a man, himself, should lie 
 still and warm in bed, while these girls set out in the raw,
 
 214 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 cold, unfinished night to commence their twelve-hour day. 
 He inquired on Sunday, and was shocked to find these girls 
 worked from 6 a.m. to 5.30 p.m. winter and summer, except- 
 ing only Saturdays, when they came home earlier. 
 
 He openly expressed his feelings, and the faces of the two 
 younger girls hardened, saddened, and changed; but Mrs. 
 Gisburn explained roundly, speaking more to Marian and 
 Dinah than to Kirk, it seemed, 
 
 "Aye, Mr. Clinton ! ye don't know Yorksheer folk ! it's all 
 come-day, go-day, work-a-day, and always has been i' this 
 
 part o' Yorksheer " and at tEis moment Kirk surprisedly 
 
 caught a wink from Jim's eye. 
 
 Some secret fear had been aroused in Mrs. Gisburn's 
 mind; she rose from the table and whispered to the girls 
 sharply but quietly and aside 
 
 "Ruth ! Marian ! Dinah ! what are ye sitting for ! Gurls ! 
 come on ! get the pots weshed ! it's after two o'clock ! There's 
 lots to be done." 
 
 Reluctantly they pushed their chairs back and moved 
 wearily to obey the monotonous necessities of their lives. 
 
 Kirk had found himself without appetite; and what food 
 he had tried to eat seemed coarse, unpleasant, and badly 
 cooked. The step-mother, sisters and brother had all noticed 
 Kirk's want of appetite, and he had apologised and said it 
 must be the change of climate. Ruth was a little troubled, 
 and said to her sister while they "washed up" in the 
 kitchen 
 
 "Marian, do you think it is because he's not used to our 
 food?" 
 
 "Nay, I don't think so, he looks a bit poorly to me . . . 
 but isn't he nice?" 
 
 Ruth drying a plate stopped, thought, and said, 
 "Mother will worship him soon, if I know her." 
 
 They knew too intimately what Ruth meant. Their step- 
 mother was a good woman, but had been reared among cold 
 winds, hard work, and little joy. Her mouth showed a se-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 215 
 
 vere and self-willed character. She was not selfish, but she 
 adhered rigidly to custom, and to those pitiless, ultra-ener- 
 getic ways, in which she herself had been brought up. Ex- 
 cept for a few days, she had never been outside this district. 
 Respectability, money, work, independence, were the highest 
 and the sole ideals of her environment. She had no imagina- 
 tion, and in that same furrow in which life had trained and 
 started her, she had always remained. Mrs. Gisburn hardly 
 understood any one being ill, most especially if they were 
 of her own sex and family, but when on one or two occasions 
 she had realised it as in the case of her husband she had 
 at once been devoted, constant, and unremitting in such 
 meagre attentions as occurred to her; but by then the pa- 
 tient had been beyond her help. Yet she had adulated her 
 husband. She would have spoilt her stepson Jim, but for 
 his fund of good sense and good nature. She admired and 
 liked men, but for girls and women she felt but little sym- 
 pathy. Duty was her keystone. Tardily, and after years, 
 and only now they had grown up, had this woman been able 
 to transfer some of that severe affection that lived in her to 
 these young women who called her mother. Yet, after 
 only two years of married life when newly widowed, and 
 with but small means, she willingly kept, nay insisted on the 
 charge of the four orphans, despite pressing offers from the 
 children's relatives, and by the time they began to earn 
 money, she had well nigh spent on them every penny she 
 had brought her husband. 
 
 Early on Wednesday, after hearing the heavy street-door 
 shut behind the girls, and while it was still dark, Kirk pre- 
 pared to dress and go down early to the works ; but a severe 
 sick feeling overcame him, so that for some time he sat 
 on his bedside. A cold perspiration was followed by sensa- 
 tions of extreme heat. He unbuttoned his sleeping- jacket, 
 and observed with astonishment a mass of red spots upon his 
 chest. He returned to bed and waited until the day grew
 
 216 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 light. Then he rang a little hand-bell with which Mrs. Gis- 
 burn had provided him. 
 
 "No! do not come in, Mrs. Gisburn!" 
 
 They spoke through the half-open door. He told Mrs. 
 Gisburn his suspicion, and she sent for the doctor. A young 
 medical assistant arrived in half an hour, for he lived close 
 by and kept early Yorkshire hours; for the practice covered 
 a wide area. 
 
 After examination, he raised his brows and smiled, saying, 
 "You have measles ! Mr. Clinton." . . . "No, we can't send 
 you to a hospital, for we haven't one." . . . "Burndale ? Oh 
 no ! no need to send him all that way." 
 
 "No, Mrs. Gisburn, you must hang a sheet over the door 
 and keep it wet with a solution I'll send you directly. It's 
 a big room, and you must put an old cloak on and off ... 
 no, better use one of those cotton overalls, Mrs. Gisburn 
 whenever you come in; and keep it hung up here. ... If 
 you do that, there's really very little risk, it's very rare 
 in adults. I suppose Jim and the girls have all had it?" 
 
 "Yea ! years agone, doctor." 
 
 "We have just had a big epidemic of measles, Mr. Clinton, 
 and I think every child in the district has had the disease. 
 There is practically none who has not had it. ... Oh no, 
 only two deaths, quite mild, extraordinarily mild. . . . Yes, 
 it is annoying, at your age ; it's quite rare in adults." "Oh ! 
 you were in Manchester? Well, they have it there, too. 
 Yes . . . incubation may be quicker in the adult, I can't 
 say." 
 
 So Kirk lay in bed for several days, and listened each 
 evening to the hawker's melancholy bell. All night, at in- 
 tervals, he heard the massive "lurry's" with their loads of 
 woven wool or cotton grind pass over the setted roads, to 
 the measured hoof-tramp of big horses. Very early each 
 morning he heard Jim and the girls astir ; he listened to them 
 go down from their bedrooms. He heard the innumerable 
 warning steam hooters and horns of the mills, echoing in
 
 THE BORN FOOL 217 
 
 the cold black valleys at half-past five, and he listened to the 
 harsh crescendo of hurrying clog-shod feet, outside, and 
 heard them joined at a quarter to six by the light footsteps 
 of Marian and Dinah. 
 
 He sent out for cheap paper-back novels and novelettes 
 that could be burnt, and made acquaintance for the first 
 time with some of the most widely popular authors of his 
 own immediate day. He found the girls of this work-a-day 
 village took pleasure in a profusion of shoddy dukes, colonels, 
 viscounts and titled ladies ; and many Hughs ; while through 
 the pages wandered or strode the strong-ever-upright and 
 frequent Richard; and hard hearted villains schemed the 
 horrible seductions of Gwennies and Veras, who were ever 
 much-put-upon by cold and dashing high-bred dames and 
 girls. 
 
 Kirk tried book after book. His extravagance distressed 
 Mrs. Gisburn, and the news went forth from the little sta- 
 tioner's shop, that "This Mesther Clenton's a fair etter o' 
 books!" 
 
 On the fifth evening, near six o'clock, and while sitting 
 in a chair, he heard the girls and Jim come in. He listened 
 to them drop off their clogs on the oilcloth of the large sit- 
 ting-room, he knew they were putting on their slippers, and 
 immediately after he heard all three come slowly up the 
 stairs. Their bedroom doors closed behind them. He con- 
 jectured idly that the girls were brushing their hair, and Jim 
 was washing. Presently he thought he had heard all three 
 go downstairs, and then unexpectedly some one tapped on his 
 door. 
 
 "Come in, Mrs. Gisburn!" 
 
 But Marian came in, a little way; then stood a moment, 
 confused, blushing deeply, but smiling. 
 
 ". . . I've brought you this," said she, holding out some- 
 thing in a piece of tissue paper. "I've cut it in two for you." 
 
 Kirk stood up, courteously made a step forward, and 
 smiled as he took the proffered object.
 
 218 THE BOKST FOOL 
 
 "Thank you, Miss Butterworth, very much indeed." 
 
 Marian, very self-conscious, at once abruptly turned and 
 left the room. She shut the door quickly behind herself. 
 Her heart beat loudly as she went downstairs. 
 
 She had brought him an "Eccles Cake." It was a flat bun- 
 like comestible, made of hard flaky paste. It contained a 
 thick matted layer of currants. In the estimation of Marian 
 it was one of the greatest delicacies one could enjoy. Kirk 
 smiled to himself, he was much amused, but also rather 
 touched by the kindness of the act. 
 
 "But how exceedingly indigestible !" thought he. 
 
 He sat down again and conjured up her form and ap- 
 pearance. He liked the rich pale hair, drawn smoothly back 
 from the temples, and over it seemed to him her devoutly 
 rounded head. That pale golden hair, coiled neatly in a big 
 mass at the back of her neck gave the look of youth; that 
 smooth full head gave the look of devotion but, thought he, 
 how oddly out of keeping with this was the heavy fringe, 
 combed over the forehead! 
 
 "Yes, she has clear kind eyes; they were bluish. ... 1 
 do wish she would not wear that fringe." He dismissed 
 an idea that her lower face was heavy. . . . "Oh no" 
 mused he "that was caused by the lamp on the little table, 
 the light being lower than her face." 
 
 "She ought not to have come in here, it was very care- 
 less, and very kind, and funny." ... "I shall have to eat it 
 a bit at a time." ... "I suspect she did this without the 
 knowledge of her stepmother. . . ." 
 
 Kirk smiled to himself. He would tell the Lucys of this 
 incident when next he wrote.
 
 CHAPTER XXVI 
 
 ON the morning of his recovery Kirk set off for the 
 works. To-day for once the land was not mistily hid- 
 den but lay absolutely bare to the view. As he walked he 
 looked across a confluence of deep valleys. Long hills, dark 
 of hue, devoid of tree or hedge, filled almost all the land- 
 scape. They rose at first steeply from the winding valleys, 
 then went upward slower, and were capped by horizontal 
 pikes and tors. In the ravine-like valleys and the deep side- 
 cloughs were the black stone-built mills, the strong dingy 
 houses, the winding railways, the countless narrow sky-re- 
 flecting reservoirs, the scanty sooted trees, and the hurrying 
 polluted waters of the hills. The tops of tall chimneys or 
 the smoke from them alone marked many an industrial 
 group. Southward, the greater valley opened far away into 
 flatter land, studded with a distant forest of big chimneys, 
 overhung and shadowed by strata of sombre smoke. 
 
 Turning from this, Kirk looked away across the immense 
 valley beneath him, and from left to right. "To reproduce 
 the hue of all the lower slopes," thought Kirk, "one would 
 use that crude green bice, a little pure black, and much raw 
 umber twenty square miles of cold, bleached, dirtied, black- 
 ish-green expanse in sight at once!" . . . "and almost every 
 mile of it close netted with black stone walls!" Above this 
 came the moorland. "Add burnt umber and more black, 
 and you have the colour of the moorland" thought Kirk. 
 But on the summits lay long horizontal lines of pure-white 
 snow. The skies all round for some little height above the 
 hills showed a murkiness new to the eyes of Kirk. The 
 edges of the distant plateaux were eaten into by many quar- 
 
 219
 
 220 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 ries. Moving puffs of white steam told the observer of the 
 distant busy cranes and little locomotives away across there 
 on the hill-sides. Enormous screes of waste stone, blackish- 
 yellow, could be descried tailing down from the working- 
 level of these great quarries. Such scenery depressed Kirk 
 far more than it would one having but an ordinary love 
 of nature. To Kirk there seemed no escape for he could 
 see the whole land. There could be no discoveries of sweeter 
 hidden places. 
 
 "This is a young civilisation, full of energy, full of new- 
 ness, devoid of all ancient thought, learning, manners, har- 
 mony," thought Kirk, and he recollected that the ancient 
 dying Cambria included this land he looked at. 
 
 "After that ended, there was nothing, until life began 
 again only two hundred years ago !" thought he. 
 
 He went down into the valley-bottom, entering a road that 
 crossed the river. A few girls, their heads shawl-covered, 
 were coming towards him from a mill. He halted on the 
 bridge, looked across at his new works, and then glanced 
 down at the river. A few large bushes overhung the banks 
 and he noticed their lower branches were all festooned with 
 long filthy rags, with things like bandages, and with lumps 
 of oily cotton waste. These objects marked the level of the 
 last flood. The dirty water that rushed through a wide 
 bed of loose stones exhaled a strong sickly smell of dye- 
 vats, and showed a tarry iridescence. At this moment Kirk 
 felt some one pinch his calf! He turned quickly and two 
 young girls stood back a pace and boldly looked at him from 
 head to foot with a most frank and kindly curiosity. Then 
 one of them spoke slowly. 
 
 <{ Ee, lad! anna thee cowd i' them things?" 
 
 "Do you mean cold ?" asked Kirk, much amused. 
 
 "Yi! cowd! . . .'corld,' if thee likes!" and Kirk, smil- 
 ing, replied innocently 
 
 "Oh, no, puttees are much warmer than your things." 
 
 "Tha's never seen them, yoong fella !" quickly cried one,
 
 THE BORN FOOL 221 
 
 laughing as they went away, and turning round to look at 
 him the other shouted, "Tha'd lake to! ar'll bet!" 
 "Good heavens!" said Kirk, somewhat taken aback. 
 
 This was the last fine day for weeks. The low continuous 
 canopy of heavy cloud remained unbroken. One seldom saw 
 the pikes. A dark shadow clung day by day to the slopes 
 and moorlands where they went up into the ever-moving 
 clouds. It was too wet for outdoor work. Kirk's navvies 
 made but three or four short days of earning in a week. 
 Men came and asked for their wages, and left the works, 
 seeking other places where the ground would not be all deep 
 mud and sodden heavy clay, where there would be less rain, 
 mist, sleet, ferocious wind and storm. Kirk daily spent 
 hours in his rude office in the damp cottages. So much cla^ 
 and earth had been tipped around them that now, from the 
 windows, his eyes looked out on a level with the lumps of 
 boulder-clay, that were liquefying beneath the rapid sequence 
 of rain, sleet, dense mist, a few foggy hours of frost, and 
 rain again. 
 
 Finding leisure, he worked on his Cirenhampton thesis 
 until want of data caused him to desist. In company with 
 Aikrigg, who proposed it, Kirk went through several large 
 woollen mills, one cotton-mill, a print-works, a dye-works, 
 and a velvet-mill, all near Bruside. The striking complex 
 and genius, of highly organised machinery, evolved through 
 generations, the great extent, the roar and trembling of it, 
 gave food for thought. But the human life held imprisoned 
 in the hot and foul air, in the smells and the tumult of 
 roar all these toiling girls and women, these pale half- 
 naked spinners, these hurrying grease-bespattered children 
 impressed him most painfully and profoundly with a sense 
 of utter wrongness. 
 
 "It's brackley* weather for ye, Mr. Clinton," said Mrs. 
 Gisburn, many times in those weeks. 
 
 * Broken.
 
 222 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 "But it's noblut brackley weather up here i' winter/' 
 said Jim, laughing. "Farmer Ormerod as lives up o' top, 
 he says it's nine months o' winter and three months o' cowd 
 weather, i' Bruside parts, an' he's nigh reet !" 
 
 Jim persuaded Kirk to take a long walk with him on 
 Saturday, despite the weather. They walked for miles up 
 the deep and narrow winding valley; always on flagstones, 
 and nearly always between the same kind of bare stone 
 houses; and they passed mill after mill gigantic six or 
 seven-storey blocks overhanging the stone-setted road. Steam 
 trams, jolting and rocking, trailing whiffs of sulphurous 
 smoke and steam, overtook them or met them. To-day one 
 saw the black mud full of oil and grease that half filled the 
 reservoirs; for on Saturday, as Jim explained, "every mill 
 runs th' lodge off to clean th' mood out." 
 
 " 'Lodge ?' Why, Jim, do you call them lodges ?" 
 
 "Why ! a' suppose because the watter lodges i' them !" 
 
 "What a horrible smell the cleaning-out process does 
 make!" 
 
 "Does it ?" asked Jimmie, sniffing the air. "Now a' newa 
 norticed it before! but tha't right, Mr. Clinton; I guess cur 
 folk gets used t' onything! . . . Hast read 'Merrie Eng- 
 land'?" 
 
 "Yes, while I had the measles ; was that your copy ? I'm 
 afraid I burnt it, Jim." 
 
 "NeVer menshun it! t' only cost a bob. Ar've read it. 
 There's soom sense in it ?" 
 
 "It impressed me, Jim; it's exceedingly sad, because I'm 
 not sure that things can be altered, not in our time." 
 
 "Nay? . . . Look o' yon mill-door! ee! and on th' man- 
 ager's door ! What's yon chalked up, Mr. Clinton ?" 
 
 "Bead 'The Clarion'!" "Head 'Merrie England'!" said 
 Kirk. "Do you think, Jim, that those ideas are spreading ?" 
 
 "Ay I don't say so! tha' knows. . . . Look a' yon fou 
 smell . . . ar newa norticed it! not till thee sed, and I'm
 
 THE BORN" FOOL 223 
 
 not as rough as some, nay, as most ! . . . it's our girls . . . 
 a' don't like them going to mill. But we've no munney 
 nobbut what we addles wi' ar hands! ... If a'd geeten 
 brass, I'd none let my sisters go to mill . . . tho' they're 
 well-off, war they are. Th' best lot of gurls i' valley waves 
 at Sootcliffe's.* They're none a bit like yon rough wenches 
 that pinched thee leg down i' Carrbottom, Mr. Clinton; 
 Sootcliffe 'ull not tek ony lass or lad as coomes along, not 
 i' his cotton-mill ; and our gurl's reet glad it is so." 
 
 "So am I, Jim." 
 
 "There's soom sense i' 'Merrie England/ . . . Tho' it'll 
 coom to nobbut wind-a-watter . . . i' these parts. Th' Or- 
 ganist at Hepthwaite, Mr. Martineau, told me years sin I 
 wur a-bit-ov-a-philosopher, an' a' rekkon a' am that! . . . 
 Ar've read soom ! But a' thinks nowt o' yon shoutin I.L.P. 
 That lot's never done a day's wark i' their lives. They'll 
 coot down th' hard warker, and rerse oop t'lerzy t' share his 
 meat and wage . . . tha'll see it i' thy life, Mr. Clinton. 
 Ton's what'll happen . . . mayhap ..." 
 
 All the people stared hard at Kirk. Rough children 
 shouted loudly into open doorways to other youngsters, 
 "Ee ! coom-a-look-a-yon-felly ! !" "Sithee ! yon mon's f oony 
 ligs!!" 
 
 "It seems to me we could return across the moors, Jim, 
 and get out of this shut-in trough? and all these personal 
 attentions ?" 
 
 "Currect ! Then we'd better get-a-agate now, up Maden's 
 cable-road, but it's proper windy and wild, ovver th' tops!" 
 
 "Oh ! I shall like that ! Don't you prefer it, Jim ?" 
 
 "It's livelier i' the bottoms than on th' hills, but tha'll see." 
 
 It was a long climb up, but here the air was fresh, and the 
 wind whistled through the loose black walls. Stiles there were 
 none. Strong slabs projected like steps from the walls. One 
 stepped up the slabs, stood on the wall, and walked down the 
 other side. A few stone-chats, flitting from heap to heap in 
 * Waves = weaves.
 
 224 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 the immense stony waste of old quarries, were seen by Kirk 
 as he ascended. 
 
 Then he and Jim crossed some miles of black moor, grown 
 thickly with deep ling, but so black and sooty was it that 
 Kirk's khaki puttees were soon soiled to the knees. A few 
 frightened pipits flew up cheeping shrilly, and were carried 
 away by the fierce wind that rushed on unchecked over the 
 sea of black hills. The sky, as usual, was wholly grey. Kirk 
 and Jim neared the snow that lay in a wide curve behind the 
 north face of one of those long-backed pikes and.Kirk found 
 with regret that even this was not as he had thought ; for the 
 deep snow was grimed thick with a sooty crust from smoke 
 carried sixteen hundred feet above the valleys. To himself 
 he was thinking, "All is defaced, all is disfigured by mankind, 
 everything is spoilt ; how am I to live here ?"
 
 CHAPTER XXVII 
 
 WHAT was the cause direct of his disturbance ? Why 
 should he experience this serious repugnance to his 
 work in life ? Why feel so deep a pity for these people ? Why 
 no longer was he happy ? Why should he feel the sustenance 
 of his soul cut off ? The answer seemed to be : his dreams, 
 mostly his dreams ; and add to those his youth, his tempera- 
 ment, his fate. 
 
 From childhood he had avoided that unbroken intercourse 
 with human beings, so needful to the great majority. Every 
 hour and day in which he could escape material life he had 
 spent in reading no ordinary books. He had nurtured a great 
 passion for the out-of-doors. He had strongly fostered and 
 created round his soul and mind, as it were a vast nimbua 
 of vivid-lighted thought concerned but little with material 
 man a coloured aura of dreams and lovely sounds. In this 
 he lived. 
 
 He had for years bathed himself in the pure silences and 
 rustlings of the grass and wind. For hours, lying in places 
 silent and removed, he had gazed vertically into that blue 
 nothingness that lies beyond transparent summer clouds, seek- 
 ing and seeking to realise the mystery of space. There, too, 
 he had absorbed the "Earthly Paradise," and gathered fas- 
 tidiously, only where he willed, among the verse of Burns 
 and Herrick, Keats and Shelley, Hafiz and Schiller, Cole- 
 ridge, Chaucer and the old Reliques of Percy many poets ; 
 and he had pondered like a seer himself, over the transcendent 
 noble thought of Emerson. 
 
 He had for years gone forth into the fields at evening, to 
 breathe-in the first perfume of the woods, the earliest incense 
 
 225
 
 226 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 of the hawthorn bloom. He went forth to stand and dream 
 in places become sacred by his own thoughts, to look and look 
 into sunsets, to kneel with shut eyes, and let the last bliss of 
 the descending lark possess his soul, and tears, sometimes, 
 had filled his eyes; so touching, so inexpressible, were these 
 miracles. And, as his power increased of living solely in 
 beauty and the spirit, came a strong aspiration that he might 
 receive the gift of Richard Jefferies. 
 
 It seemed the poet and himself alone had ever known this 
 secret ravishment ; they two alone of all spirits had ever had 
 this power of transmutation of the consciousness, so that, at 
 times, they could slip from and escape the human, be drawn 
 within Nature, and live her wondrous raptures, even in dews 
 and fragrances, in light caught trembling in the cups of glow- 
 ing golden flowers. 
 
 Imaginatively, Kirk had often felt near him with intense 
 love, the very spirit of that elder brother, whom he had known 
 but through his written words ; and, silently, he had adjured 
 him, while in his own country side : 
 
 ' 'Speak again! through me! inspire me! and I will write 
 that which you began to know." 
 
 At Cirenhampton all these feelings had reached a climax. 
 Driven on as it were, he had tried to write of these entrance- 
 ments, always as he wrote excluding even the faintest refer- 
 ence to material life, and always he finished in dejection. 
 Yet he had filled many little pencilled booka with curious 
 thought 
 
 But now, the crude realities of northern life, the darkness 
 of human impotence, the awakening of sex, began to strike 
 into his beauteous fabric with heavy shafts of black and red. 
 
 The departure and separation from the South weighed upon 
 him like a heavy grief, seldom remitting. From this uncom- 
 mon state of mind he viewed this new land and life and peo- 
 ple. He judged them solely by his own feelings, not seeing 
 that they felt no bitter cold, as did he. They missed no sun-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 227 
 
 shine. Rain and cloud unbroken were unnoticed of them. 
 The black, bleak, and wild naked landscape sent no chill 
 to their souls. From infancy, they had seen no other. He 
 judged these people, and felt a great pity for them, unknow- 
 ing that what was to almost all of them but natural irksome- 
 ness, hard work, necessity unavoidable, a second nature, ap- 
 peared to himself severe, hard, cruelly toilsome, utterly soul- 
 destroying, terrible. 
 
 That evening in his bedroom he picked up a long letter 
 unfinished, written to Mary. In his own words he found a 
 painful interest. How vividly true were they! Mary had 
 asked him to describe Bruside. 
 
 "All night the heavy lorries carrying loads that weigh up 
 to seven, tons strain up the rising street of Bruside, over the 
 setted road, between the silent houses. Fine heavy horses 
 better cared for than the human beings pull together steadily 
 in fours and sixes without sound of whip or voice ; the house 
 trembles with the vibration of the heavy wheels, as though 
 siege guns were passing through at night in time of war. 
 These great loads, Mary, are the woven cloth, the spun wool 
 and cotton, the finished day's work of many, many, many 
 wearied men and women, and the loads were all going to Man- 
 chester, thirty-two miles away. When I heard the first foot- 
 falls of the work-people pass at five o'clock yesterday morn- 
 ing, I got out of bed and looked. The moon was shining and 
 setting in the West, and seemed to fill the stony street with 
 a cold bright light, and the wind sighed in the crowded tele- 
 graph wires. At five o'clock, and again at five-thirty, a hun- 
 dred waiting mills from near and far gave tongue through 
 their steam hooters, blaring their relentless summons: 
 
 " 'Get up ! Get ready ! Morning again ! There is no es- 
 cape ! The day's toil starts for you !' 
 
 "And yet the sky was all stars and night-smoke. 
 
 "The number of people going to work steadily increased 
 in volume. This was the infantry of commerce; battalions, 
 regiments, brigades, passing to the fighting line.
 
 228 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 "All these people wore wooden iron-shod clogs. TKey 
 tramped along the flagged pavements or ran on the hard stone- 
 paved road. Women and girls nearly all had their heads 
 shrouded in grey and Hack shawls; a few girls wore straw 
 sailor-hats, and all carried food in little baskets, handker- 
 chiefs, or oval tin boxes. I watched them in the moonlight, 
 till I shivered with cold. I see now why they are Socialists. 
 For half an hour the hollow street of stone houses, stone flag 
 fences, and stone underfoot, echoed with the clatter of the 
 clogs. Long strides of men ; quicker, shorter, lighter steps of 
 women, girls and children. At last the wide foot-paths were 
 insufficient, and the roadway was half-filled with hurrying 
 human heings from whom broke scarce a word, and no 
 laughter. One hundred were going to that mill, three hun- 
 dred to that, a thousand to that big one lit up inside with 
 countless lights. 
 
 "And now many began to run as the stream thinned 
 rapidly, the hooters blared again, and filled all the night- 
 covered valleys with their echoes, that died away at last over 
 the black moors; and then the street suddenly fell silent. 
 Steam was fully up. 
 
 "Thickset overlookers and managers count the last men, 
 women, girls and children as they pass through the narrow 
 picket-door, into the brilliant artificial light, and into the ex- 
 ceedingly hot atmosphere that smells, Mary, of grease, cot- 
 ton, fermented size, unbathed human bodies, and clothes 
 spotted with oil. . . . For who of these, Mary, has time, 
 energy and opportunity to bathe all over, between four and 
 five each wintry morning? And who can wear fresh clothes 
 each day ? 
 
 "The roving-frame girls, the carders and spinners, go to 
 their eighty-degree rooms. The overlookers stand there to 
 check and number, nearly all are in their places ; scowls and 
 roughest abuse are often given to those who are late. The 
 hands of the clock have come to the hour of six. The engine- 
 drivers in a thousand mills are pulling over their levers. The
 
 THE BORN FOOL 229 
 
 mighty humming of the West Eiding re-commences. At this 
 moment in the enormous and almost silent weaving sheds, 
 fifty shuttles begin flying swiftly, then with a crescendo of 
 roar the rest join in, the 'heels' go up and down, the web 
 parts and shuts for the speeding steel and boxwood, the 'pick- 
 ers' deftly catch and throw, the 'sled' swings in rapid har- 
 mony, the weavers stoop and walk and turn between their 
 looms. So great is the noise, Mary, that shout your loudest 
 and it will carry not three feet ! and when you emerge after 
 but a few minutes in this uproar, you will be unable for hours 
 to rid your ears of the tumult in them; but these people 
 spend their childhood in it, and they grow up and grow old 
 in it. 
 
 "The race is small of stature, and grows smaller. 
 
 "Three quarters of the elderly weavers look moderately 
 well ; the other quarter look deathly, both physically and men- 
 tally. The former are the non-ideal folk, those who are not 
 imaginative. The emotional and imaginative are those who 
 first go under, they are unfitted for the heavy toil. They are 
 unfitted to endure the noise and the monotony in two and a 
 half hours one has only come to half-past eight in the morn- 
 ing they cannot endure the long standing, the close confine- 
 ment, the heat. In severest frost it is hot inside the mill 
 they fade and wither in the greasy dust, the lack of air, the 
 ten-hour day, in reality the day of thirteen hours: for, you 
 see, Mary, that they are really occupied with thought of toil 
 from five in the morning till six o'clock at night. Oh, Mary 
 dear, you don't know how utterly heart-rending it is at times, 
 to me to look on at this, and its effects, especially on the 
 poor girls ; and some are still so pretty and pure. It is ruin- 
 ing our race, here. Nearly all the girls get varicose veins by 
 the time they are twenty-six or so. 
 
 "God help the naturally idle, the unhandy, until they are 
 cured. But God indeed help the ideally pure-minded, for 
 there are some here. They daily hear obscenity, they are bul- 
 lied by overseers, sometimes until they commit suicide, so I
 
 230 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 am told; and even their modesty has not been considered, 
 about here, by those who built the mills I have been into ; for 
 ranges of conveniences for the girls and women stand ex- 
 posed closely to the gaze of men."
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII 
 
 WITH this family Kirk lived very formally. He treat- 
 ed these young women courteously, reservedly, re- 
 spectfully, as markedly separate beings from himself but 
 yet with much unconscious sympathy and intuition, just as 
 he treated all women. The novelty of the present position ap- 
 pealed to his youthful curiosity for event. 
 
 Soon they had asked him to use their Christian names to 
 avoid the excessive repetition of "Miss Butterworth," and, 
 after the first shy hesitation, he grew used to it. But they 
 addressed him by his surname ; to them he was still Mr. Clin- 
 ton, or "he." 
 
 When at last he noticed the old lady habitually gave him- 
 self and Jim every bon bouche of the dishes, he objected po- 
 litely and with secret amusement, but without avail. He 
 waited several days ; then by a personal, sudden and decisive 
 order to Ruth he had the joint put opposite himself. 
 
 "Mrs. Gisburn," firmly remarked Kirk, with a keen eye 
 upon her as he stood up to carve, "I cannot let you carve any 
 more while I sit and look on : I always .carved for my mother 
 when the occasion arose, when my father and my elder 
 brother were absent and I know you will always let me do 
 so here, in the future; and I presume you, Jim, have no 
 objection ?" 
 
 "Nay ! ar've no objection, Mr. Clinton," quickly said Jim, 
 concealing his delight. 
 
 A little flattered, and for once in her life undecided, Mrs. 
 Gisburn began to speak, but Kirk broke in calmly, 
 
 "So we will do it to-day, and to-morrow, Ruth, and in the 
 
 231
 
 232 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 future your mother wishes you always to put the meat be- 
 fore me." 
 
 Mrs. Gisburn, nonplussed, glanced with disapproval round 
 the table. Jim, and Dinah whom he had pinched quietly, hid 
 their mirth, Marian was smiling slightly, thinking that Kirk 
 did not know her stepmother ; and Kirk and Ruth were quite 
 grave. But Mrs. Gisburn had given way, and later Marian 
 exclaimed to Kirk, 
 
 "It's the first time, Mr. Clinton, since the world began !" 
 
 Kirk carved in future, dealing forth the viands with a fine 
 discriminating fairness under those pairs of eyes that closely 
 watched each portion. 
 
 The same evening Ruth asked him to read them something 
 from his books. Marian had persuaded Ruth to this re- 
 quest. "You ask him, Ruth, he likes you best, I'd love to 
 hear him read like he talks . . . isn't his voice sweet ?" 
 
 Nothing loth, indeed very pleased, and glad to see the 
 girls allowed for once to sit and rest a brief space before their 
 early bed-time, Kirk went into the best sitting-room, and 
 there selected from his rows of books a Tennyson. As he 
 turned over the leaves his eyes lit on the words "Enoch and 
 Annie, sitting hand in hand." He stood a moment, held by 
 some inarticulate thought. Then, in more material mood, he 
 said, "Enoch with Annie, sitting hand in hand !" His mother 
 had read this poem to him, sitting near the sea at Abermawr 
 the summer before she died. He knew that he inherited her 
 powers of voice. With finger in the book he returned to the 
 living room. He sat down in a chair placed ready for him in 
 the family circle round the fire. All their eyes were upon 
 him. He paused, and then began to read Enoch Arden with 
 a new interest, a new insight which he never before had felt. 
 
 Throughout the long poem he was more conscious of Ruth 
 and Marian than the others. They only, thought he, will ap- 
 preciate and feel. 
 
 As he closed the book he saw that Jim and Dinah had not
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 233 
 
 kept awake, and that their faces looked worn and tired even 
 in sleep. Ruth, Marian, and Mrs. Gisburn had however in- 
 tently listened. They sat still and silent after Kirk finished 
 the poem. Then Marian slowly stood up and said in a low 
 voice, "Good night, mother" and went upstairs. Kirk saw 
 they were affected, and, also, greatly tired. He blamed him- 
 self for keeping them up till so late an hour. The looms had 
 been run all the week at top speed to try and recover in ad- 
 vance the approaching Christmas Day, the meagre cessation 
 from toil which this old-time glad season brought to these 
 girls. On account of the bad weather Kirk's Bruside works 
 would be closed a week. 
 
 As this first Christmas in the North approached, Kirk be- 
 came filled with a great overcoming passion like that of the 
 absent lover, again to see, speak with, and clasp in his arms 
 the beloved. 
 
 He wrote no word to friend or relative, made the journey 
 to the South, and Christmas Day found him solitary on a 
 Cirenhampton heath. 
 
 He stood once more entranced, looking with deep affection 
 at the distant downs, at the dark firs, over the sea of brown 
 bare trees even now reddening to the coming year. The im- 
 mense beautiful sky was open, unsullied, illimitable. Bright 
 sunlight fell on the preparing gorse bloom, and Kirk knelt 
 and bent forward that he might take the remembered sweet- 
 ness of these first lowly yellow flowers. And then, carried 
 to him and beyond him, on the ever-pure beloved air, came 
 one faultless delicious fluting of a blackbird, so trembling 
 with joy unutterable, that, as it were, the most ethereal chords 
 of his imagination suddenly were swept by heavenly music. 
 
 But coming to himself his soul was suddenly wrenched 
 against his will back to that daily life which re-awaited him, 
 in that dark sunless northland, in the befouled ways of men 
 to which he must return. But he stood up and thrust it all 
 away.
 
 234 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 He walked on towards the distant downs, where sun-lit 
 cloud-ranges, seemingly motionless, approached from an im- 
 mensity of distance. 
 
 Full of calm and peace he returned in darkness to a large 
 old-fashioned inn, and there changed his clothes, transferring 
 his notebook into the pocket of his dinner-jacket. He dined 
 in a bright room, from the ceiling of which hung the mistle- 
 toe. A faint aromatic smell of fir and yew came from the 
 evergreen garlands hung above the doors and the pictures. 
 The cheery glow from a huge fireplace trebled the redness in 
 the polished holly. 
 
 After dinner, and after overcoming a considerable shy- 
 ness that he felt, he put on his overcoat and soon passed 
 quickly along the almost silent street, lit by many cosy, 
 festive windows. He left the town behind and at length rang 
 the bell under the ancient portico of Cloud Agnell. 
 
 "Mr. Clinton, isn't it, Sir ?" said "William, admitting him. 
 
 "Yes. ... I happened to be in Cirenhampton this even- 
 ing. Have you any one here, William? Are they all at 
 home ? I shall not come in if you have guests." 
 
 "No, Sir, there's no one here to-night, except young Master 
 Wilfred home from school, and Miss Beatrice. I'll take your 
 card in, Sir." 
 
 "All right." 
 
 Mr. Lucy came quickly down the hall exclaiming, "My dear 
 Clinton ! Welcome ! We're delighted ! And a Merry Christ- 
 mas ! Where have you come from ?" 
 
 In the drawing-room Kirk received a warm welcome, but 
 was much upbraided for keeping his visit to himself. 
 
 "Oh! how odd men are! and especially you!" said Mrs. 
 Lucy, laughing as she re-entered the room. She had just 
 hospitably arranged that Kirk should sleep beneath her roof ; 
 and without consulting him she had sent for his portmanteau, 
 saying to the groom "Take the tub, and bring all his things.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 235 
 
 Tell them, from me, that Mr. Clinton will call in to-morrow." 
 
 Presently they listened to Kirk's description of his new 
 environment and asked him many questions; and at last he 
 told them how it oppressed him, and how he could not resist 
 rushing to the South. 
 
 "But it is the place to make money in," said Mr. Lucy, 
 echoing Brough's words "and you have your love of books, 
 Clinton, your many interests, you know, to relieve you ; . . . 
 and where have you heen to-day ?" 
 
 Kirk told them. His mention of Litchdown led Mr. Lucy 
 into story and legend of the hamlet ; he spoke of the name 
 
 " 'Litch' is Saxon and means a grave or body, thus 'Litch j 
 down' where those seven barrows are that you saw to-day. 
 ... I opened one of them for Lord Laymead, but we found 
 only a few flints, and one bronze fibula ; no other sign of any 
 interment : no ashes, no bones." 
 
 Mrs. Lucy believed Kirk loved music far more than ar- 
 cheology, and she turned to her daughter 
 
 "Beata, will you get your fiddle? and we'll have some 
 music." 
 
 "I suppose you've not heard much music since you left us, 
 Mr. Clinton?" 
 
 "No indeed, only one man, an organist at a parish church 
 some miles from me, who plays Heller. I should love some 
 music !" 
 
 "I thought you would . . . really! But Heller? How 
 strange! down there." 
 
 "Yes, he interprets so differently even the quite small 
 and simple compositions I know of no one else who can play 
 Heller. I had no idea before that Heller was great. But 
 this man who plays Heller is not a Yorkshireman. His name 
 is Martineau, rather French, isn't it? he is very bookish 
 . . . like I am," and Kirk smiled at his hostess. 
 
 "... How are the nature notes going on, Clinton ?" asked 
 Mr. Lucy, with a remembered interest. 
 
 "I haven't done much more. ... I could hardly write a
 
 236 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 bit to-day . . . and to-night, it is too beautiful here 
 after being away so long but I shall try and write when I 
 get back, and have thought of it all." 
 
 "I tell him, dear" Mr. Lucy was speaking to his wife 
 "he need never starve ! he can always earn his living with his 
 pen!" 
 
 Kirk longed to pull out his little book and read them his 
 words written before dinner, but he was too shy, it seemed 
 such a vanity; and perhaps it would sound all silly when 
 read ; and besides, Beatrice prepared to play to them. Mrs. 
 Lucy seated at the piano smoothed the pages of Debussy, and 
 Kirk lay back luxuriously in his chair. 
 
 Beatrice, now a girl of twenty, was indeed very pretty. She 
 and Kirk had felt always at ease each with the other, and 
 to-night, before her music carried him quite away, he lay 
 back and admired her, with that Quixotic, reverent, honour- 
 able and tender feeling ever evoked in him by the near pres- 
 ence of pure, beautiful women. She was a tall girl, and her 
 rather slight form was very graceful and virginal. Youth, 
 freshness and sweetness, permeated her being even as fra- 
 grant scent fills the air round the earliest violets. When she 
 rested her cheek against the violin Kirk watched her, and he 
 thought impersonally, as an artist might have done, of how 
 beautiful she would be, standing affectionately touching her 
 lover when he came for surely enough he would come. Her 
 dark, absorbed, shining eyes, looking down towards the fire- 
 light, the almost imperceptible and rhythmic movement of 
 her youthful form, her passionately sweet music, caused Kirk 
 to lower his eyes, and exclaim in secret, "Oh God, how 
 spiritual and exquisite are thy women !" 
 
 In this same mood, he looked at her again, and their eyes 
 met. 
 
 On retiring, he sat by the fire in his great Elizabethan bed- 
 room and thought of Mr. Lucy's words "He can always earn 
 his living with his pen." 
 
 For a few minutes the expression filled him with hope, his
 
 THE BORN FOOL 23T 
 
 dream of writing had been present with him all day : he he- 
 came conscious that during these years past he had been wait- 
 ing for and expecting some kind of inspiration, some kind of 
 illumination that would be shed upon him. He became aware 
 that these strong but inarticulate longings were always 
 towards something in the future, something unfulfilled. There 
 seemed to be some great barrier along which he had always 
 been wandering while he looked beyond, into the future, 
 with expectant waiting eyes. Never had he been overcome 
 by so great a repugnance as he now felt towards the ordinary 
 life and men, towards his profession and the coarseness of 
 engineering, of uncouth human beings, of talk of money, of 
 prices of concrete. The quiet clean earth upturned, befouled 
 and trodden ; the ugly grimy shapes in bricks and steel ; the 
 captive, herd-like, swinish, pushing, shoving and dirty 
 jostling and running to and fro of men solely to get food 
 and clothes and shelter all such was become abhorrent to 
 him, as would be the fouled air and denizens in the centre 
 of a modern city to one of those who dwelt with old Cheiron, 
 amid the mountain-woods and rocks and sparkling falling 
 waters of ancient Pelion. 
 
 Thinking to-night, Kirk perceived that the mass of human 
 beings, or, rather, of men, were almost submerged and were 
 swimming hard for dirty little life in this glutinous stream 
 of mud and sewage. He pictured them clambering on one 
 another here and there one filthy little human crawling on 
 a semi-buried mass of his struggling fellows. "That one, I 
 suppose!" apostrophised he "is a dirty, dishonourable, 
 cunning, successful politician or man of business!" "And 
 am I too one of those wretched little creatures? Are we 
 steadily becoming a race of social blow-flies and carnivorous 
 ants?" 
 
 A strange dissatisfaction with his beloved goddess Nature, 
 a grievous gust of knowledge, swept through him. This was 
 the knowledge of the cruel pitiless strife of flowers with 
 flowers, and trees with trees.
 
 238 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 He thought, with grief and revulsion, of that hideous prey- 
 ing one upon the other of fragile insects, and dainty liquid- 
 eyed birds. 
 
 Ah ! . . . for all these years it had been hidden from him 
 under their beauty and their glamour. He stood up in pain, 
 wishing passionately that he had lived before the times of 
 Darwin Nay ! Thousands of years ago ! Yes, it seemed as 
 if he had concealed it from himself, with fear, these last few 
 years ; but it was true, too true bitterly thought he. Ah ! if 
 one could leave it all, all, and dwell in deep pure space. 
 
 . . . But women were good. . . . Like their forms and 
 faces they were wholly finer in both grace and texture and 
 so incomparably purer, sweeter, and gentler, gentler and more 
 spiritual than man ! 
 
 His thoughts returned to the North. Again he heard the 
 footsteps going down the staircase in the winter dark and cold, 
 while inside the house the arctic draught shrilled and 
 mourned through every door and crevice, and outside, the 
 sleet beat fitfully against his bedroom window, hurled against 
 it by the bitter wind that howled through the mass of tele- 
 graph wires, shook the houses by its savage rush, and filled 
 the dark road with driven grit and fierce piercing eddies the 
 while those poor girls at Bruside should still have remained 
 for hours longer in their beds. Only three mornings ago he 
 had jumped out of his warm coverings and caught a glimpse 
 in the chill moonlight, of Marian's young figure closely drawn 
 about with her dark shawl, as fearful of being late she hur- 
 ried off nervously to the mill. 
 
 In two months Kirk had seen something of that horrible 
 factory life. He knew now the existence led by those girls. 
 He had lived in their home for two months. After reading 
 Enoch Arden to them, that night, he had been restless, 
 unable to sleep as well as he did usually, and a great pity 
 and a feverishness to help them grew in him. Especially did 
 he feel pity for Marian, for, though she looked robust, he di-
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 239 
 
 vined correctly that she was not, and further, he imagined 
 she felt the same aversion to her work that he now experi- 
 enced to his own. He fancied Marian felt her position more 
 keenly than did her sisters. "Yes," thought he again, to- 
 night, "she is more emotional and more sensitive than I first 
 thought. Juxtaposition with those coarse over-lookers and 
 plebeian men must daily hurt the girl to the heart." 
 
 And sitting in this old charming fire-lit bed-room, in the 
 peace and warmth of this choice home in the South, Kirk 
 vividly recalled those dark and distant hills, the roaring of 
 machinery, the smell of mills, the polluted rivers, the ugli- 
 ness, the stunted race, the toil unceasing. The injustice of 
 these differences revolted him. Why should those girls and 
 Marian still so youthful, so unspoilt, so affectionate and pure 
 be harassed from day to day, from year to year, from child- 
 hood to miserable old age, to get a hand-to-mouth existence, 
 while, during the same years, Beatrice was born into this 
 sweet old home and dear cared-f or life ? 
 
 While he was thus thinking Beatrice, partly undressed in 
 her own room, went to a long mirror and gazed a few mo- 
 ments at her own reflection. Then she changed her attitude 
 smiled slightly and then smiled the more at her own face 
 and smile. But growing thoughtful she stood motionless and 
 looked down, and saw her own pretty feet. She was think- 
 ing : "He is only like a brother . . . that's all he thinks of 
 poor me! ... He's not cold; but oh so separate! ... I 
 know him not a bit ! Nor he me !" . . . "Silly !" said she 
 aloud to herself, and glanced over herself, and then left the 
 mirror, and whistled a little sad refrain diminuendo, as she 
 moved about.
 
 CHAPTEE XXIX 
 
 KIRK spent the next two days among the old sand and 
 gravel pits round Cirenhampton, deciding percentages 
 of different flint, stone, and quartzite pebbles. Very early on 
 the fourth day he left for Cheltenham. There he found Ted 
 looking well and happy, and in high spirits. Despite refusal 
 in two successive years Ted now had won the day. He was 
 newly betrothed. The brothers walked to "Mthsdale," the 
 home of Ted's fiancee, and there spent a most happy time. 
 Her father, Robert Mackenzie, was a bishop or "Angel" in 
 the Apostolic Church. Born at Dundee he took his M.A. at 
 St. Andrew's. Later he went to London and became a barris- 
 ter, and, prior to entering the church, he had for years been 
 successful at Edinburgh, as an advocate. 
 
 He was a short man, of strong and heavy build. His im- 
 mense leonine head was well set on broad shoulders and a bull 
 neck. He forthwith impressed one. The blue twinkling 
 sparkling eyes, the deep little lines radiating from their cor- 
 ners and ever-ready for mirth, the shaggy brows, great nose, 
 chestnut luxuriant hair, the grand face clearly marked a 
 Jupiterian rather than a man of law. His quick speech, alert 
 action, forceful gesture, told instantly of directness and en- 
 ergy. He was father of ten children. Jean, his third, was 
 now engaged to Ted. She was a girl tall, handsome, and re- 
 fined. Her dark and thick hair, fine nose, snowy neck and 
 gray intelligent eyes attracted the repeated quiet scrutiny of 
 Kirk. From these beautiful intellectual eyes it seemed to 
 him she looked out with cheerfulness, with a conscious prac- 
 tical ability, a calm judgment, a serene good nature, and a 
 fixity of faith. He judged her correctly, but Jean also inherit- 
 ed her father's energy and humour, only in her these traits 
 
 240
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 241 
 
 were far more latent. She was not demonstrative. Her 
 mother gave the greater influence. Beneath everything flowed 
 always, as it were, a strong current. Jean possessed a large- 
 hearted irony and force of character, keen observation and 
 remembrance giving her a dual and secret mental life en- 
 tirely unsuspected even by her family. 
 
 It rained, and after lunch Mackenzie carried Kirk off to 
 play with him upon a somewhat battered billiard table. Seven 
 young folk in one house gave this table but little rest. Not 
 quite large enough, the room required the use of a dumpy 
 little cue for top-end-strokes ; and Kirk, greatly enlivened by 
 his host, frequently avoided this cue by what he called "engi- 
 neering shots." Mackenzie, nothing if not enthusiastic, each 
 time danced a moment, stood motionless, and exhorted Kirk 
 "Go on! Go on! Weel! Weel! mgeenioua canthrip! 
 Hech! hech! Man! Man!! Ye'll neverrr do it!!" And 
 more than once Kirk attempted eccentricities just to excite 
 his host and hear the Scottish accent at its best. Between 
 strokes they talked much of books, experience, and people. 
 Before five o'clock it occurred to Kirk that he had told Mr. 
 Mackenzie a great deal about himself, and his thoughts. 
 
 "Mither! Ye behold just two vary, vary learrned men, 
 in me and the Kirrrkpatrick !" was a statement made at tea 
 time and received with great laughter. 
 
 Late that evening in his rooms, Ted recounted to Kirk all 
 his long love-affair. He was now intensely eager and hopeful 
 of progress in his business, so that he might marry. He was 
 very anxious about this. 
 
 "If I had not been in the Church, Kirk, her father would 
 never have given his consent, for my salary is so poor at 
 present, and they are well off, but then too" (Ted smiled) "I 
 had her dear Mother upon my side." Ted paused as he 
 thought of Jean, then turned to Kirk with a lit face and ex- 
 claimed
 
 242 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Kikkie, she's the truest woman I ever met!" 
 
 "I like her, Ted, very much indeed ; even I can see she is 
 no ordinary girl. She's very handsome . . . beautiful." 
 
 Ted put his hand on his brother's knee. "Kikkie, old man, 
 you don't know what a severe thing it is to be in love. You 
 have no idea ! not in the least ! When she refused me the last 
 time you know that frightful hill just beyond Savernake? 
 well, I rode down that too fast in any case that day, but 
 my handle-bars came out and I didn't care in the least; I 
 thought it was death and I was glad. I sat steady, waiting, 
 but somehow the blessed machine went on itself ! and up the 
 other side! and stopped. 
 
 "I told her about it the other day. I've had such a ... 
 an awfully trying time, these last few years, and you know 
 it kept me from doing just what I wanted to do, I mean it 
 prevented me doing my work as well, and being as keen in it 
 but I could only think of her; and when she refused me 
 the second time I could not have gone on, if it had not been 
 for the Church. I know you're different, Kirk . . . about 
 the Church . . . it's your pride of intellect." Ted spoke on 
 questioningly and wonderingly. "But what Mother could 
 believe, surely you can believe . . . ? 
 
 "... And then a month ago I felt Jean had changed to- 
 wards me, and her mother smiled at me one day, after 
 Church, in a way I understood; so I arranged to ask Jean 
 once more." 
 
 Ted laughed to himself. 
 
 "It was not like other times. I didn't feel stupid, besides, 
 I knew Angus Duncan had asked her and been refused 
 young Rob told me 
 
 "Which one is that, the youngest brother ?" 
 
 "Yes, so I gave him a new fly-rod on condition he was to 
 take her out in a boat, row her up to Larn Bridge, and I was 
 to be there, Kikkie (all unbeknown, you bet!), and Rob was 
 to insist on picking me up, etc. ! I'll tell you. So I got in. 
 We went on, me in the bow, and we left the boat at Alderf ord,
 
 THE BORN FOOL 243 
 
 and Rob, the young beggar, pretended he'd not fastened the 
 boat up properly, and went back. He left her to me for ten 
 minutes, and I felt not a bit nervous. You've no idea what 
 a fool I must have seemed the other times ! but this time I 
 said to her 
 
 " 'Jean, why did you refuse poor Angus Duncan ?' and she 
 walked faster, and I said, 'Jean, I love you so strongly, that I 
 insist on speaking to you again, and if you'll marry me I'll 
 make you love me.' ... I said something else . . . I've 
 forgotten . . . and asked her again, 'Why did you refuse 
 Angus ?' . . . and then I saw her cheek sideways and she was 
 smiling as if she were awfully amused and then what do you 
 think she replied, very low, Kirk?" Ted's eyes shone with 
 his intent vision. "She said, 'Because I love you!' So I 
 kissed her, and she let me, bless her, and then I kissed her 
 four times. 
 
 "And young Jim told them at table that he had brought 
 us together ! and was offended because they wouldn't take him 
 seriously. Oh how her father did laugh !" 
 
 "Kirk !" shouted Ted, laughing, and jumping up from 
 sheer high spirits, "and now she loves me! me! your old 
 stupid Ted !" and he caught violently hold of Kirk (also 
 laughing) and they did a prodigious hop-waltz round Ted's 
 room, upsetting chairs and a small table of books and some 
 one knocked sharply at the door. The female voice of one 
 highly aggrieved called through the door 
 
 "Was you wanting anything, Mr. Clinton?" 
 
 "Oh no, Mrs. Jones ! it's all right ! don't be afraid !" cried 
 Ted. "I've just been explaining a little engineering problem 
 to my brother, you know thank you good night, Mrs. Jones 
 Good night !" 
 
 "Oh, you shocking liar, Ted ! Well, you make me marvel !" 
 
 "Wait till you fall in love, Kikkie !" said Ted, with exul- 
 tation. "It runs in the family, the old man fairly stormed 
 Mother, so Aunt Athorpe says. Fairly carried her off by 
 force from some other fellow, I believe."
 
 244 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Yes, he did love her . . . and no one else," said Kirk. 
 
 The two brothers parted next evening. Kirk changed trains 
 at Bristol, and there was an hour between arrival and depar- 
 ture. He left the station quickly to do something for which 
 he had not found opportunity in Cheltenham. Fruit was 
 scarce and poor in the North, but here he bought four large 
 bunches of splendid purple-black grapes and he took them, 
 carefully packed, to the station. He placed them on the 
 middle of the carriage seat to prevent their being jarred. 
 Their possession gave him a warm gratification. Now he 
 was in the train the return to Bruside did not seem so distaste- 
 ful as he had imagined it would be. He was somewhat aware 
 of a slight sense of unfaithfulness to his beloved South, but 
 he did not analyse his feelings. He thought of Ted, and of 
 Jean. . . . 
 
 "Very fine-looking, beautiful and good, a rich nature, a 
 lovely body in keeping, a rather noble face. . . . Ted's very 
 fortunate . . . but I would never have fallen in love with 
 her, nor she with me. She is too religious, too conventional, 
 too ... I don't know what." 
 
 He well knew himself to be different somehow from others 
 . . . and he fell asleep in his solitary corner wondering 
 vaguely why he was different and the train roared on 
 through Worcestershire and past his old home. 
 
 At half-past six next morning, in pitchy darkness and a 
 heavy mist and dense rain, he arrived at Bruside. He walked 
 up the long hill-road. Only Mrs. Gisburn was in the house. 
 She smiled at him as he entered the gas-lit room. 
 
 "Ay, Mr. Clinton ! I'm glad to see ye ! it's seemed so dead 
 and lone-like, without ye ! Gurls was sorry ye went away for 
 Christmas, but I told them 'Nay ! he mun see his own folk, 
 gurls.' " 
 
 Kirk shook her hand, then at once began to open the box 
 of grapes before he took off his dripping overcoat, but she 
 stopped him, and helped him take off his coat. She carried 
 it away and returned, saying :
 
 THE BORN FOOL 245 
 
 "Ruth's just put her shawl on and gone to Ackroyd's to 
 get some eggs. Now ye must be wet and cowd and ye look 
 quite neshed ! and ye'll have something to eat at once ?" 
 
 "Oh, I'm all right, thank you, Mrs. Gisburn," said Kirk, 
 adding : "Will you bring me a big dish ? I've brought some 
 grapes for the girls." 
 
 When Mrs. Gisburn saw the pile of luscious fruit she was 
 quite shocked. 
 
 "Mesther Clinton ! Mesther Clinton ! Ye mustn't go spend- 
 ing your munney like that agen, and on our gurls !" 
 
 "Good heavens! Why, it's nothing, Mrs. Gisburn! But do 
 you think they will like them ? We can send some to the mill 
 for their breakfast, can't we?" 
 
 "Like them? Ay indeed, they'll weel like them, but ye'd 
 no right to go wasting your munney, Mr. Clinton. Dinah and 
 Marian's often bothered me to get them grapes i' summertime. 
 They do say the mill's ower-waarm all the year for etting in, 
 though I've never been to mill mysel', for my folk had a good 
 business . . . Ay, I've never seen such grapes !" then she con- 
 tinued in a softer voice, "I'm sure it's varry kind of ye, Mr. 
 Clinton, to bring them, they've come from South ?" 
 
 "Yes, they were grown in Devon so they said now let 
 us make up three equal shares, I'm sure Jim will like them 
 too, will you cut them up, Mrs. Gisburn ?" He was removing 
 his wet boots. 
 
 Mrs. Gisburn gingerly handling her scissors parsimoni- 
 ously cut a few grapes from a single bunch. 
 
 "Oh, far, far more than those ! one minute, Mrs. Gisburn ! 
 shall I do it ? Yes, let me do it !" 
 
 He ran upstairs, hastily washed his hands, then came down 
 and made up three goodly half bunches. 
 
 "There ! send those !" said he smiling. 
 
 "They'll be fair surprised and pleased," said Mrs. Gis- 
 burn. "Ee ! Dinah will fair felly wi' them !" said she with 
 a hard smile, overcoming her scruples of propriety and thrift, 
 and catching Kirk's enthusiasm.
 
 246 THE BORN" FOOL 
 
 " Telly ?' " laughed Kirk. "What does 'felly' mean ?" 
 
 "Proud-like, y'r know, ovver t'other gurls. It'll be first 
 time grapes like these have ever been etten i' yon mill; I 
 don't know what folks'll say to me." 
 
 "What ...?... Mrs. Gisburn, believe me, you should 
 never care in even the slightest degree, what others say of 
 you!" 
 
 Glowing with the romantic idiocy of inexperienced youth, 
 Kirk wrote on a bit of paper, "From K. Clinton," and at 
 eight o'clock he saw the breakfast basket leave for the mill.
 
 CHAPTER XXX 
 
 KIRK began to lose his first keen aversion to the rough 
 and bleak scenery of Bruside. For his was that type of 
 mind which imagines always the living figure in the hewn 
 marble that type which, while young, cannot long remain 
 unaffectionate, even to trees, things, places, walls and houses. 
 These people are like those plants which, after being torn 
 up by the roots, always have power, after a long pause, to 
 put forth again the live leaves the same kind of leaves 
 from the merest dry roots. Kirk's letters to Mary dwelt less 
 and less on the hideousness of mills. He had found the be- 
 loved faithful spring forgot not the north-country. He had 
 discovered and daily appreciated that Bruside was far better 
 off than all those narrow town-filled valleys so squalid, 
 crowded, and polluted that lay as it were sunk around Bru- 
 side. Up here they had the moors and the people of the 
 moors Celtic-minded and romantic to-day up to the very 
 limit their hard commercial lives permitted them. 
 
 Upon a still and mild evening, early in April, Kirk stood 
 among the sisters and beside the brother, on the flagged space 
 before their house. Kirk long had appreciated the sensibility 
 of the unknown man who built this house the man who set 
 its face towards the open distance. 
 
 It was sunset and the light died far away over the distant 
 moorlands. From the house front the land sloped away 
 quickly through many little stone-walled fields, down into the 
 deep hazy valley. The wonted lines of white unmelted snow, 
 which for so many cold and stormy months had lain behind 
 the distant netting of black stone walls had now like magic 
 faded and vanished in these first warm days. 
 
 247
 
 248 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Doors and windows for hours had stood wide open. The 
 evening drew in slowly. Lonely thrushes sang in the distant 
 little woods that sheltered in the cloughs and deeper folds, and 
 it was the "sweeling-time." 
 
 The boys of the few moorland farms were this evening at 
 sundown burning off the coarse herbage, long dead and snow- 
 bleached. The dead growth would have hindered the young 
 blades from pushing upwards. This burning was called "the 
 sweel'ing," or "swale-ing." 
 
 Marian had linked arms with Ruth, and they all watched 
 the fiery lines and patches like dropped fragments of the 
 fiery sunset beginning, creeping, and growing on the remote 
 black moors. This was a time of year joined in Marian's life 
 with the scanty joys that she had known. More than the com- 
 ing of Christmas more even than the brass bands playing 
 "Hail, Smiling Morn" very early on New Year's morning 
 did the coming of sweeling-time always move Marian. And 
 Kirk, too, standing beside her, perceived a murmuring and 
 smiling in the dark land the hard hand of winter at last re- 
 moved the wondrous sound of the earthly blessed resurrec- 
 tion of the flowers. 
 
 Marian exclaimed in a low voice, "Fancy ! It's the first 
 time he's ever seen the sweeling !" 
 
 The warm gentle wind carried from afar the sweet scent 
 of burning ling and heath-plants. 
 
 "Can't you smell it ?" said Marian, ecstatically. "Oh ! . . 
 isn't it sweet? It's from the moors right beyond. . . . 
 You'll see it to-morrow, Mr. Clinton, all the valleys and the 
 air'll be blue with it. . . . I do love this . . . you'll see . . . 
 There's lots of flowers here later on, aren't there, Jim ? . . . 
 clover-heads and butterflowers in the fields, and foxgloves i' 
 Fall water Clough, like what you talk of ... you'll see !" 
 
 Kirk and Marian spoke now and then. But in their voices 
 an intense and other meaning than of their words quickened 
 between them. Pure, marvellous, physical vibrations passed 
 between them in secret; but Kirk remained unconscious of
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 249 
 
 their purport. Glows of vague joy and hope filled him, noble 
 thoughts arose, his protectiveness surrounded Marian and her 
 sisters, and extended far from him even over all the toiling 
 people in the darkening valleys. He felt an aureola of sweet- 
 ness and kindness around himself and he spread it far out 
 over his fellow human heings. He began speaking in a low 
 voice, passionately, 
 
 "Oh, Marian ! what romance, what passion, what inarticu- 
 late longing-to-be, there is in this strange land of mills and 
 steam and engineering and moors, and long wild weather, 
 and spring again ! . . . that is the feeling it gives me, the 
 unsung feeling; the joy and the sorrow of this land where life 
 passes so feverishly and unrested, where such immeasurable 
 cry of work, and toil, and love undying, ascends. But the 
 Mother-earth forgets not her toiling child and Spring comes, 
 and is clasped passionately by her dark Northern child." 
 
 He stopped speaking and thought on to himself, "What 
 can be this quickening and suffering of so many ? It must be, 
 yes, is, for some great end of which we still know nothing. 
 They are all to learn some deep thing that as yet they know 
 but dimly. The Lancashire Edwin Waugh felt it, and ex- 
 pressed it as much as his gift allowed him in those poems, but 
 still, still it remains an inarticulate 'moorland,' overcoming 
 me, and all who come to it, with the roar of its toil and ma- 
 chinery so that they cannot yet speak or think, and all their 
 lives are taken up in doing, and yet they have this" and 
 he gazed at the fires in the sky and the golden moving lines on 
 the dusky moors. 
 
 "This is the magical eternal return of its own life to their 
 own moors their beloved sweeling time, and I see now that 
 these great wilds, the cloughs, the crowded valleys, all teem 
 with romance, with themes of hidden kindness and beauty; 
 and where have I seen lovers more understood, appreciated, 
 and loved of all ? . . . and that's a beautiful sign, and some 
 day in their midst will grow up some mightier poet, or he may 
 be a musician ! yes, a musician ! into whom will enter the face
 
 250 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 and nature of their moors and their lives so beautiful be- 
 neath the careworn lines that I see, and I so feel and his 
 music will be like all the feelings of these people, like their 
 suffering, patience, toil, going-on-ness their life and their 
 passionate love of homes." "He will be of their very own, 
 but more spiritual." 
 
 Next day the whole sunny, still atmosphere, was stained 
 and blued with the slow-dispersing smoke from the moors ; it 
 sank down into the narrow valleys and slowly filled them ; it 
 rose up again to stream away across the high moorlands. 
 Gradually the sweet haze invaded every house. 
 
 As he went down to work Kirk saw unwonted movement on 
 the distant isolated little farms, so long beaten by winter 
 storm and snows and rain. The cows had been led forth 
 from their close byres, and Kirk saw them gambol clumsily. 
 The distant crow of cocks came on the spring air. Green 
 buds showed in the stunted hawthorns, and Kirk who shared 
 their joy knew that somewhere in these low still-naked bushes 
 the hedgesparrow hid her bright blue eggs, for the little cock 
 sang upon a thorn-tip, his eyes bright as bright, his voice 
 sweet as sweet. 
 
 A fortnight later, the cry of a cuckoo while the bird trav- 
 elled on northwards from sloping leafless copse to copse 
 reached the ears of Kirk, so unexpected by him, and moved 
 him to his soul. 
 
 But the repulsion Kirk felt to his work, to engineering, 
 to these coarse materialistic men who do the heavy physical 
 work of the world, had not decreased, and it became more 
 and more irksome, difficult, miserable, to descend from the 
 heavenly and beautiful that he lived in. Yet daily and hourly 
 was he forced to contract himself down to the crude actuali- 
 ties of concrete and excavations, of disputes for money, of 
 watching over dishonest minds. He had to descend and enter 
 minutely into things which no longer interested him. For
 
 THE BORN FOOL 251 
 
 he looked far into distant time, and he saw the triviality of 
 the whole material works of the world ; he saw in the remote 
 recesses of time these very works, infinitely long-since fin- 
 ished, used, grown old, abandoned, decayed, disappeared ; and 
 a new race of men come, to repeat the monotonous, useless, 
 materialistic earth-life. 
 
 Never had the irrepressible obscenities of navvies and pub- 
 lic-works' men jarred him as they had done of late. But he 
 forced himself sternly and conscientiously to do his duty ; and 
 he found a friend who helped him by example. 
 
 Mr. Wilkinson watched the works on behalf of the Water 
 Board. He bore the old English title of "Clerk of the Works." 
 He had quickly noted with surprise that Kirk held strong 
 ideas about honour, truth, and good work. For some months 
 he had watched incredulously, expecting to find some more 
 subtle form of roguery ; for Mr. Wilkinson had not previous- 
 ly met a contractor's engineer who pleased him. They all 
 had possessed a too peculiar and perverted honour. They 
 were all wolves and thieves in Mr. Wilkinson's opinion. They 
 all thought it their true enthusiastic duty to their employers 
 to get payment for more than they had done, to use less 
 cement and more inferior cement than was specified. They all 
 tried hard to use qualities of material that only just passed 
 the standard of goodness, to proffer worse materials in the 
 hope of their acceptance, and to cheat in every way possible ; 
 especially during any temporary absence of the watchful 
 Clerk of Works. But in the past four or five months of Kirk's 
 supervision none of these too common abuses had arisen on 
 the Bruside works, and Mr. Wilkinson had come to take quite 
 a warm interest in this new kind of young man from the 
 South; and, at cautious length, he desired his friendship. 
 Kirk, upon his part, perceived in this man sterling good quali- 
 ties. He found him just, honourable, helpful, clever, far-see- 
 ing in methods, fair in measurement and allowance, and gen- 
 erous in sound advice gathered from his large experience. 
 
 Mr. Wilkinson was self-educated. Once he had been a
 
 252 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 woollen weaver ; then for some years he was a dyer's labourer ; 
 but, being refused a well-deserved promotion, he had fiercely 
 put on his coat and left this work. 
 
 After severe vicissitudes in small shop-keeping, he became 
 a builder's clerk, and there he succeeded. He became outside 
 foreman, and did good work in school building. He left this 
 staff and passed from new railway stations and bridges to 
 small waterworks, then to large well-known works, and thus 
 back to Bruside, which lay near his birthplace. A quick and 
 eager learner, a natural seeker after refinement, he had bene- 
 fited by his contact with eminent architects and engineers, 
 and further, by much reading of good literature. His North- 
 ern accent was now but slight and his grammar quite good. 
 Kirk and Mr. Wilkinson at times had their lunch together, 
 and conversed on men and things. Kirk found his colleague 
 knew much of Burns and Walter Scott. Wilkinson one day 
 brought out from a cupboard some of these authors' works 
 and asked Kirk in that shy way of those who live much in- 
 ternally 
 
 "Do you read much, Mr. Clinton I ... I think you do. 
 Do you know these ? . . . I read a bit in the dinner hour, and 
 a good deal at home . . . it's a pleasant change from the 
 work." He opened the Burns while he spoke, and after a 
 few nervously shy movements, he read impressively a few 
 verses that well pleased him, and Kirk was charmed. 
 
 The mind of this man was materialistic yet philosophical. 
 He had a slow* but acute insight into character. He perceived 
 Kirk to be an idealist, and would have despised him had Kirk 
 not also given daily evidence of downright sound practica- 
 bility. Kirk discovered a secret timid idealism in ]\Ir. Wil- 
 kinson, and that he had a sure artistic intuition in architec- 
 ture. Kirk advised him upon literature, and also discoursed 
 learnedly on strains and graphics. Wilkinson discussed de- 
 sign of buildings, methods of doing engineering work, books, 
 and philosophical ideas. 
 
 On the Bruside works they settled amicably and justly each
 
 THE BORN FOOL 253 
 
 point as it arose. Their policy was that of give and take, 
 the just compromise. The engineer to the Board thought 
 much of Wilkinson, for he had been with him some years and 
 he knew his qualities. Things went smoothly at Bruside, the 
 work done was good, and there were no disputes. 
 
 "Old Wilkinson gives that youngster high praise," said the 
 engineer to his partner; and without Kirk knowing it he 
 began to earn a reputation in certain northern engineering 
 circles. 
 
 The concessions gained now and then by Kirk made up 
 amply for any supposed saving effected by roguery. Mr. 
 Bendigo was reaping a steady profit of twenty-five per cent. ; 
 he too was well pleased; and with his employer Kirk's star 
 was in the ascendant. 
 
 Expecting surprise, Kirk one day abruptly broke his own 
 reserve, and remarked at lunch 
 
 "I suppose, Mr. Wilkinson, that you think I like this kind 
 of life?" 
 
 "No, Mr. Clinton, I have not thought that for a long 
 time." The surprise was Kirk's. 
 
 "But that needn't trouble you; you are very young, you 
 will get used to things. Most men think they could be happy 
 in some line they have never tried. . . . Now look at Mr. 
 Brough, he seems really born for engineering and business, 
 does he not ?" 
 
 "Yes, I should say he was one in his right field." 
 
 Wilkinson laughed. "Well! believe me, Mr. Clinton, he 
 told me one day before you came and he was speaking the 
 truth that his whole ambition is to become a big farmer, 
 and that he hates his business and our own line in life and 
 he longs only for that ; he said he meant to buy a farm out- 
 right." 
 
 "I should never have thought it !" 
 
 A curious disappointment touched Kirk. He had believed 
 himself the one rare person who lived a strange dual life,
 
 254 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 among his fellow men. The new fact seemed to tie him more 
 irretrievably to his profession. If Brough could not over- 
 come his environment and fate so very strong a man how 
 could he himself escape ? 
 
 A second thought arose How had Wilkinson fathomed 
 him? 
 
 ". . . But do I look then as though I hated money-grul> 
 bing? As though I were not an engineer?" He asked it 
 anxiously, but the elder man laughed. 
 
 "Nay," said Wilkinson, eyeing him up and down, and smil- 
 ing wisely, "you look an engineer all over, Mr. Clinton if 
 that pleases you ! You are young, and you will find as you 
 go on that very few men want to excel, very few indeed aim 
 at being something genuine, as you do. They all look at their 
 work as something that has to be done only in order to get 
 money. They don't care at all if it is good or bad engineer- 
 ing, or good or bad architecture, or good or bad cloth, so long 
 as it brings in the money, and gives the least trouble. That's 
 why there's so much bad architecture put up. . . . But life 
 is nothing but duty, Mr. Clinton. Duty is the only thing that 
 lasts, the only thing that ever gives a man satisfaction !" 
 
 But to Kirk that cold duty seemed repellant, unescapable, 
 and possessed of an importance that was too lamentable. Ah, 
 were there not all lovely things beside, and none knew 
 what . . . ? 
 
 At this time the presence of Mr. Wilkinson was to Kirk a 
 source of real help and steadiness. 
 
 A week later and the snow once more lay in patches on the 
 moors and hills, and in long white lines behind the black 
 walls of those solitary upland farms, whose fields creep up 
 to the verges of the waste moors. The cattle were again in 
 their steamy shippens. It was strange to Kirk that this sud* 
 den change had come with a dark depression he felt. Since 
 the evening when he had walked back from Junipen, this over- 
 whelming sadness had come upon him suddenly now and
 
 THE BORN FOOL 255 
 
 again. Trying to analyse his own feelings he thought it was 
 the desire not to live the world-life, the aversion from human 
 life as apparently set out for him. Sometimes he had even 
 wished he were religious, for then he felt he would be drawn 
 strongly to monastic life. He had read and spoken of love, 
 but always as of some distant beautiful thing he had once 
 known. He had been thrilled, but never once had he dwelt 
 on the acquiring of a home for himself and another. Never 
 had he consciously imagined himself loving and living with 
 a girl, a wife. . . . He pondered over and turned again in 
 mind to the words of the poet and philosopher. "And I con- 
 sider love unto things and ghosts to be higher than love unto 
 men." And, thought Kirk to himself, "It was said for me 
 and my rare species, not for Ted, or Minnitt, or Mr. Lucy, or 
 Brough, or Wilkinson." 
 
 As he walked slowly up from the works through the cold 
 penetrating air, he sought to re-enter his departing dreams 
 and thus refresh his passionate love of nature. Undoubtedly 
 he had experienced a strange diminution in his old love. He 
 thought it was caused by this material life he was forced to 
 lead and by his sad acknowledgment of the apparently proved 
 truths of Hegel, Huxley, Darwin, and the rest of them. 
 
 The ewes had all lambed in the South, but here he no- 
 ticed though the thrush had sung and the sun shone, yet at 
 midday the pools of the undrained fields in the deep foggy 
 valley remained icebound, and the day was now closing in 
 cold, ruddy and frosty, just as in winter depths. 
 
 In the South there would be no snow, and the tender green 
 things would all be pushing up through the kindly dead 
 leaves ; a rustling would already go on all night in those warm 
 Southern woods, and the sleek shrew-mice would squeak, 
 sing, and glide furtively, and at this mid-day were running in 
 the hedgerow bottoms, or stopping, in the real sunshine, to 
 nibble the first delicate green of the wild geranium But 
 here . . . life was surely all hard and cold. . . .
 
 256 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 He sat silently at 'the evening meal, and looked once at 
 Marian, as, perhaps, Hamlet once looked at Ophelia. Be- 
 tween himself and woman, there seemed a great gulf fixed. A 
 vague unaccountable but irresistible grief and feeling of un- 
 rest drove him to go forth ; he rose from his place and with 
 scarcely a word left the house. 
 
 When he had gone away so oddly Dinah alone was in good 
 spirits, and scornful with it. 
 
 "Ay, Mother !" she exclaimed as they heard the door close 
 "I think nowt of your fine gentlemen ! Give me a chap like 
 Arthur Clegg any day, say I! I never know how to take 
 yon. He's like them soft ones ye read of !" 
 
 "Tha'd like to have him theeself , wouldn't thee, Dinah ?" 
 said mischievous Jim, laughing. 
 
 "Not while he's after our Marian!" snapped Dinah, 
 greatly vexed, jealous, and intent to wound. Her dark bru- 
 nette cheeks flushed up. She interrupted Ruth and Mrs. Gis- 
 burn, to mimick cleverly Kirk's voice " 'Marian, Marian, I 
 feel this land is so romantic' " "Did ye hear th' soft thing 
 on th' flagstone, sweelin' night ?" " 'Marian, Ho ! Mar- 
 ian !' " and she mimicked Kirk again, very amusingly and 
 maliciously. Jim was laughing so much that the tea in his 
 poised cup spilled on the cloth. 
 
 "Dash you! if you say another word I'll throw this at 
 you !" said Marian, picking up a knife she had gone very 
 pale. 
 
 "I tell you I hate him, and I hate all of you," said she. 
 
 She pushed back her chair and went quickly and heavily 
 up to her bedroom. She left Mrs. Gisburn angrily speak- 
 ing. 
 
 "What are ye saying? Y're all mad! I never heard the 
 like ! He'd not stay here a day if he knew ! I'm ashamed 
 of ye, ... if ye were my own daughters, but yeVe no pride 
 in ye ! and what are ye ? Naught but mill-girls ! How dare 
 ye carry on like that, ye huzzy Dinah. . . ." She paused
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 257 
 
 for breath, and Ruth most unusually moved broke in 
 quietly 
 
 "I shall not live with you, Dinah, if you behave like this 
 again. Mr. Clinton is a gentleman, and will never look at 
 any of you, nor, I am sure, has ever looked at any of you, 
 from that point of view. And you must tell him to seek some 
 other house, mother. As for you, Dinah, you have shown a 
 vulgar and ridiculous jealousy; and Marian has shown her 
 usual manners and, of course, has left me her washing-up 
 and shelves to do, although it is her turn, as I have no doubt 
 she well knows. I shall consider if it is not my duty to re- 
 peat to Mr. Clinton every word that has just been spoken." 
 
 Euth waited calmly until the outcry against her ceased, 
 and then continued her remarks "Nor are we mill-girls, 
 mother. You too have insulted me. We were not born to 
 that, you know that we are different ; you have never worked 
 in a mill yourself, Mother, you do not know what it is like, 
 and please never again throw that in our faces." 
 
 This allusion of her stepmother's deeply vexed Euth's 
 pride, for she and her sisters for years now had sustained 
 themselves more than they knew and self-succoured their own 
 weary hearts with the mutual feeling that they were not of 
 the mill-life. They had a hope and belief of better things 
 and better fortunes, and they all secretly looked forward to 
 relief from the forced association with the crowd of ordinary 
 mill-folk with whom they refused to be too familiar and 
 who treated them accordingly. The companionship of Kirk 
 unconsciously and immensely had revived them, but in the 
 younger sisters the association had awakened subtilely a pain- 
 ful and active discontent with their lot. For months Marian 
 had been living in a secret dream of extraordinary hope and 
 happiness. When Kirk showed her some little unthought pref- 
 erence she was filled with joy. But even to her secret self 
 she had not put questions, for she dared not ; and when she 
 had found herself thinking, "Oh, I always knew he would 
 come!" she quickly stifled it with a fear almost superstitious.
 
 258 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 She was being carried in rose-light, to a culmination. But 
 is it possible for a young woman to have strong feelings to- 
 wards a man, without rousing in him at least some kind of 
 answering throb ? If he is young, such is certain in the end. 
 
 The character of Marian was impulsive, emotional, in- 
 stinctive, and non-mental. Ruth was refined, sexless, unself- 
 ish, and intellectual without the scope. Dinah was strongly 
 built, she was a materialist, of the quickness of a spider, and 
 she never dreamt. Jim was a true philosopher, light-hearted, 
 light of conscience, lightly tied to everything, moderately un- 
 selfish, and his clever mind and sense of humour carried him 
 easily through any trouble. He was seldom serious, and 
 those who were unknowingly tempted him to tease or quiz 
 them. Also, he had a wiry, healthy body. He had always 
 been the happiest member of the family. 
 
 He showed the same sexlessness as Ruth. He had never 
 been in love. Life with his sisters and his stepmother, dur- 
 ing the past fifteen years, had gone to strengthen his some- 
 what womanish cast of mind. This evening having largely 
 created for mere fun the storm between his sisters, the wise 
 Jim it was who saw most clearly a personal and general loss 
 in the removal of Kirk ; and later on, his silver tongue soon 
 argued so plausibly with Ruth quite another course of duty, 
 that she waited, indecisive for days, and meanwhile her pride 
 returned to equilibrium, and her intention waned. In the 
 end Kirk was told nothing, but thought of the more.
 
 CHAPTER XXXI 
 
 JIMMIE was sincere and kind, and capable of real feeling 
 when serious. But habitually he was carelessly light- 
 hearted, dual and mercurial, and somewhat insensitive to 
 others' feelings. He was but slightly sexed, and he seldom 
 felt a deep emotion. He had always been a teaser and a 
 chaffer of girls; for he regarded them almost solely from a 
 mental standpoint. Many a girl of the district had dismissed 
 him from discussion with words such as "Eh ! yon Jim- 
 mie's nowt but a tease !" or "Jimmie Butterworth's nobbut 
 one o' them lively wordy 'uns !" "Arve no time t'werst on 
 yon sooart !" or, " Jim ? Ay ! Go's too fly and leet ever to 
 get wed ! Tha' shud never think o' him, my lass yon chap's 
 a bachelor-born !" 
 
 Kirk still was undecided whether to spend Easter at Bru- 
 side, or go fishing to his Merionethshire haunts. His works 
 were to be closed down for nearly a week. The mills, too, 
 would be silent a little while; they would remain shut on 
 Thursday afternoon, Good Friday, Saturday, and Easter Sun- 
 day, making altogether for the girls a holiday of three and a 
 half days much looked forward to. It was now "Wednesday. 
 Some young male friend of the Gisburns was to arrive in 
 the evening, and they spoke of him to Kirk. He felt a novel 
 and disagreeable sensation as he listened : 
 
 ". . . Ay ! he's such a nice young man !" said Jimmie, his 
 bright hazel eyes mischievously sparkling, "and he can play 
 and sing like ten shepsters * on a soonny tree ! you will en- 
 
 * Shepsters starlings. 
 259
 
 260 
 
 joy it, Mr. Clinton! Dinah and I say he likes our Mar- 
 ian." 
 
 "I'm sure he does," said Dinah, acidly . . . "ay they do 
 look soft when they're together ! but you won't be here, Mr. 
 Clinton." 
 
 "For shame! how can you talk so? Hold thee clacking 
 tongue, lad !" broke in Mrs. Gisburn. "Dinah ! stop laffing 
 this minute !" 
 
 But Kirk himself was laughing to help cover Marian's 
 confusion. She had gone crimson, and glanced angrily at her 
 tormentors. That was just what Dinah had wished to effect. 
 She looked back mockingly at Marian saying in a loud whis- 
 per to Jim "Just look how red she's gone ! I knew it was 
 true!" 
 
 Marian replied hoarsely and fiercely "You'd like to get 
 him yourself ! And you can have him if you want him for 
 aught I care ; but he'd not look at you." 
 
 "Fie ! Marian ! Ay, how rude she is !" laughed Dinah. 
 Marian's hasty words painfully jarred Kirk, and the girl 
 had seen this. She could have cried with vexation. 
 
 Jim, rather sorry, turned his fun on Dinah. "Told me his 
 arm fair ached wi' Dinah clinging to it all th'afternoon like 
 ony little bat! eh, Dinah? Ay! tha't a sticker! Tha't none 
 loose him, would thee, Dinah? Poor lad looked fair worn, 
 Mr. Clinton ! so a' sed, 'Dinah, lass, thee'll weeare out sleeve 
 o' his new coat !' Arthur looked some relieved, I tell thee, Mr. 
 Clinton, when she loosed him! He wur that frightened ov 
 her!" 
 
 "Ay, Mr. Clinton," said Mrs. Gisburn, despairingly. "Ye 
 don't know our girls, they take no notice of me now." 
 
 Ruth, sitting beside Kirk, looked deprecatingly at Jim and 
 Dinali and said to Kirk while the others continued talk- 
 ing 
 
 "You must not mind, please, what they say; they don't 
 really mean all they say, it's not true, especially all that Jim 
 says, but they are so excited about Easter, and the 'walking,'
 
 THE BORN FOOL 261 
 
 and mother says we may all go to Pendle Hill, and we should 
 be so proud if you would come with us, if you would care 
 to ? that is, if you stay for Easter ; it is so fresh there, and 
 the trees and woods are quite like those you tell us of, I am 
 sure, but not so grand, of course. Could you not stay one 
 day with us ? and then go away ?" pleaded she, ingenuously. 
 
 Kirk thought a moment. 
 
 "Thank you, Ruth, I will stay Easter with you." 
 
 "Mother ! Mother ! he is coming with us to Pendle !" ex- 
 claimed Ruth, very much pleased, but Mrs. Gisburn had 
 qualms. 
 
 "Ruth, you'd no right to persuade Mr. Clinton. His own 
 folk and his sister will be wanting him for sure ?" 
 
 "Oh, no, Mrs. Gisburn, I shall enjoy it very much; be- 
 sides, I thought of going fishing to Wales, this Easter." 
 
 "Ay," said Mrs. Gisburn reprovingly, "young men do 
 waste their money! I thought you'd have stayed here or- 
 else gone straight to your home Eee ! the like of it, gurls ! 
 To thrape all yon hundred of miles and back for a morsel 
 o' fish not weighing but a few pounds !" 
 
 "Things pass into their opposites by accumulations of in- 
 definable quantities," said Landor. 
 
 Kirk's reserve and separateness of mind had frequently 
 repelled and hurt the sisters during the first few months of 
 his stay with them ; but now he had come of liking to call 
 them by their Christian names, but still Mrs. Gisburn and 
 the girls never dreamt of addressing him by other than his 
 surname. Quite frequently upon the dark winter evenings 
 he had taken them walks along the great upper valley road 
 two, and sometimes all three sisters together. To obtain 
 those walks he had crossed swords with Mrs. Gisburn. He 
 had made these girls young women take his friendly arms 
 when nights were frosty and roads extremely slippery. On 
 the first occasion Ruth was on his left and Marian linked 
 upon his right. This hacl given him happiness a brotherly
 
 262 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 feeling in the dependence on himself of Ruth a novel pleas- 
 ure in feeling the warm soft arm of Marian held firmly in his 
 own. 
 
 On that first winter night-walk Marian had been silent a 
 little time, and then, physical nearness bringing mental in- 
 timacy, she told him they had thought him at first the proud- 
 est, most standoffish young man they had ever met. At this 
 he was astounded; he thought himself socialistic, and was 
 profoundly unconscious of his own aristocratic glance and 
 bearing. 
 
 Marian then had said gratefully in her best manner, in- 
 tuitively speaking like Ruth, 
 
 "But now we know you better, we think you ... we think 
 you . . . are the nicest young man we ever met ! even Dinah 
 says so." 
 
 It was so easy and self -pleasing to be a perfect god of intel- 
 lect, learning, and grace, among those girls simple of even 
 moderately fashionable life and learning, girls who had never 
 seen London, never been to a ball, or even to some small great 
 person's "At Home." But Kirk was unconscious of his po- 
 sition and his state of mind. He was flattered, pleased, and 
 the affectionate and generous nature of his youth had quite 
 obscured his first clear criticism. A powerful protective feel- 
 ing for these girls grew in him, and he meditated further 
 combat with their step-mother. He had re-read Robert 
 Blatchford's "Merry England," and now he perceived very 
 clearly, as he thought, the waste of energy caused by polished 
 furniture, mouldings which required dusting every day, bright 
 metal surfaces, fire irons, and all household things that de- 
 manded the labour of tired girls to keep them in that fool- 
 ish state of perfection that Bruside society and Mrs. Gis- 
 burn so rigidly enforced. To Kirk, these things now ap- 
 peared as cruel idols, and Mrs. Gisburn and all old women 
 as their obsessed priests. In his warm, indignant, youthful 
 heart, he felt increasing pity for these girls. He now read 
 frequently to them, especially when he saw they were physi-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 263 
 
 I 
 
 cally dead beat. He had quickly and with internal fun dis- 
 covered the heel of Achilles in Mrs. Gisburn he saw the male 
 human being was her fetish, and that she bowed to it to 
 himself ; and his bright eyes had twinkled at Marian when 
 he first discovered this. Mrs. Gisburn tolerated these forced 
 interruptions of the household sacrifices, because Kirk was a 
 man of that age of sons, when they exert their greatest in- 
 fluence with mothers ; and then, too, he was a kind of male 
 she could not entirely understand, and his superior breeding 
 told with her very much. Kirk was often quite aware that 
 she had gone on herself rubbing and dusting ostentatiously 
 waxing a little noisy just to shame her daughters into 
 helping her ; and the young man, from the corner of his eye, 
 intercepted her furtive and indignant glances at Marian, 
 Ruth or Dinah. But he read on sublimely, putting all his 
 voice and passion into these recitations. All three girls 
 eagerly and gratefully took this new, romantic, and adroitly 
 procured rest ; but Ruth's pleasure often was but partial, be- 
 tween fear of her mother and a stern internal and distorted 
 sense of duty; on the other side, her thirst was keen to hear 
 Kirk read beautifully in those classics that he and she alone 
 in that family really appreciated. When he had finished, the 
 others would say they had liked that line, that sad bit, or they 
 cared for this verse, but what Ruth said was worth hearing, 
 and she discussed with Kirk as with an equal to his secret 
 surprise, for he thought persistently that Marian alone could 
 enter most into those delights . . . but then she was always 
 the most physically tired out, decided he. 
 
 On Good Friday afternoon Arthur Clegg arrived from 
 Bradford. He had cycled over, and the brown canvas case 
 which filled the space between the cycle-framing contained 
 his entire kit for Easter. He turned it out gleefully on the 
 front parlour table. Kirk saw with astonishment a dozen 
 scores of Gilbert and Sullivan. When he saw the music he 
 had a feeling which, months later, he knew was jealousy. 
 Little else seemed to have been brought by Arthur, and Kirk
 
 264 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 felt a strange evil pleasure in the absence of toothbrush, col- 
 lars, handkerchiefs and night apparel. Quickly the piano 
 was opened by Marian, and Arthur at once sat down before 
 the pages of the "Mikado." 
 
 Some twenty minutes later Mrs. Gisburn entered the room, 
 her face a little red, her thin lips compressed. 
 
 "I'm right glad to see ye, Arthur, but it's Good Friday, 
 and I can't let ye play them light things . . . whatever 
 would folk say? I could hear it in the road. Ye can 
 play them to your heart's pleasure to-morrow, and there's no 
 one likes a bit of music better than me and the girls ; so ye'll 
 excuse us to-day." All this was said very firmly. 
 
 "Oh, it's all right, Mrs. Gisburn, I'll play something sacred, 
 if I can find it." 
 
 While their stepmother's back was turned he made a grim- 
 ace at the two girls. Kirk himself was vexed at the inter- 
 ruption, for Arthur played and sang tunefully and with vig- 
 our, and Kirk had forgotten his first impressions for the 
 music was so refreshing and delightful. 
 
 "All religions are idiotic," thought he. "It is exactly like 
 my own kill-joy father." Ruth alone timidly agreed with 
 her stepmother, but said nothing. Kirk himself now went 
 out for a short walk. 
 
 Soon after Mrs. Gisburn had left the room taking with 
 her Ruth to aid in the preparation of tea she again heard 
 the piano going briskly, and listened just in time to hear a 
 seven-fold fortissimo "Amen." She stood again, for she 
 thought she heard giggling but she believed herself mis- 
 taken. Arthur, persuaded by Jim and Dinah, continued to 
 play opera, and each page or so was ended most cleverly by 
 a loud "Amen," or with the final verse of some well-known 
 hymn. Dinah each time smartly opened the parlour door to 
 let out the "Amens," and promptly closed it to confine the 
 echoes of the "Gondoliers." 
 
 Kirk took his brief walk and returned. He changed his 
 things, and then went to join the others. Pausing outside
 
 THE BORN FOOL 265 
 
 the door he heard loud laughter. He turned the door handle, 
 and as he entered he saw Arthur throw a cushion at Marian 
 who lay back on the sofa, laughing a trifle thickly. Kirk 
 saw her flushed and laughing face, beneath her arm raised in 
 defence. 
 
 He had received a shock. His face betrayed a change of 
 feeling, Marian's face also changed as she saw him. Arthur 
 glanced sharply from Marian to Kirk, and his expression 
 hardened. He muttered to himself angrily, "Oh my! Oh! 
 we are important ! can't she do what the hell she likes ?" 
 
 Arthur Clegg did not possess sufficient means to marry. 
 The obstacle he chafed against was the avarice of his parents ; 
 and then, indeed, to curb his desires further was his own 
 strong love of money. Both his parents he knew with cer- 
 tainty would resent most seriously his marriage to a girl 
 who had "no brass." He told his mother he was going to 
 Scarborough to join a male friend, and he said no word of 
 the Gisburns. He would, he knew positively, be turned out 
 of house and home if he made such a marriage against his 
 father's wish. Yet for three years he had sought with pleas- 
 ure the hearth of the Gisburns, and there he had made mild 
 love to Marian. He grew more and more uncomfortable be- 
 tween love of money, love of liberty and desire of Marian. 
 For many years now he had worked long hours with his 
 father, who was a yarn merchant in a rather small but per- 
 severing way. If Arthur left his father, and took similar 
 work, his salary would be insufficient for marriage and thor- 
 ough enjoyment of himself; and, very much more serious, he 
 might lose his father's fortune. Arthur therefore awaited 
 with a calculating impatience the failure of his father's pre- 
 carious health and his consequent retirement. The son 
 would then carry on the business, and money would be more 
 plentiful. He had a fair opinion of his father's acumen in 
 business, and for his mother he felt an ordinary young man's 
 affection, plus some fear of her tenacious will and future 
 interference.
 
 266 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Mrs. Gisburn had long looked on young Clegg with great 
 favour. In years past, she had visited his parents, for they 
 were old friends of her husband, but of late years Arthur 
 alone had maintained the connection between the families, 
 but it was now six months or more since he had seen the Gis- 
 burns. 
 
 His weakening attraction revived when he received Ruth's 
 note of invitation, for she had mentioned Kirk ; indeed, she 
 had written nearly a page about "Mr. Clinton." So Arthur 
 instead of going to Scarborough accepted the Gisburns' invi- 
 tation; and made no mention at home of his changed desti- 
 nation. 
 
 On Monday morning before the Gisburns' house stood a 
 wagonette harnessed to a pair of good horses. Kirk of his 
 own intention took a seat beside Marian. On her left sat 
 Arthur Clegg. Kirk felt no uncomfortable social incongruity, 
 for he was the only member of his caste in the district, ex- 
 cept the parsons and the doctors. He was in Rome and 
 found the pleasure of youth in doing as the Romans. It was 
 all very amusing, very novel. His sense of mirth and hu- 
 mour were constantly tickled by the driver's free conversation 
 with Mrs. Gisburn, by the fact of himself bowling along a 
 la char-a-banc in the middle of a kind of Bank Holiday 
 turmoil. The crowds of uncouth people in the streets though 
 all dressed in black were full of gaiety, and shouted many 
 a warm and pithy greeting to the merry-making family. And 
 then, too, Kirk felt a desire to win the affection of these 
 people with whom he lived, to be really one of them when 
 with them. He had not analysed these feelings. His warm 
 enthusiastic heart, curiously inexperienced, and so uncon- 
 scious in matters of the heart, was now expanding and pre- 
 paring to add to the worship of flowers and nature the ador- 
 able form and soul of woman ; of which he knew nothing. 
 Never had he kissed any girl but his sister. He had never 
 understood or questioned the meaning of his boyish attraction
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 267 
 
 for Maud Nugent lie had never romped with young girls. 
 He was now far removed from that southern beauty and 
 entrancement of downs and fields and skies and flowers ; and 
 his immense stored-up human affections began to put forth 
 arms to enclose what lay around and to hand. 
 
 He was very happy in this wagonette, he was in the high- 
 est of spirits, frequently laughing and making funny re- 
 marks and he felt, in his neat puttees and his excellent 
 tweeds, yes, and especially intellectually, he felt a su- 
 preme superiority over all Arthur Cleggs, and he knew by 
 sure instinct that Marian thought the same. A magnetism 
 passed through Kirk when he took his seat so closely touch- 
 ing her. This morning she looked rosy and radiant, in some 
 new way she was transfigured. Her blue eyes were full of 
 thought, and though she smiled and laughed, yet she was 
 serious, for between herself and Kirk she was aware all the 
 time of a tense emotional union. In this mood she especially 
 attracted Kirk, and as he felt the occasional slight pres- 
 sure and warmth of her limbs against his own, a pure and 
 strange pleasure filled him. To him the contact was as 
 though he were privileged to hold her hand. But while 
 he sat there, amid the jollity, he suddenly imagined he took 
 her face in both his hands, looked affectionately into the 
 blue eyes, and kissed her on the brow. He abandoned him- 
 self to these overpowering fancies. Women, it was revealed 
 to him at this moment, were the utter miracle of beauty and 
 mysteriousness ; he could not understand what it was that 
 attracted him so deeply, nor what caused that high rever- 
 ence that filled him when he was very near to them and 
 that now aroused a confusion of beautiful, chivalrous, poetic 
 and fervent feelings. His generosity, his tolerance for all 
 kinds of people, his intellect, the realness to him of spir- 
 ituality, he now saw had all been growing wonderfully aug- 
 mented, because at last thought he "I understand women." 
 He became unconscious for a moment of where he was. Life 
 was immense and glorious ; he perceived the whole earth, its
 
 268 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 seas, its climates, the mountains and plains, the high passes, 
 the wild hut in the deepest tropical forest. He perceived 
 the whole human race toiling, forbearing, suffering, loving, 
 hoping, doing things splendid, dying in hope, living again, 
 better, finer, finer still and he too was one of them! his 
 very own self! 
 
 "I, likewise, verily am one of you." He was thinking this 
 fervently when his soul as it were arrived back in his body. 
 He secretly sent out his thoughts to those among whom he 
 sat, and he felt greatly this intimate consciousness towards 
 Ruth and Marian. He desired to see these two dearly love 
 each other in the future. A gladness and a great change 
 filled him. 
 
 In the past months he had too clearly realised that the 
 sweet flowers bloomed only for themselves ; the love-filled lark 
 sang only for himself, and for his little hen sitting upon her 
 eggs amid the clover ! but not for him, Kirk. No. And since 
 then he had felt at times like a miserably excluded lover, shut 
 out absolutely from the one he so loved from exquisite 
 Nature, and her pure allurements which had drawn him into 
 those shining bodiless dreams, in the woods and fields, and 
 among the wild flowers and sweet places. 
 
 But now he saw suddenly all this divine sweetness linked 
 indissolubly to man, through woman. 
 
 Men it was, and not women, who had made the desolation 
 and the hideousness through which they drove. But how 
 touching, how womanlike, were the little signs of Spring 
 that revealed themselves bravely, with faith and hope, among 
 the begrimed stones and traffic, even in this bitter climate. 
 
 For while a stone was picked from the hoof of the leader 
 Kirk, Marian, and Jimmie descended for a minute. Kirk 
 went back a few yards with Marian and they looked down 
 together, through dirty iron railings, into a pure white crocus 
 which had risen up and opened itself in a black patch of cold 
 and dusty garden. Secretly Kirk thought how like were
 
 THE BORN FOOL 269 
 
 the fates of these two, the girl and the flower. His heart 
 yearned over each. "Thank God," passionately thought he, 
 "Bruside is far sweeter and fresher than these abominable 
 large towns, these densely packed and befouled valley-bot- 
 toms." 
 
 They crossed the Yorkshire border, descended for two 
 miles, then turned southwards and soon entered a bleak flat 
 northern countryside, at first almost treeless. They were in 
 Lancashire. Far ahead in the blue and brown plain they 
 discovered Clitheroe, rising up like a distant castle. 
 
 "Fancy! Marian!" began Kirk, intimately, looking for- 
 ward at Clitheroe, while Ruth also leaned to hear him "I 
 used to sit in Church at my home, at Severnly, when I was 
 a little boy, and read the word Clitheroe over and over again. 
 It was cut on a tablet in the wall. Above was the coat of 
 arms, coloured and gilded, and below you read the Latin 
 words 'Cogito ergo sum' 'I think, therefore I exist' ; then 
 under that, 'To the memory of Ernestine, the beloved daugh- 
 ter of Stuart and Jeannie Falconer, who died in her twenty- 
 first year, at Clitheroe.' ... I wonder who she was. ... So 
 she is somewhere near here, and her tablet is away down 
 at my home. ... I wonder if she knows we are thinking 
 of her? ... I never thought I should one day be actually 
 going to Clitheroe. Suppose some one had said to me then, 
 'In thirteen years time from to-day you will be driving to 
 Clitheroe . . . with some one beside you.' ' 
 
 "What strange thoughts you have, Mr. Clinton" said 
 Ruth "I never knew any one who was like you." 
 
 After Clitheroe, they entered the one-time demesne of an 
 abbey. Fine trees closed in the outlook. The sound of wild 
 pigeons in a deep larch covert filled Kirk with glamour. 
 
 "I once wrote a little poem about that dear wood-sound," 
 murmured he to Marian. 
 
 "What! did you? well! there! I thought you were like 
 that !" said Marian.
 
 270 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 To her this seemed exceedingly romantic actually to write 
 poetry ! 
 
 "I have it with me, Marian, in that big box ; I'll give it to 
 you, if you like?" 
 
 "Oh, I should like it, awfully, to see what you've written, 
 I'll bet it's nice!" 
 
 Kirk laughed merrily, well pleased and flattered. 
 
 They arrived at a grey stone farmhouse. The inmates 
 were old friends of Mrs. Gisburn. Kirk spent some time 
 with a child who made wonderfully faithful heads of pigs and 
 cows and sheep and horses, all from a lump of soft and very 
 dirty dough ; and he greatly interested the mother when he 
 asked her how long the boy had done these things, and told 
 her seriously that the child had good talent and should be 
 watched carefully; and Kirk related to his listener how 
 Goya had begun by drawing cows and horses on the barn 
 doors of a Spanish farm. 
 
 Arthur, Kirk, Jimmie and the sisters, after they had 
 lunched, followed a brook up through the sunny April fields, 
 towards a high knoll. 
 
 How celestially shone the bright new open celandines to 
 the eyes of Kirk ! He threw a spell over the girl who walked 
 beside him and drew her within his own enchantment. He 
 told her rapturously of places that he loved. Never before 
 had such dreams and feelings filled Marian. 
 
 "The celandine is nearly the first wild flower that opens, 
 it's a flower of the sun and it means . . . What do you 
 think it means, Marian?" He looked into her eyes "It 
 means . . . 'Joys to come !' ' 
 
 Arthur and Dinah, following close behind, now caught up 
 with these two. 
 
 "Come along, Marian ! let's get up top first !" cried Arthur. 
 He caught one of her hands and pulled her along, then 
 Jimmie took her other hand. 
 
 "All right, Arthur !" exclaimed Dinah. "I shan't forgive 
 you leaving me . . . Mr. Clinton, do give me a hand up,
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 271 
 
 there's a dear, you look kind enough. Oh, I am so tired !" 
 
 Kirk laughed at her familiarity and took the proffered 
 hand. They followed the others at a more leisurely pace, and 
 after going only a few yards Dinah withdrew her hand to 
 adjust her hat. What she had just said to Arthur was quite 
 true, for she loved him a little in secret but would have 
 preferred Kirk. 
 
 When near the summit, of the hill Dinah left Kirk and 
 hastened upwards. He stood still, turned round and looked 
 dreamily out over the wide view. A few minutes later 
 Dinah and Marian were rushing down the steep slope. Ar- 
 thur galloped between and pulled them on with a strong 
 grip. He and Dinah laughed breathlessly as they flew 
 down, but Kirk saw Marian was pale, her mouth slightly 
 open, and that she nearly fell at each leap. Instantly he 
 rushed after them caught them up and seized her as he 
 ran she freed her hand from Arthur's as she panted "Don't ! 
 Don't!" and Kirk swung her gradually round to a stand- 
 still. She sank down fainting. Kirk knelt by her and deftly 
 unbuckled her belt. 
 
 As she recovered, Arthur and Dinah came panting back up 
 the slope and stood beside her. Kirk spoke hotly to Arthur. 
 
 "You should not have done that. You must know she's 
 not fit to run like that." 
 
 "Pooh! Mr. Clinton," calmly said Arthur between his 
 own pantings "Marian's only out o' breath. We've run to- 
 gether, down this broo, long before ever you came near !" 
 
 A sense of invincible strength and rivalry filled Kirk. He 
 said almost rudely, addressing Arthur as though he were 
 speaking to a little boy "Then you should understand her 
 better than you do." 
 
 "I'm all right again, now," said Marian, faintly. 
 
 She took a hand of each young man, and was helped 
 slowly to her feet.
 
 272 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "I must have got, I think, a weak heart," murmured 
 Marian. 
 
 "You ! you big strong thing !" contemptuously cried Dinah 
 "Ay ! she's always pretending she's something the matter ! 
 She's lazy, that's what it is." And Dinah laughed unkindly. 
 
 This displeased both young men. 
 
 "Walk back with me, Marian," gently said Arthur, linking 
 her arm in his. He had much more aplomb with girls than 
 had Kirk. 
 
 But Kirk was not disturbed or jealous, he knew intuitively 
 that he was far more powerful than Arthur, in affecting this 
 girl, if he wished so to do, though as yet he had not put 
 such desires into definite thought. But this feeling of power 
 gave him great unconscious pleasure. Then, too, there was 
 something astir in him that was infinitely sweeter than that 
 feeling. 
 
 "Besides," thought he to himself silently addressing Ar- 
 thur "she is much nearer to my kind of spirit than she will 
 ever be to yours."
 
 CHAPTER XXXII 
 
 THE spring and autumn were always short and fleeting 
 times at Bruside. 
 
 The summer of three months, very warm though often 
 cloudy, had for some weeks swept a hot wind across the moors. 
 To Kirk, now reading Turgenev, the rapid change from cool 
 weather seemed like the sudden summer heat of Russia. 
 Shawls had heen discarded, windows were daily set wide 
 open, and the hawkers brought strawberries, and shouted 
 through the open doorways of the houses. Marian's face at 
 first had glowed with colour, and her white blouse showed 
 the smooth neck curving to the rather broad shoulders, those 
 deceptive shoulders that so often in women bespeak the 
 apparent strong, but constitutionally weak. Marian could 
 lift with her strong round limbs a heavier weight than could 
 her sisters, and when a child she often had defended small 
 friends with her fists ; yet now she constantly and suddenly 
 found herself ailing. A few years before Kirk came to 
 Bruside she had suffered a number of faintings, and the 
 old doctor had been called in reluctantly by Mrs. Gisburn. 
 He had noted the patient gravely, as one likely to die of the 
 inherited family weakness, that he saw recurred. He had 
 then told Mrs. Gisburn, and noted further that she disbe- 
 lieved him, and that he had offended her. 
 
 "What! our Marian? Ay, Doctor," smiled Mrs. Gisburn 
 incredulously "ye don't know them as I do," and she had 
 smiled again with a hard face, and as she thought with 
 a superior knowledge. 
 
 "It's but a girl's ailment! I iaun treat all alike; if I 
 coddled yon I ha' to coddle th'lot, and they'd sit round or 
 lig-a-bed and laff, and where'd wark get to, doctor? Ay, 
 
 273
 
 274 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 there's none much amiss with th'lass! It's all naught but 
 women's troubles !" 
 
 Seeing the expression in Dr. Rennie's face, she had 
 added, "Tho' ye mean well, doctor, I know, but our Marian's 
 t'same as mony lasses, at her time." 
 
 Long soured by over contact with loneliness, grown some- 
 what indifferent by what appeared clearly to him as the 
 endless futility of human life, Dr. Rennie relinquished his 
 secretly generous motive towards the girl. 
 
 "She'll be weel out of it before the others," thought he, 
 grimly, and said good morning smilingly, and added hu- 
 morously, "I think ye feel ye really didn'a want me, Mrs. 
 Gisburn?" 
 
 "Nay, doctor, I just wanted to hear what ye thought, the 
 girl was queer-like, and Ruth said ye' ought to see t'lass, an' 
 fowks might gibble-gabble if I didn't call ye in, and I let her 
 persuade me t'send for ye." 
 
 "Well ; I will say gude morning, Mrs. Gisburn." 
 
 Mrs. Gisburn kept to herself all the doctor had said. 
 
 The heat in weaving sheds those immense one-storied 
 slate and glass-roofed places was now intense. The girls, 
 released from one to two o'clock, hastened home over the 
 heated stone paving, along the hot street, between the heat- 
 reflecting stone walls. They came in sweat-bedewed, dusty, 
 and sat down often too exhausted to enjoy the hasty meal. 
 By a most unfortunate habit of our land, this noontide meal 
 is made the most substantial of the day. A light mid-day 
 lunch, and dinner eaten leisurely after work is finished, would 
 be the good thing. The mid-day meal ended, the girls had 
 to rise at once, put on their hats, and hasten back to labour 
 in the deafening uproar and the heated, steamy, greasy, and 
 vitiated air. 
 
 Marian said nothing about it, she endured in silence, but 
 Jim and Dinah at the week-end told Kirk graphically what 
 they had all gone through that week. 
 
 "You and mother have no idea what it's like, Mr. Clin-
 
 THE BORN FOOL 2Y5 
 
 ton !" said Dinah, with a certain amount of unconcealed con- 
 tempt. 
 
 "When our breakfast time comes, we have to eat it sitting 
 on straps between th' looms, and there's no blinds or nothing 
 to keep the sun out, and underside of slates as hot as hot. 
 The butter's all oil o' th' bread, and cold bacon's half melted. 
 Ackroyds had to stop yesterday afternoon, they're regular 
 mill-girls down there, and they struck wark, they say th' 
 ovverlooker swore he'd sack every one of them as soon as he 
 could get fresh hands if it took him a six months; but 
 yon rough wenches cared nowt, and off they all went, 
 'whum.'* Ay, and it does weave bad this hot weather ! Our 
 Marian had her looms stopped every minute the other after- 
 noon, hadn't you, Marian ?" 
 
 "I wish you'd not talk about it," said Marian, painfully 
 and wearily; "let's forget it while we're away; let's enjoy 
 the week-end, it'll be gone quick enough." 
 
 It jarred Marian to hear her humble means of livelihood 
 too freely spoken of before Kirk. 
 
 These hardships aroused in Kirk first a scorn, contempt, 
 and resentment against the God of his fathers, and with that, 
 a resentment against the rich. Feelings of intense sympathy, 
 grief, and longing to help all these girls upon whom heavy 
 burdens were laden, increased strongly in him, and he sought 
 especially how he might help and make happier Marian and 
 her sisters. How miserably impotent he was. Oh, if he 
 had only possessed money! He would have taken them all 
 far away to some of those lovely places he knew, and there 
 established them comfortably, to live and enjoy themselves. 
 But now they were visibly being made old. They were 
 visibly and cruelly being worn out before his very eyes. 
 
 How exceedingly blessed to these girls were the precious 
 summer Sundays, especially to Marian, who, while she suf- 
 fered physically, suffered yet more emotionally. 
 
 * home.
 
 276 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 One of these Sundays was a day of fresh breeze, occa- 
 sional warm shower, and hot sunburst, a day of purple speed- 
 ing shadows climbing the steep flowering fields of dark 
 northern grass moistened to-day by the warm delicious 
 showers. Marian, temporarily revived, brought into the 
 house in her arms a neighbour's child, a small baby-girl, 
 bright-haired and very attractive. Standing up in the living 
 room she leaned back on a table and pressed her cheek against 
 the child's velvety skin. She put her fingers in the baby's 
 curly hair 
 
 "Love me, Jeannie ! love me, dear, love me !" said she, and 
 the child threw her arms round Marian's neck and put up a 
 rosy face which the girl covered with kisses. 
 
 This was all seen by Kirk. He thought it most beautiful, 
 and, as he went up shortly after, through the fields rising 
 above Bruside past the little mountain ashes now in scented 
 flower walking by himself in a dream, he murmured to 
 himself "Whoever loves her must love her for ever." 
 
 The sweet rain fallen in the grass absorbed its scents and 
 rose again, filling the air with a faint moving vapour, laden 
 with honeyed aroma of the red clover, and a fragrance from 
 the fast-growing grass. Kirk drank in the exquisite exhala- 
 tion and as he climbed over the dry stone wall and entered 
 at the foot of the highest and steepest field one that ascend- 
 ed steeply and joined the wild moor he looked up and saw 
 the light pouring down the hillside, pouring through the 
 crimson petals of the sorrel, and unconsciously he marvelled 
 at this, for all the undulations of the slope were marked in 
 luminous carmine : he raised his strong eyes until he looked 
 at the sun, and at this moment a vivid light suddenly filled 
 his soul. He turned half round with a hand at his heart, 
 immensely surprised, deeply enraptured. 
 
 "Why! I love her ! I love her! Why! I am in love! I 
 love you, dear ! I shall love you, dearest, for ever ; and you 
 do not know!"
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII 
 
 A ONE-STORIED house of double-boarding had been 
 built on the water-works. The foreman, George stal- 
 labrass, now found this house very hot and he mentioned it 
 in his solemn manner to Kirk. "Them slates get that power- 
 ful 'ot, Sir, seems ac-too-ally 'otter 'ere, Sir, in this 'ere val- 
 ley-bottom than dahn in Kent! Missis can't keep a bit o' 
 meat, or a drop of milk but it turns, and them bedrooms ain't 
 fit for Christians." 
 
 The place had been roofed with slates brought from one of 
 those pulled-down cottages. Kirk stood a moment, then be- 
 thought him of a remedy, 
 
 "Stallabrass ! Why not whitewash the roof ? I believe it 
 will make a great difference. It must, now I think of it. 
 Whitewash the roof at once. Get whatever you need." 
 
 That same evening this was done, and a few days later 
 Kirk asked Stallabrass 
 
 "Well, another hot day, and how is the house ?" 
 
 "Oh ! cow-pletely improved, Sir ! It's most a-pre-she-ably 
 cooler, you'd be sur-prised, Sir, it's a right good tip that," 
 said he, and went on to speak of other matters. But Kirk 
 was not listening, for he saw a vision of Marian's weaving 
 shed, and he had made the roof dazzling white, and the in- 
 terior cool, and his youthful heart glowed . . . but how to 
 accomplish it in actuality ? 
 
 At lunch he sought Mr. Wilkinson with questions Yes, 
 Mr. Wilkinson said he could even find some figures, he 
 thought, about cost of whitewashing ; he had once done a big 
 engine-shed at Leeds ; he calculated it made ten to fifteen de- 
 grees of difference on a hot day. 
 
 277
 
 278 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Really ! Did it really ?" Yes, he would look up his note- 
 books that night and let Kirk know to-morrow . . . And 
 he asked Kirk "The firm have seine such job on then? 
 urgent?" 
 
 "No ... I was only wondering why no one had thought 
 of whitewashing the roofs of mills and weaving sheds . . . 
 I notice all the girls and women seem to be suffering so 
 severely, cruelly, from this heat. It even melts the butter 
 on their breakfast bread. It's hard enough at any time in 
 those horrible places" Kirk had become rather warm and 
 earnest "but they must feel absolutely sick and stifled on 
 a day like this, in fact I know they do and it so atfects 
 their health and looks . . . besides, it would pay the owners 
 to whitewash, because they'd get more work done. I think 
 of suggesting it to several owners I know." 
 
 Wilkinson was smiling in a dry way and looking very 
 keenly at Kirk. He had heard rumours. 
 
 "What ! you're a bit of a philanthropist, Mr. Clinton ?" 
 
 "No. Not at all," said Kirk, coolly, keeping his counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "I'm afraid you'll get no manufacturers to see it from your 
 point of view; they'll not part with their money for white- 
 washing." 
 
 "But you admit, on our estimate, that it will cost well 
 under a farthing a square yard ?" 
 
 "I daresay, Mr. Clinton, I daresay, and it may cost even 
 less, but that isn't how money's made ; most mill-owners spend 
 only what they are absolutely compelled to spend." 
 
 Mr. Wilkinson smiled at Kirk in a fatherly way, for to 
 him such an idea seemed extraordinary and chimerical. 
 
 "It would need an Act of Parliament, Mr. Clinton. That 
 is the only way!" said he, genially and finally. 
 
 "But," replied Kirk eagerly, "if the people only knew the 
 small cost a penny a head if they knew the great benefit ? 
 Would they not then do it themselves? Surely if it were
 
 THE BORN FOOL 279 
 
 forcibly put to them they would act? Surely, the owners 
 would let them do it themselves ?" 
 
 "They might . . . perhaps; but such things are full of 
 difficulty there are hundreds of such things that might be 
 put right, but why aren't they ?" 
 
 Kirk was silent, and Mr. Wilkinson's eyes twinkled. 
 
 "I think you are one of those young men who imagine 
 they are going to set the whole world right. Many men 
 have felt like that when they were your age, Mr. Clinton." 
 
 Kirk smiled resolutely. A lion-like look came in his grey 
 eyes. 
 
 "Well, you'll bring those figures to-morrow?" 
 
 "Oh yes, I'll bring you the figures!" laughed Wilkinson. 
 
 The two men ruminated. Mr. Wilkinson smiled to him- 
 self, for he culled an amusing idea young Mr. Clinton was 
 just like his old dog had been, when it was young, when it 
 used to run five times as far as was necessary, and spent 
 amazing energy on straws and sparrows, but now the old fel- 
 low went steadily, like his master, going strictly from the 
 obtainable to the obtainable but young things were very 
 cheering and good to watch, and he smiled secretly at Kirk, 
 and felt warmly towards him. 
 
 Kirk's heart was alight with determination. He would 
 see what he could do, and do quickly. He jumped up and 
 went out. That afternoon he would go far up to a niche in 
 the hills that were sombre even to-day although so sun- 
 bathed. Kirk wished to see a farmer about opening a stone 
 quarry on the edge of his moorland to supply the works. 
 Aikrigg could not supply sufficient rubble. He now decided 
 that on the way back he would speak to that small mill-owner 
 who had woven the big covers for the engines. 
 
 He seemed rather a decent fellow, better than most, and 
 quite intelligent. "The great thing is to get some one to do it, 
 the others will follow," thought Kirk to himself. 
 
 High upon the edge of the moor, Kirk three hours later
 
 280 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 was returning; he carried his jacket across his shoulder, for 
 the day was so hot. The day was indeed superb. Kirk 
 walked far above all that welter of minute human life 
 down there in the valley and, through the faint haze and 
 blueness, he watched the mighty wheeled rays of the sun 
 march onward, over the far spread land and hills and vales 
 and moors. His heart was disturbed by this very splendour 
 of the sun, that was so in contrast with the sorrowfulness 
 and dark mystery of the toiling human life. For Kirk was 
 overcharged by the increasing tender love and pity he bore 
 towards Marian. 
 
 As he walked, the sense of her pure being seemed ever- 
 present with him. Ah ! how beauteous and splendid was the 
 sun ! But how cruel ! Yes ! the sun was indeed the symbol- 
 physical of God the loving joyous sun, colouring all the 
 flowers of the earth. And Kirk, gazing out, saw in strong 
 imagination the early morning, the sparkling dew drying 
 from the mowing grass, the gloss upon the starling's speckled 
 back wet from the brook; he saw the light glowing in the 
 golden buttercups, the eager winds drawn of the sun through 
 countless trees ; the sunlight spread God-like upon a thousand 
 million harvest fields tilled by man. He saw the vast light 
 of the sun falling for ever on the rolling earth; he remem- 
 bered the vapour that ever rose invisible from the round 
 immensities of oceans, to become these endless clouds and 
 rains and dews. 
 
 But Marian ! that dear pure one, his dear love, was down 
 there, suffering, and what could he do? He must protect 
 her. But misery ! for how could he marry one so infinitely 
 purer ? And he loved her, loved her, and would love her for 
 ever ! somehow, by some means he must and would be her 
 saviour; but yet he was not pure enough, unselfish enough, 
 to offer himself to join life with her. Some one of truer 
 and more capable mind, a man richer, of greater stature, 
 surpassingly nobler than himself, should marry with her. 
 . . . But if he never came? . . . how sordid were nearly
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 281 
 
 all the men he had ever met, oh ! and himself, compared with 
 women, with his beloved mother and that pure one that he 
 now loved in secret. 
 
 Painful thoughts, intense feelings of great pity, of his 
 spiritual inferiority and impotence, overwhelmed him as he 
 gazed. How weak he was ! he could not even help one girl. 
 Now was clearly revealed to him the terrible difference, be- 
 tween the sorrowful wretched squalor of man's life and the 
 ordered splendour of nature. There, before him, in all its 
 ugliness, dirtiness, disorganisation, hopeless imprisonment, 
 crawled on the human life beneath this superb rushing 
 wind beneath the lark, singing this minute with vivid joy 
 and sweetness far above him, while the mighty wheeled rays 
 of the sun marched over the far spread land and hills and 
 moors and oh so beauteously, but unheedingly, over the 
 horrible mills ! 
 
 He threw himself down on the rough grass of the moors, 
 his head upon his tightly folded arms, his eyes shut, his 
 brows strongly contracted. 
 
 How could there be a God ? How could there ? How could 
 there be a loving Father, with power to heal all suffering? 
 with power to remove those we loved from that hard, cruel, 
 defiling, destroying, daily life ? How could he permit those 
 pure ones to be offended by devilish obscenities, to be beaten 
 down into silence, into that muteness of old prisoners, long 
 imprisoned, and looking down fixedly and hopelessly. Al- 
 ready he had seen that look come in Marian's eyes. He 
 started up into a sitting position, his soul filled with a dark 
 resentment, and a fiery resolution. 
 
 "Then I will myself rescue her. Curse all those horrible 
 social laws ! man only can help man ! Oh ! God and Sun, I 
 perceive what thou art!" exclaimed he. 
 
 "At last!" thought he, hurrying downwards. "I do realise 
 that mankind, alone, can help mankind." 
 
 On the next day he obtained the information he had
 
 282 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 sought from Wilkinson, and having arrived home very early 
 he shut himself up in his room, and there wrote the draft 
 of a perfervid and vigorous letter, headed "BENEFITS OF 
 WHITEWASHING WEAVING-SHEDS IN HOT WEATHEB." He 
 wrote out a number of copies, and selected a nom-de-guerre. 
 He then added a short forceful covering note, to be sent to 
 the editors of the twelve greatest papers of the wool and 
 cotton towns; and very late on the same evening he went 
 out and posted these writings. The weather grew even hot- 
 ter than before, but during these next few days Kirk was de- 
 lighted to find every one of his letters published, and, what 
 seemed incredible, his letter was dealt with very favourably 
 in no less than five short leaders, and further, in a complete 
 column of the "Textile World" perhaps the chief technical 
 paper of the Riding. 
 
 The Butterworth girls kept the secret of authorship, for in 
 his letter Kirk wrote pointedly of the duties of husband and 
 sweetheart, towards accomplishing the reform he sought, and 
 the girls feared innuendo, or even injury of their position 
 at the mill, where the letter and leaders had at once caused 
 very considerable discussion. 
 
 A few days later, Mr. Wilkinson, with his dry kindly 
 smile, met Kirk. To-day, the smile spread all over his face 
 
 "So you've rushed into print, Mr. Clinton ?" said he, quiz- 
 zically. Kirk not answering at once, he quoted from his fa- 
 vourite author: 
 
 " 'A chiel's amang ye takin' notes, 
 
 An' faith he'll prent it !' 
 
 "There is a good old rule, Mr. Clinton, that I think you 
 have not heard of ?" 
 
 "What might that be ?" asked Kirk, smiling, but pain- 
 fully self-conscious. 
 
 "Never write to the papers."
 
 THE BORN FOOL 283 
 
 "Well !" exclaimed Kirk, hot and scornful "Thank God 
 I never heard of it ! and if I get but one single shed white- 
 washed, I shall be immensely pleased! Remember Emerson 
 'Nothing great or good was ever done without enthu- 
 siasm !' ' 
 
 "Oh ; so you are doing something great and good ?" 
 
 Kirk blushed slightly. 
 
 Mr. Wilkinson felt stir his paternal interest in this 
 strangely boyish young man from the South. He had de- 
 sired for several weeks to say something to Kirk, to give him 
 a warning, to show him to himself, and now certain words 
 in that letter arose in his mind ; he hesitated, and then stead- 
 ily looking Kirk in the eyes, said with some feeling, 
 
 "Mr. Clinton, you must be careful of our Northern lasses 
 . . . they are so very sharp. You must mind they do not 
 entangle you." 
 
 Kirk felt a deep uncontrollable blush rush up until his 
 ears tingled. He could think of not a word to say. 
 
 "You must take no offence, I mean none. But I think 
 you'll be very attractive indeed, to our young women, Mr. 
 Clinton." 
 
 Glancing again at Kirk, he then spoke in a very matter- 
 of-fact voice 
 
 "The big well's ready bottomed up, and Stallabrass wants 
 to concrete it at once, while the pumps are all right. We 
 better go and look at it." So they began to walk towards 
 the well. 
 
 In the mind of Mr. Wilkinson came a decision that he 
 would discourse unpleasantly to Kirk of love and marriage 
 when the opportunity arose at one of those midday pauses in 
 the work. His own marriage had been unhappy. His wife 
 had not risen with himself, she had hampered him, and still 
 hampered him. He held very pronounced views on both 
 early and unsuitable marriage. It was the only bitter sub- 
 ject on which he brooded. His life was mostly in his work 
 and his books, but he had also a keen interest in local politics
 
 284 THE BOKK FOOL 
 
 and elections; in fact he had written a pamphlet or two, 
 and very clever and satirical they were. At this moment he 
 said to himself, "Damn the women ! the young chap ought 
 not to be living with those wenches." "I'm glad I spoke to 
 him ... if he can only be turned in time after what I've 
 heard, and by his blush it looks true." ^
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV 
 
 KIRK was in that high revelry of the soul and body; 
 first love. His poetic and artistic perceptions were 
 opening fully, his physical joy of the earth and human-life 
 was vivid. Never before, thought he, had he been so con- 
 scious. Secretly, with increasing fervour, he loved Marian. 
 She was become ever-present in his thought. 
 
 Late one night about this period, he was walking through 
 sultry air towards a railway terminus. The gloomy badly-lit 
 streets of this great city were not, thought he, like those of 
 London at this hour, for these already quickly grew deserted. 
 
 Indirectly through Brough, Kirk had been asked to join 
 the geologists' association of this city, but being now a Fellow 
 of the Geological Institute, he had courteously declined this 
 lesser honour. But this evening he had been to a meeting 
 of this local association and, at their request, had given a 
 short lecture on the Cirenhampton problems. The audience 
 knew that he was completing a lengthy thesis on the subject. 
 
 His lecture had been well received by a company of men 
 all very much older than himself. He was happy; he had 
 been appreciated, but this pleasure was only the quiet accom- 
 paniment to the joy that sang in his heart, to that loveliness 
 which had been born in him so suddenly, on that glorious 
 morning only a month since! He thought of his own rap- 
 ture, and he stood still a moment to recall it more vividly 
 and he smiled tenderly, in the dark street, as it came upon 
 him again, that he, of all men, was actually in love! 
 
 Since then he had written the first verses he had tried his 
 hand on since he was a boy, and he cherished the words in 
 
 285
 
 286 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 .his heart. How dearly astonished would she be when he 
 read them to her, some day . . . for he felt quite sure, now, 
 indeed he knew, that Marian loved him in return. 
 
 Lightly-built but sinewy, he walked with ease of move- 
 ment, shoulders back, feeling the play of healthy muscle in 
 his limbs. Life was God-like. He felt a noble insight uplift 
 him. This then was that wonderful love ! Marian, it was she 
 beloved pure one whose influence had made even the 
 people in the street become dear to him. At Cirenhampton 
 he had one day unawares become conscious of the sorrow, the 
 wornness, the apathy and grief, in the many faces passing 
 him ; and not long ago he had passed through that dark hour 
 on the sunlit moor but now, in all human faces he perceived 
 goodness. 
 
 During this past month he had received many a friendly 
 glance from passing men, from men he had never before 
 seen; and from women he had taken many a pure and kind 
 unwonted glance, and he had with emotion returned them all. 
 The old world was good. 
 
 "Dear human beings !" cried he to himself, putting out as 
 it were wide spiritual arms around them ; and a rich world- 
 brotherhood filled him as he strode easily along, between the 
 dark and tall buildings. 
 
 She it was who made him feel so heavenly, pure, and gen- 
 tle, and so filled with aspiration. How pure she was ! 
 
 A faint sub-conscious cloud, or warning, had come at times. 
 It gave him that feeling he had experienced when he heard 
 the laughter of girls carried up to him at Junipen . . . But 
 he had blown such feelings away! To-night he was deeply 
 happy in his marvellous secret. 
 
 As he approached a high corner of buildings he suddenly 
 stopped. He listened. He fancied he had heard a shriek 
 . . . then again but distinct he heard "Oh !" screamed by a 
 girl then "Help! Help!"
 
 THE BORN" FOOL 287 
 
 He hurriedly turned the corner, looked, drew his breath in 
 and sprang forward, for he saw dimly ahead beneath a lamp 
 a group struggling perhaps two hundred yards from him. 
 He raced forward, his grip tightening on his ash stick. He 
 noted two young men stepping impotently round, one looking 
 to and fro uncertainly for help ; then he saw that a third man 
 held a girl by her bodice and shook her violently. As Kirk 
 rushed up he saw her clothes were ripped from neck to waist, 
 that she drooped speechless, that a second girl screamed and 
 wrung her hands. Dropping bag and stick he shouted as he 
 covered the last twenty yards "What is it, you fools !" He 
 saw cruel knuckles pressed into the girl's naked bosom and 
 he jumped on his man with a savage cry of "Loose her, you 
 swine !" He locked his left arm round the man's neck and 
 struck with his right. The man loosed the girl and instantly 
 gripped with Kirk. 
 
 Kirk had seized the wrist of the defiling hand; it was 
 coarse, hairy, and so big that his long fingers could not meet 
 round it. 
 
 Thoughts went past like rifle bullets. "One punch from 
 this brute and I'm done!" "Wrestle him!" "Spread your 
 legs!" 
 
 Then, "The curb! the curb!" shouted his brain with a 
 fierce joy as they rotated panting. 
 
 Kirk made two lightning shifts of grip lower lower 
 fingers rasped across his coat: something tore another sud- 
 den shift and his shoulder was below in the fellow's stom- 
 ach, both arms round the heavy loins he heard sledge-ham- 
 ber blows on his own ribs but he thrust furiously from his 
 thighs his opponent gave backwards, faster faster Kirk 
 shot a leg forward and his man fell hard and cruel on the 
 stone. 
 
 Up again still clutching: tightly straining: turning: the 
 man striking at a disadvantage : Kirk's shoulder low, lower ! 
 legs well spread ! wits flashing ! and the power in him of great 
 wrath. Round and round they went into the road-centre
 
 288 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 the stooping man jabbing savagely with a short bent arm 
 a heavy blow struck down Kirk's ear, it almost tore it, and 
 instantly a fury of ferocity seized him, he went berserk ! he 
 desired to kill ! he imprecated the man in fierce gasps, as they 
 struggled, then he rushed him backwards and hooked a leg 
 before the man's heel struck the curb. Kirk leaped with his 
 falling man. His weight on one knee drove down on his op- 
 ponent's chest : it forced the breath out. Kirk was gasping, 
 "Can't loose! the brute's! hands off!" His clothes and flesh 
 were tearing, he went mad, twice drove his other knee down, 
 wrenched and rewrenched his hands free a second, seized 
 the head by a coarse ear, by its hair, and dashed it on the 
 stone with oaths, once! twice! "blast you!" thrice! 
 
 The hands stopped pulling at his throat, he and what he 
 would kill were among the feet of a dense mass of people. 
 They were shouting, treading on them, but Kirk clutched 
 his still-resistant prey, feeling for his neck, intent to kill. A 
 dozen hands were pulling him, and a fierce voice beat on his 
 ear-drum "Let him get up! Let him get up, you coward !" 
 Other voices altercated excitedly over them, men pulled 
 and shoved violently "I tell you he was knocking her 
 about ! !" "Nay ! ! Nay ! ! tha fooils ! get t'yoong chap oop !" 
 "He got him off her, I tell you !" "He is in the right, I tell 
 you, damn you !" "The leet weight !" "Ee's ith reet !" "Coom 
 ert, Sathdern !" "Oop with thee, lad ! !" Kirk was dragged 
 to his feet, he saw the devilish dazed face of his antagonist 
 reeling backwards surrounded by arms and gripping hands, 
 and himself was struggling frightfully to reach that face, but 
 the crowd were between them in a moment. Two big men 
 had Kirk by the arms, and were hauling him off urgently 
 though he resisted furiously. As they ran him along they 
 were laughing and exclaiming 
 
 "Tha yoong bloody deevil tha! Coom on! th' pleece are 
 nigh on us!" "Wer'd ye live?" The educated voice was 
 also at his ear. "Come on, my dear fellow ! get away this
 
 THE BORN FOOL 289 
 
 very instant I you don't want to figure in this affair, 
 you've quite settled your man !" 
 
 "Eleven ten Bruside," panted Kirk. 
 
 The pace was quickened "T' stertion ! Coom on ! ! Bru- 
 soide noomber six, tha knows! quick, lads!" they were still 
 laughing as they ran, "ee's a reet un! E's a fair reet 
 lad!!" 
 
 "Thuther's getten a sore yed ! Haw ! Haw !" 
 
 The guard was holding his light up to the engine driver 
 as Kirk hilariously was thrust into the last carriage. His 
 kindly backers somehow had secured his bag and stick, his 
 trampled straw hat, and a portion of his tie. 
 
 They threw them in pell mell. Kirk came to himself, 
 leaned hastily out of the window, saw he was leaving twenty 
 grinning faces behind, and found breath to say "Good night ! 
 you fellows!" They laughed and so did Kirk as he dis- 
 tinguished among other shouts, given in the rapid dialect 
 "Yi ! tha's a reet lad ! but wadd'11-thee-moother-ser-wen-thee- 
 gets-wumm ?" 
 
 "Tha's bin f eightin ! yoong felly." Kirk drew his head in 
 and looked at the speaker a man in clogs. 
 
 "I have," said Kirk, panting hard, and he dropped on to the 
 carriage seat. 
 
 He felt a glorious savage exultation for the first few min- 
 utes : but there was soon a fly in the ointment. His thoughts 
 were running on "But the swine deserved killing." "You 
 should have done it without language." "You beastly ani- 
 mal !" "Well, I couldn't help it" (indignantly to himself) 
 ^and I beat him." "That fellow thought you were right, and 
 he was a gentleman." But a vision of the girl's breast and 
 the horrible knuckles in it instantly absolved him and he 
 apostrophised himself, "Oh, dry up, you old woman!" "I 
 wish I'd damaged him more!" "I wish I'd smashed his 
 damned skull !" 
 
 He felt very done up now. The reaction was great He
 
 290 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 still panted, and momentarily brushed the hair from his wet 
 forehead. 
 
 ''What's yon i' thee 'ond ?" asked the man in clogs. 
 
 Kirk looked down, he found he was holding tightly the 
 wristband of a shirt, it was strong "union" and quite clean. 
 He put it quietly out of the carriage window "YHiat an af- 
 fair, tearing each other's clothes," thought he with renewed 
 disgust. 
 
 Two of his nails were broken and bled: all the skin had 
 gone from his right hand knuckles, where they had struck 
 the flags. He sat forward swiftly from the cushions and 
 stealthily felt round to a place on his ribs, it felt wet and 
 too tender to touch again. He put his hand over his knee, 
 for he perceived the cloth was torn, but he lifted his hand 
 again because the knee was so painfully abraded. He smiled 
 grimly to himself, "Well! the devil gave me something, 
 too!" 
 
 The man in clogs, having thoroughly eyed Kirk during 
 these mental and physical manoeuvres now settled himself 
 comfortably back for sleep, and Kirk heard him murmur once 
 or twice, with a gentle reminiscent enthusiasm, "Ay! Ay! 
 feightin ! Nay, there's nowt like it, lad, . . . for foon, nowt 
 like it, for foon! ..." and the train gradually jogged him 
 into slumber. 
 
 Meanwhile, Kirk's hands had begun to stop trembling. He 
 was quite used to that, for at school when he did so much 
 boxing, he had found as did all others that one could not 
 write for half an hour or so after the daily bout. But he 
 did now dislike to feel his knees shaking like the ague ; and, 
 to tell the truth, he also felt he must look a bit pale; and 
 suppose Marian or Mrs. Gisburn were sitting up when he 
 got back ? 
 
 This reminded him of the presents he had brought for 
 the sisters. 
 
 He hastily opened the bag. Yes! how lucky! they were
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 291 
 
 all right, three thin gold bangles. He wished to give Marian 
 a present, and yet conceal the fact from others. So he 
 bought three bangles. But in the shop he had been unable to 
 resist selecting one just a little, a very little finer, for Ma- 
 rian. "To give her a hint that I differentiate her" thought 
 he, sparkling to himself; for he was as certain as he lived 
 that Marian loved him; and she would interpret the differ- 
 ence. The other bangles were a pair. 
 
 He had told the girls he would bring them something, and 
 Mrs. Gisburn had protested. 
 
 But Jimmie had laughingly supported him : "Leave him 
 alone, mother !" said he. "They don't grow yoong men like 
 Mr. Clinton i' these parts, thee let gurlp and him alone, 
 mother!" and Kirk had dashed off for the train without 
 hearing more. 
 
 He thought they might be waiting up as it was Saturday ; 
 and as he approached the door he rubbed his cheeks with his 
 sound hand, to take any pallor from them. But the tired-out 
 girls and Jim were all in bed. 
 
 Mrs. Gisburn instantly noted the disorder of his clothes. 
 She insisted on examination, chiding him and telling him 
 he was lucky not to have been kicked and badly hurt. "F 
 these parts, i' Yarksheer, they feights wi' their clogs, not 
 wi' honds. Three or four chaps knocks a mon down, and 
 then they all poonces him with their clogs !" 
 
 She soaked his shirt off his back where it stuck, for the 
 buckle of his braces had been knocked into the flesh and 
 had cut him deeply. With toil-hardened hands, she rubbed 
 liniment over his bruised and swollen back. 
 
 "She succoured and brought up Marian," realised Kirk, 
 and impulsively and foolishly he kissed her on her forehead 
 as he said good night. 
 
 "Ay now, I do feel as if ye wur me own son, Mr. Clinton, 
 look you," said Mrs. Gisburn, slowly: delighted, and for 
 once feeling a little sentimental.
 
 CHAPTER XXXV 
 
 KIRK had come to be very well known in the neighbour- 
 hood of Bruside, and, overtaking one day the owner of 
 the mill in which Marian worked, the strong and illiterate 
 Yorkshireman spoke to him in the friendly and familiar 
 north-country manner. They walked on together down the 
 big graded road, descending the hillside. Sutcliffe looked 
 down into the valley where away below could be seen the 
 seeming confusion of the new waterworks. His eye rested 
 on innumerable white dots that he knew were navvies in their 
 clean Monday shirts but of the future work he could make 
 out no idea as yet, from the confusion of deep excavations, 
 lines of brickwork, temporary light railways, the curious 
 overhead cableway, the green squares of new concrete, and 
 the massed materials that were spread out there under the 
 August sun. 
 
 "Tha't makkin' a rum commotion down yon! Mesther 
 Clenton!" "But ar* hear tell thee knows what thee't oop 
 to ! better than mony an owd head ? Ah ?" 
 
 Kirk laughed. "Oh I think we are doing all right, thank 
 you, yes, we're pushing on fast while the good weather lasts." 
 
 "That's reet enow there's a main of brackley weather i' 
 Bruside parts. . . . Yon cable's a rumfettled thing! Ar 
 couldn't think for life ov me whatever tha'd got on ! when tha 
 began putting it up. But thee wark's not like mine! 
 Weather's naught to us mill owners.' 
 
 "Hast ever been in a mill, Mesther Clenton ?" 
 
 "I've been into Omerod's and several other woolen mills, 
 and into the old Bruside spinning mill, and a few others." 
 
 "Then thee's seen nowt ! Yon two's nowt ! Why ! thee must 
 
 292
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 293 
 
 come and see my wark; ay we've summat to show if tha't 
 fond o' machinery ! Tha mun see my mills and t'wavin sheds, 
 we're all oop-t'-derte ! Ay ! Ar could put three o' they little 
 mills i'side mine ! Axcept i' Lonkisheer tha'll see nowt lake 
 it! Woollens is nowt!" He stopped to get Kirk's reply be- 
 cause for some occult reason Kirk attracted north-country 
 men, and they desired his good will, and, again, George Sut- 
 cliffe's whole heart was in his mills. 
 
 "Wilt coom to-morrer ?" 
 
 "Well, let me think," ... the only thought that filled 
 Kirk raised a vision of Marian, would she like him to go 
 and see her ? 
 
 "Very well, what time shall I come? Ten o'clock would 
 suit me best. I always go down to the works before break- 
 fast." 
 
 "Ay, I know that! young felly," and Sutcliffe laughed 
 strongly, and continued 
 
 "Till ihee come, we'd allays heard Sathdowns was lig-a- 
 beds, but a por-et said, 'one hafe th' world knaws naught o' 
 tuther hafe!' I'll be yon, ten o'clock. O'v geeten two o' 
 newest rowin frames fra' Lonkisheer, just set oop, th' new 
 ring-spinnin'. O'r daur say ye've heard tell ov ?" 
 
 Next day Mr. Sutcliffe showed Kirk the whole process of 
 converting raw cotton into finely woven cloth ; but Kirk did 
 not take in much, for immediately he entered the mill he was 
 again shocked; first by the heat and foulness of the air in 
 the roving rooms, and next by the sight of the little girls 
 and boys the "half-timers" clothed in dirty and grease- 
 bespattered clothing urgently carrying baskets of "cops" on 
 their bent shoulders. Some of the children looked sturdy, 
 coarsely hardened, but many were attenuated, pale and old- 
 faced. The roar of the machinery deafened Kirk. The hot 
 air was full of fine fluff. Narrow alleys, but two or three 
 feet wide, separated the immense rows of frames, flying 
 wheels, belts, and spindles; the low, naked wooden ceilings
 
 294 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 were a very network of driving shafts and belts, and even 
 the woodwork was saturated with warm oil and grease. 
 Grown-up girls in little more than skirt and bodice tended 
 and bent over the mass of complex steel-in-motion that 
 crowded the floors. These, Sutcliffe told Kirk, were the low- 
 est-paid women in the place. 
 
 Kirk, serious-minded, shouted loudly back in his ear: 
 "The hardest work always seems the lowest paid," and Sut- 
 cliffe laughed tremendously, he took it for a great joke 
 Kirk's secret thoughts would have astonished, even angered 
 him. 
 
 The exceeding marvellousness of the machinery, elaborated 
 by clever brains for over a hundred years pressed itself on 
 Kirk but oh! these girls and children! They made him 
 feel ashamed to be clean, to stand there before them in un- 
 soiled well-cut clothes; they made him feel shame to have 
 ease of bearing, easy hours of labour in the fresh air, and 
 good holidays. These women did not look at him, they had 
 no time to, and he felt he brought painfully before them 
 in himself, his rosy cheeks and fine clothes the bitterness 
 and gross injustice of their life. It was like running and 
 racing exuberantly before a cripple. He imagined himself 
 the cause of regrets and of futile longings for a happier life. 
 He felt out of place, uncomfortable, sad, impotent. He pre- 
 tended a cold-blooded interest in the wonderful machinery 
 the while he avoided the pale eyes of these driven-ones, so 
 closely attentive in the presence of the master. "These are 
 th' roughest wenches we've got i' my mill," shouted Sutcliffe, 
 apologetically it seemed. 
 
 "Ar reckon to keep wavin shed select. Joost stay here 
 a minute. Ar see John wants me, thee kon look agen at this 
 sune-and-planet-motion." 
 
 In a few minutes, Sutcliffe returned. 
 
 The weaving shed was a room vast and square, roofed with 
 twenty long ridges, each of upright glass and a slate slope. 
 Countless iron pillars supported the roofing. Inside the
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 295 
 
 place, the lines of looms were packed so closely that, as he 
 walked, Kirk instinctively kept his elbows very close to his 
 sides. The noise was quite incredible. He could hear noth- 
 ing that was said, except when very loudly shouted right in 
 his ear. The air was much purer, but seemed intensely hot. 
 The August sun poured through the Windless glass. But 
 here everything was cleaner and brighter, and he perceived 
 the girls were of a class superior to those he had just left. 
 He wanted these girls and women to realise he set himself 
 no higher, as a human being that he was one of them, the 
 sole difference was that he had been more lucky. As he went 
 along very slowly, careful of the rapid machinery, he was 
 smiling, and shouted remarks to those he passed; for he 
 knew they understood what he said by watching his lips. 
 His words were very every-day, but brotherly and kind in 
 their expression. "Good morning ! I have come to see your 
 kind of work" "I have never seen weaving before, what 
 very clever work you all do here!" "I hope it's weaving 
 well ?" This expression was, he knew, quite idiomatic. 
 
 He saw nearly every eye was upon him, and all the weavers 
 were smiling, and he could see they were all talking across 
 from one to another, with their lips. 
 
 Then Kirk sighted Marian in one of those narrow passages 
 that cut the massed machinery. She had looked at him from 
 the centre of the great room when he first entered, and her 
 deep emotion caused her to stoop over her work, and affect 
 indifference. Down went her head, and then in a second 
 glance she caught the lip words of another girl "Heigh! 
 Marian ! here's thi young feller come in wi' George Sut- 
 cliffe !" Her ears tingled in her pale bright hair. She feared 
 to look up and read the laughing innuendoes of the other 
 girls. Kirk came towards her, followed by Sutcliffe who was 
 looking round and grinning behind him ; and he addressed his 
 weavers silently: "Ay! you wenches! Ha daur ye say all 
 them things ! ye' re makkin' Marian and Dinah fair twinge, 
 ye young huzzies. T' yoong chap's getten more sense i' hia
 
 296 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 yed than dandle it wi* ony one of ye!" Then he stopped 
 and spoke crossly "There ye go! there ye go! two looms 
 stopped! Ar never pass thee but tha's getten a loom doin 
 nought !" 
 
 The somewhat haggard girl he addressed hastily attended 
 to her work, while Sutcliffe stood by her. 
 
 As Kirk approached, Marian went quite pale. She wore 
 a white apron from neck to feet, and the scissors of a weaver 
 hung at her waist. To Kirk, how sweet, proud, and dearly 
 humble she looked ! and so pale. "God bless you, dear," said 
 he to her with his eyes and his heart, and to himself "I'll 
 take you out of all this, please God or not." Now he was 
 talking to her of purpose. The whole great room was looking, 
 laughing, talking, envying, scandalising, as Marian well 
 knew. Ah ! but they did not know him as she knew him, and 
 she raised her head and looked round almost defiantly. 
 Whether he married her or not, she would always love him ! 
 
 To Marian, all flushed again, and herself smiling at her- 
 self, this was a moment never to be forgotten. 
 
 "Art bothered with inspectors i' fhi wark?" asked Sut- 
 cliffe when they had gone outside and the silence seeming 
 extraordinary. 
 
 "Speak louder! I can hear nothing! my ears are full of 
 noise !" 
 
 Sutcliffe laughed, and shouted the question. 
 
 "Not very much, the inspector of explosives troubles us 
 sometimes about our magazines, you know." 
 
 "Factry inspectors does nobbut interfering, getting up 
 Accts and what-not. Ar shall have to shuut oop mill one o' 
 these fane ders," said Sutcliffe, very bitterly, and continued, 
 "Doost read pappers ? Yi ? 
 
 "Then hast seed all this tarrel-darrel about wate-weshin' 
 sheds?" 
 
 "Yes, I have seen that, to me it seems a sensible thing, 
 both for you and the workpeople."
 
 THE BORN FOOL 297 
 
 "Sensible !" cried Sutcliife. "Chaps as says yon sooart of 
 thing i' pappers knows nowt about wark-people ! Tha't herd 
 o' Acct for carbonic? Nay? Sproong on us laast year ith 
 winter-time Ventilertion Acct! Mester Clenton, Ar coot 
 doozens ov holes in rooves, and put up all yon oogly things !" 
 He pointed scornfully to a number of large ventilator- 
 cowls on the roofs. 
 
 "Owd Robert Halliwell coom to me, end o* first day we'd 
 geeten yon things to wark he says : 
 
 " 'George !' he says to me, 'I ha warken an' waven for thee 
 an thi f eyther twenty-five years, han't I ? and doost want me 
 to stop ? Doost want to put me i' th' grerve ? If doossent 
 stop yon ventilertor ower mi yed, I konno wark for thee 
 another hour ! Om fair starved oll-ower ! arv nigh ketched 
 me death o' cowd this der, ar dowbt.' 
 
 " 'Robert/ says I, 'tha con stoof every sod o' they oop 
 to-morrer, but what'rl inspector ser?' 
 
 " 'Us wavers 'ul terk blerme arselves, George/ says owd 
 Rob, an Ar tell thee, Mesther Clenton, th' wavers stopped 
 en all oop, thersens an' I went straight an' shooed it in- 
 spector when a' coom an' he laffed an' said 'All right, 
 Mesther Sutcliffe, tha's complied with th' Acct, tha' counno 
 do no mora' 
 
 "Cost me eighty-two pun three, and all good's doon is 
 t'owd zinc-worker as done job! And na it's wate-weshin! 
 An' two windy-bag MP's askin' questions 'ith-House yester- 
 day. An th' Acct being prepared !" 
 
 As he spoke they entered the mill ofiices and a moment 
 later both heard a woman's voice call loudly 
 
 "Jarge! Jarge!" 
 
 Sutcliife smiled, and remarking "Yon's th'owd rib!" he 
 returned into the room he had just left, and Kirk heard the 
 following 
 
 "Eh ! Jarge ! I wants thee shirt ! A'rm weshin." 
 
 "Ast brout annuther ?"
 
 298 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Nay, tha's onny two oothers and they're ith-toob, tha's 
 mun do wi'out shirt till thee dinner." "Nay," grumbled 
 George "but tha' should ha brout me a clean 'un." 
 
 "Coom on, lad !" said Mrs. Sutcliffe with asperity. "Mak 
 haste ! it's warm enoo ! an tha't werstin my time !" 
 
 After a short silence, and the shutting and opening of 
 doors, George returned to Kirk in a buttoned up state, and, 
 with much goodwill, saw his guest off the premises. 
 
 On the way down to his work Kirk became filled with 
 resolutions. He must earn more money; that was the only 
 solution. He must put away all these foolish dreams about 
 Nature, and about writing beyond Richard Jefferies ; he must 
 cease bothering about geology, he must set to work and pass 
 certain examinations the passing of examinations was com- 
 ing into more prominence than had previously been known in 
 the history of civil engineering. This fact weighed upon 
 Kirk. He resolved he must at once begin to work hard in 
 the evenings. A feverishness of mind and a perception of 
 urgent responsibilities greatly disturbed him. He felt a re- 
 newal of enmity against his father, for refusing him the new 
 engineering training that had so replaced the old pupilship. 
 "Had mother lived, I should now have been a Student of 
 the Institute, and have done the exams before I had to earn 
 my living." 
 
 But never mind, he would do it himself though heavens 
 knew he worked hard enough already, especially this get- 
 ting up so early, it made one sleepy in the evenings. But 
 forthwith he would make out an evening time-table and stick 
 fast to it. 
 
 On arrival at the works the writing of business letters, 
 the well-ordered labour around him, and a conversation with 
 Wilkinson, calmed young Clinton. Later on he watched the 
 men leave work, he stood by the time-keepers while they 
 "subbed" some of the newly joined navvies, and then he left
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 299 
 
 for home. As he went through the two peaceful and flowery 
 little fields at the hillf oot he looked up and saw the whole 
 early evening sky covered far overhead with an exquisite dap- 
 pling of small clouds. This bright pageant moved on slowly 
 like a silvery fleet, each cloudlet keeping distance from its 
 fellow voyagers in the pale blue sea of ether. The immense 
 calmness and loveliness of this sky shed an uplifting of hope 
 into the entranced eyes of Kirk he felt he was to be em- 
 powered to help and love Marian. Strong faith in himself, 
 and in the eternity of his love, filled him. 
 
 "Who loves her, must for ever love her, and it is I who 
 love her." 
 
 He sought gently in the short dark northern mowing grass, 
 and made a very small beautifully arranged bouquet of wild 
 flowers, using just a sufficiency of fragile grasses to give 
 them an ethereal lightness. 
 
 When he entered the house he found the sisters were at 
 tea. 
 
 Marian looked at his flowers and said in a low voice, "How 
 prettily you've done them up." 
 
 "Do you like them ? Will you have them, Marian ?" 
 
 He took a little vase, filled it with water, put in the flow- 
 ers, touched them once or twice and placed them by Marian, 
 smiling in her eyes as he did so. 
 
 The girl's tired face lit up and love marvellously altered 
 her appearance, as her moistened eyes looked down into the 
 sweet little wild flowers. 
 
 "You girls!" exclaimed Kirk enthusiastically, "and, 
 Marian, especially you, if only I could take you South and 
 show you places I know where you can smell wild white 
 violets in the lanes where the banks are pale with primroses, 
 and the air like breathing honey! and the wild roses, so 
 delicate and sweet . . . like very, very young girls, I always 
 think them." He stopped a moment and then spoke on in a 
 calmer voice, and the girls listened, and intently watched
 
 300 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 him, for his face, his voice, his shining eyes that were seeing 
 things they had never seen held them like a spell. 
 
 "... For the secret about wild flowers is, they appeal to 
 our emotions far more than do cultured blooms. Lilies 
 and petunias please us in a way more intellectual, but the 
 wild flowers are of Proserpine, of the young Earth in love ; 
 for they have less of thought and so much more of joy ! they 
 are not languorous and still, but are full of joy and vitality ; 
 they wave all day in the wind and hot sunshine, and at night 
 they know no shelter; for they sleep under the stars, and 
 the moths come to them, and the creeking rail-bird slides past 
 them in the short delicious night; the pure dew refreshes 
 them, and when the morn comes the clinging gems clothe 
 them in rainbows." 
 
 After this day Kirk brought home each evening a few 
 wild flowers. He arranged these as an Italian would have 
 done, using but one or two kinds of flowers at one time. To- 
 day he would bring white stitchwort and blue Veronica ; to- 
 morrow, a choice spire of crimson sorrel, one buttercup and 
 one bit of wild parsley, all partly hidden in a cloud of trem- 
 bling grasses. 
 
 Marian loved these little acts and thought of them in day- 
 dreams, when she could. She listened carefully to Kirk's 
 curious instruction for placing flowers in a vase, she compre- 
 hended dimly and learnt by heart his little formulae for har- 
 monies of colour and arrangement. It was destined this 
 should be all she would ever learn from Kirk, of her own free 
 will and wish. Her surprising aptitude with flowers thrilled 
 and delighted Kirk. "I knew her real nature from the first !" 
 thought he with rapture.
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI 
 
 KIRK said nothing to Marian of what was in his heart ; 
 and during the next three months he redoubled his 
 energies. He was on the works every morning by six o'clock, 
 and thus gained more time for private study later in the 
 day; and he increased his evening work, frequently sitting 
 upstairs over his books till long after all the household, 
 saving Mrs. Gisburn, had gone to bed. She insisted on wait- 
 ing up for him, and saw that he ate a piece of her plain but 
 delicious cake, and drank a glass of beer before he went to 
 bed. A slow tacit friendship and understanding grew be- 
 tween them, but far stronger upon her side than on his. Re- 
 peatedly she told him not to overwork, not to strain his eyes, 
 and her solicitude was grateful to him, but his grave argu- 
 ment was always the same 
 
 "You see, I am now a full-grown man, Mrs. Gisburn, and 
 I am extremely anxious about the future. I must obtain 
 these diplomas and leave no stone unturned to earn more 
 money." 
 
 She told him he was very young, there was plenty of time, 
 that he would make himself old before he was young, and 
 she told him of her own husband, who had brought on ner- 
 vous disease by similar feverish, unceasing activity. 
 
 "And we'd no thought of what he was doing, he'd never 
 give in until he was over- wearied, and he looked a stronger 
 one than you, and he'd such a terrible temper, though th' doc- 
 tor said it was but his illness coming made him so neshed. 
 Ay, you're doin' too much" She felt his arm with her pow- 
 erful hands, "ye've gone quite pinched these months, y*r 
 sister '11 blame me when 'oo comes." 
 
 In these moods he would ask her impartially about the 
 
 301
 
 302 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 history and childhood of the Butterworths, his desire being 
 to hear about Marian, and be strengthened in his feelings. 
 She would reply with an equal impartiality, for she had be- 
 come fond of him, and read his thoughts through and through. 
 Gradually she had come to set her heart on possessing him 
 as a member of her family; a marriage for Marian was to 
 her but the means to the end. Already she loved Marian far 
 less than Kirk, so it would have seemed to the outsider. 
 
 The familiarity of his presence, month by month, had 
 worn away those first conscientious scruples, when the incon- 
 gruity of such a marriage clearly had appeared to her. She 
 had lived all her life among a people who possessed few 
 social barriers. Of caste she knew nothing, save that of 
 wealth, and, excepting her Bible and her prayer-book, she had 
 read no books. She had learned of the early death of Kirk's 
 mother, and knew also of the severance from his father. 
 
 Several old friends had lately hinted to Mrs. Gisburn 
 that they knew the state of things in her household, and re- 
 cently the vicar had called. 
 
 Mr. Vosper saw his parishioners in their homes at but 
 long intervals. Such visits were mostly due to serious ill- 
 nesses, or to death ; and occasionally he pleased deeply by his 
 charming and genial presence at the wedding-breakfasts of 
 the young men or women who belonged to his own Sunday- 
 school class. Undeniably he had favourites among the vil- 
 lage girls. In the Bruside valleys the Church of England, 
 even to-day, has very well attended Sunday Schools; and 
 Kirk had been surprised to find that men of sixty and even 
 seventy years were still regular "scholars" of a church Sunday 
 School. This old and reverend south-countryman, Mr. Vos- 
 per, was truly respected and beloved in Bruside. By means 
 of a large heart he understood the people among whom he 
 lived. He was not inquisitive; he was well-bred; he had 
 never quarrelled with his bell-ringers; his choir respected 
 him ; he was no teetotaller : and no one in the district could 
 make a wittier, livelier, more kindly-shrewd or affectionate
 
 THE BORIS" FOOL 303 
 
 speech than he. He had, himself, christened Marian, and she 
 had been a member of his congregation from her childhood. 
 She was one of his favourites. He thought Marian a girl 
 exceptionally devout. Since her father's death over twenty 
 years ago, he had taken a particular interest in her, and at 
 an age unusually early he placed her in charge of a junior 
 class. The experiment had, however, not been quite so ab- 
 solutely successful as he had expected. 
 
 Mr. Vosper had been much pleased to observe Kirk's regu- 
 lar church attendance, and meeting him one day in the open 
 air he introduced himself, and they conversed a few minutes, 
 Kirk impressed favourably by the refined nature of the 
 rubicund old gentleman. When they shook hands before part- 
 ing the vicar remarked, 
 
 " 'The Sabbath well spent brings the week of content.' I 
 am an old man, Mr. Clinton, and times are much changed, 
 but, believe me, that law still holds good." 
 
 Kirk, susceptible to the strong and kindly feeling the old 
 man shed over him, forebore to say that in much of the 
 Church's doctrines he was at heart an unbeliever or doubter. 
 His conscience slightly pricked him at this deception, for he 
 well knew it was the influence of Ruth and Marian that 
 caused him to attend these services. 
 
 The unpreventible gossip of the vicar's old housekeeper 
 was at first put quietly aside by him, but a rumour that Kirk 
 was about to leave Bruside and go to some other works and 
 some further pertinent remarks by the same old lady gave 
 him disquietude. After considerable hesitation, he deter- 
 mined to call on Mrs. Gisburn. Not to do so, thought he, was 
 neglect of a plain duty. He found her in the kitchen, but 
 they were both at ease with each other and she was proud 
 to receive his rare visit. 
 
 He talked to her of local things, seeking opportunity to 
 warn her, but at last he spoke directly. 
 
 "Young Mr. Clinton is still staying with you, I think, Mrs. 
 Gisburn ?"
 
 304 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 "Yea, he's still with us." 
 
 "... Does he tell you anything about his family ? . . . I 
 think I heard he was not on such very good terms with his 
 father?" 
 
 "I know varry little, Mesther Vosper, but if it's true I'm 
 thinking it's none the son's fault." 
 
 "Ah; but that is very regrettable; and I hear he has no 
 mother? Good parents, we all know, Mrs. Gisburn, have a 
 great influence on the early career of a young man." He 
 thought a little "But I am glad to see him at church every 
 Sunday. . . . Is he likely to be here much longer ?" 
 
 "Well, he thinks he will be here nigh another year, he says 
 there's a main deal o' wark to be done yet." 
 
 "Are you quite sure of that ?" 
 
 Mr. Vosper stood up as though to take leave, and held Mrs. 
 Gisburn's hand in his own ; his fatherly fear and love alone 
 moved him, as was shown by his sweet voice 
 
 "My dear Mrs. Gisburn, you and I are old and tried 
 friends. You must be careful with these young engineers, 
 they are good fellows, many of them; but they are here to- 
 day, and gone to-morrow." 
 
 "If you mean Mesther Clinton Mr. Vosper I'd trust 
 him onywhere, wi' ony o' my girls." 
 
 "Forgive me! Forgive me, Mrs. Gisburn! you know 
 what a respect I have for you and for the girls . . . and 
 Ruth and Marian ... I have seen them grow up from 
 little ones. . . . We are old people, Mrs. Gisburn, you and I, 
 and we know there is always danger and temptation even to 
 the best of us." Mr. Vosper's face was ruddier than usual. 
 
 "Ay, I'd no thought t' speak sharply to ye for the warld, 
 Mr. Vosper," said Mrs. Gisburn, apologetically, but she stood 
 there awkwardly with no more words to offer, and the old 
 gentleman bowed himself out, feeling somewhat rebuked, un- 
 satisfied, and still anxious about Marian. "She is impul- 
 sive and good-looking, and very attractive to young men, as I
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 305 
 
 have noticed," he mused, "but she is devout, yes, I think she 
 is a devout girl." 
 
 In the evening, when all but Mrs. Gisburn had gone to 
 bed, and when Kirk had come downstairs from his studies, 
 she told him of Mr. Vesper's visit, of what he had said, and 
 what she had replied. She possessed no power of self- 
 analysis, and would have denied that her motive was anxiety, 
 and the desire to bind Kirk. The incident was grateful to the 
 vanity of a young man so self-conscious as Kirk. It roused 
 in him that sense of invincible power over himself, of his un- 
 assailable strength and pride of honour. His secret thought 
 was "They will see ! they will see what I am in due course. 
 Vosper utterly mistakes me !" 
 
 To the old lady he spoke with a slightly flushed cheek and 
 with his grey fanatical eyes sparkling, 
 
 "Thank you so much for telling me, Mrs. Gisburn, I'm 
 glad and proud you think that of me, I rather admire the old 
 Pharisee in the Bible who said 'I thank God I am not as 
 other men.' ' 
 
 "Ay, yr' varry young, and varry lamed. . . . Ye must 
 think what's best for yourself, but a man mun be ethher a 
 man or a mouse." 
 
 Mrs. Gisburn in future avoided any very definite thoughts 
 about Kirk and Marian, but she had some insight into his 
 character. "What would happen, would like happen," thought 
 she, and it had entered her mind, that whatever Kirk put 
 his hand to would be accomplished. Her pride had always 
 been ministered to by the district. It was a common saying 
 in Bruside parts "Ay ! she's a proud one, and a hard one, is 
 Mrs. Gisburn." She would have endured any hardship rather 
 than take a gift, "even from the hand that loved her." Had 
 she sunk into poverty, she would have asked nothing, but 
 would have died quietly of starvation. This pride, this 
 austere vanity, aided her in looking forward unconsciously to 
 the culmination she hoped for. She had no power of in- 
 trospection. She did not realize that half her gratification
 
 306 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 would be the association of her family, on equal terms, with 
 one of higher rank ; the other half was her deep desire for 
 a man son. Jimmie's temperament was unsympathetic to 
 her own, but the austerity of Kirk attracted her. 
 
 Marian, Jim, and Dinah, were very much franker than 
 Mrs. Gisburn and loved to parade the unconscious Kirk 
 through Bruside and the neighbourhood. 
 
 As Kirk's intent developed, a silence had grown between 
 the sisters. Ruth was the only person in the house unaware 
 of the attraction between Kirk and Marian. Ruth lacked 
 small observation, and her sisters in her presence intuitively 
 ceased to speak of Kirk. Dinah, acutely jealous, had so far 
 been restrained from showing it too openly by the good nature 
 and common sense of Jim, who alone could influence her. 
 
 These two when alone had repeatedly of late discussed 
 Marian's prospects of engagement and marriage. Jim lazily 
 socialistic, lukewarmly philosophic, and quite careless and 
 ignorant of class and caste, mildly and affectionately desired 
 fulfilment of his sister's love, but said no word of it to her. 
 He curbed Dinah's jealousy by his arguments! They had a 
 long discussion just before Christmas. 
 
 "Well! Dinah, lass!" exclaimed Jim, laughing light- 
 heartedly, "he'll never want thee nor Ruth! any child can 
 see that. It's Marian he's takken nortice on, from first. I 
 saw it reet plain when he'd been here nobbut three months ; 
 but she's a deep one, is owd Marian, and now it's Marian 
 this and Marian that, and nowt she does is wrong, and all 
 yoong chaps are like that, so what's good o' trying to spoil 
 th' foon ? Besades, he'll mak' money, will yon, and geet on, 
 no-end ; ony foo' can see that, and ar'll bet he's geeting f ouer 
 pounds a week now, look at all th' expensive clothes a' dons, 
 and going off rod-fishing hundreds o' miles for nobbut a few 
 days, like he used to. And he's generous, is Clinton, and no 
 Bruside lad ever gave thee things like that, afore," he 
 touched Dinah's bangle. His sister smiled disdainfully and 
 listened on, sitting on the table, and dangling her short but
 
 THE BORN FOOL' 307 
 
 well-made legs. "Then thee can't go on at th' mill for ever, 
 Dinah, tha' knows : an' if no one weds thee . . . ; an' a' doubt 
 mysen, Dinah!" laughed Jim, "ar'll get caught mysen a' 
 reet! some der . . . and be wed and bed and hafe-a-dozen 
 childer, there'll be no money left for thee, lass ! But if yon 
 marries Marian it gives thee a good chance !" Jim began to 
 laugh at his own imagination as he put his hand on Dinah's 
 arm. "Eh ! Dinah ! folks 'ull say, 'yon's Dinah Butterworth ! 
 they're good uns t' Butterworths her sister Marian wed yon 
 Mesther Clinton who's gettin' his ten pounds a week' Fancy 
 going and visiting them, too, after they're wed, Dinah. Ay, 
 and it'll be such foon having a wedding from th' house! 
 Mother '11 have to draw some money out and thee and Ruth 
 '11 have new dresses and hats, thee'll be bridesmaid and I'll 
 bet he'll give thee summat good for that !" 
 
 "He'll never wed her, do you think?" said Dinah, half 
 convinced, and thinking hard "He's that queer, such a little 
 thing puts him reet off, it seems to me. Why ever doesn't 
 t' lad ask her?" 
 
 "He will ! he will ! if thee'll stop makkin th' poor lass turn 
 her worst side out i' front o' him. ..." After a pause, 
 Jim spoke rather gravely, looking at his sister 
 
 "... Dinah, thee't a little fou devil thee't wick wi* 
 malice .... I can't think how ye can take Communion nigh 
 every Sunday. . . . Have ye thought it would nigh kill 
 her ? Have ye forgotten how cruel hurt the gurl was when 
 Jim Thornaber misbehaved to her? And it was thee she 
 told. Ay . . . you have altered yourself . ..." 
 
 Dinah flushed a little, she was sitting quite still now. Her 
 thoughts reverted to Marian. 
 
 "Nay! It's the wench herself!" 
 
 "Di ! Dinah ! tha's had a good finger i' upsetting her thee- 
 self o' late and thee knows it !" 
 
 Dinah replied sharply. 
 
 "So did thee ! Thee started it first ! Why don't ye think 
 like that when he's about ? It were thee started me !"
 
 308 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Jim began to speak, but Dinah broke in 
 
 "I can't abear either of them now: I never met such a 
 stuck-up affected chap in me life, and Hari^n that slobbing 
 with him, and always pretending they don't love each other 
 the great strong thing she is." 
 
 Dinah stood up and from the window looked sadly at the 
 opposite stone houses ; she heard the tramping of boys in the 
 street. 
 
 "Why, Dinah ! they're all silly when they're i' loove, and 
 you know as well as me and mother what th'owd doctor said 
 about Marian." 
 
 An impulse to comfort Dinah and make her laugh moved 
 Jim. There was a real friendship between these two, though 
 so unlike. 
 
 "Why, he's the nicest young felly I've ever strock or thout 
 on!" and Jim began to laugh. "If a' wur a gurl I'd marry 
 him to-day! and dang th' courting, if I'd chance! Fancy 
 leaning on his arm on th' prom at Douglas !" 
 
 Jim began to give an amusing imitation, he seized Dinah's 
 arm, leaned over her, looked languishingly into her face, and 
 made her walk across the room 
 
 "Kirk, dear, shall we go for a drave ?" "Yes, dorling, let's. 
 Oh, how sweet you've done your hayair !" 
 
 But Dinah experienced a fierce return of jealousy and dis- 
 appointment. She stood still, shook off her brother, and 
 spoke bitterly. 
 
 "I'm sick to God o' the mill." 
 
 "Ay, cheer up, lass, th'at young still and better looking nor 
 Marian, and I'll swear Dick Ollerenshaw's after ye, if ye'll 
 only treat the lad reetly, and Arthur Clegg never knew 
 which to choose o' ye and Marian; and when she's out o' 
 the way?" . . . 
 
 "Come on" said he "and have your tea, and think ower 
 what I've said." 
 
 Dinah obeyed, and endeavoured to set her mind to the 
 new outlook.
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVII 
 
 UPON a Sunday morning in September, Kirk of habit 
 rose early. He intended to make a solitary stroll along 
 the edges of the moor, above the houses of the village. While 
 he dressed, he was full of pure thought and a loving sense of 
 Marian's presence in the house. As he stealthily descended 
 the staircase, he said to himself "Sleep on, dear tired one, 
 thank goodness once more it is a day of rest." 
 
 Taking pains to make no disturbing noise, he very quietly 
 unlocked, opened, and gently shut behind him the house 
 door. 
 
 In the village, the windless early morning seemed buried 
 and chilly with all-enveloping white mist, and the slate roofs 
 were wet to trickling. The short grass was soaked and grey 
 with dully glistening particles. The heads upon the tall 
 newly-dead grass were bowed and loaded with cold dew; 
 they hung down quite still, in the grey morning. As Kirk 
 ascended he perceived overhead a tinge of blue. The mist 
 was slowly lifting ; the hidden sun seemed to be melting the 
 almost moveless vapour that hung round him. 
 
 By and by there came a muffled peaceful cackling of hens, 
 from the little hidden cotes in the stony corners of the bare 
 pasture-fields. Though the glow of June and July sun, 
 though the rich heat of August, and the time of countless 
 flowers in the wind-caressed mowing grass had passed away, 
 yet to Kirk all was still beautiful. He looked at the dark 
 small trees, stunted and battered, that made protection round 
 a little grey farm-stead. The moisture glistened on the 
 holly-bushes, on the red wickie-berries of the mountain ash, 
 and on the yellowed leaves of a strong hawthorn. He stooped 
 and with his fingers touched the moveless grasses, saying to 
 
 309
 
 310 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 himself, "The dear Earth meditates, after all her pure 
 labours." 
 
 When he re-entered the house he met Marian. They 
 glanced and smiled at each other. She looked girlish, rested, 
 fresh; her cheeks were slightly flushed, unusual grace filled 
 her. She was transfused by the pure idealism of her lover.' 
 In each other's presence they felt mutually uplifted, devout, 
 and Kirk had made that wonderful discovery that comes to 
 all men who love ideally that pure love is the great enemy 
 of physical desire that love surpasseth all things. No di- 
 rect word of their feelings had so far passed between Kirk 
 and Marian, but by natural telepathy, by meetings of their 
 eyes, by subtlest trifles, by that extraordinary knowledge in 
 the presence of each other, they knew their mutual love. 
 
 This bleak country, so sparse of tree and flower, spread 
 with dark moors, delved into, quarried, smoke-begrimed, so 
 deeply ravined by ugly crowded valleys, had transformed it- 
 self in Kirk's enchanted eyes, and summer from her eternal 
 beauty had assisted greatly in the change. 
 
 Marian long had guessed why Kirk for two months past 
 resolutely every evening shut himself in his room and worked 
 for several hours. While they awaited the summons to break- 
 fast, she and Kirk went outside and stood together on the 
 paved space that overlooked the moors, and Kirk, averting 
 his eyes, suddenly asked 
 
 "Marian, how much money does it cost married people 
 to live ? . . .to live in a quiet way ?" 
 
 The girl was so overcome that she could not speak for a 
 moment, for, to her, his words were equal to an avowal. Kirk 
 glanced at her, and spoke again. 
 
 "Young engineers get very little, until after they are 
 about twenty-five. You remember, I told you this before? 
 . . . Marian ... at present I get only ninety pounds." 
 
 "Oh! ... I thought you'd get about three pounds a 
 week!"
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 311 
 
 Disturbed and humbled, Kirk paused, and replied in a 
 depressed voice "It is only about thirty-five shillings a 
 week." 
 
 "I didn't mean anything, I'm so sorry, I could have bit 
 me tongue off when I'd said it, people talk so, and Dinah 
 said you'd be getting that; you mustn't mind what I said. 
 Why ! I think thirty-five is very good. There's lots get mar- 
 ried and set up house on less than that. Look at the Chat- 
 tertons, she's a B.A. of music now, and they'd only thirty 
 shillings a week when they married ! they lived in that little 
 house by itself at Grindlestone and eh! they are a happy 
 couple !" 
 
 "Oh, I'm so glad to hear that, Marian. ..." He thought 
 a minute and went on eagerly, "But I shall soon be getting 
 more. You see there are lots of fellows who would actually 
 envy me, being in charge of rather large works, at my age, 
 and they'd be willing even to pay Mr. Bendigo a premium 
 just to have the position, for the sake of the experience, 
 you know but of course their parents are well-to-do and care 
 about them so really I'm rather lucky from an engineering 
 point of view. Old Mr. Bendigo knows all about these things, 
 so that really it was good of him to give me a salary when I 
 joined him. You see he was quite poor when he was young, 
 and he knows a fellow can live quite decently on ninety a 
 year. Plenty of fellows don't finish serving their articles 
 until they're twenty-two, so that you see I have a good chance 
 of getting much better salary than other young engineers, 
 by the time I'm twenty-five." 
 
 Marian replied warmly 
 
 "I'm sure you will ! Every one in Bruside says you'll get 
 
 on. 
 tt 
 
 Do they really ?" Kirk was quite surprised, and much 
 pleased . . . but he had something more he must say. 
 
 "But, Marian, I think a man has no right to ask a girl to 
 marry, until he has enough to keep her properly. Suppose 
 after he had asked her, that he kept her waiting several years ?
 
 312 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Supposing then, after all that waiting, he had still only a 
 small salary. Suppose he found he was a failure. That 
 would be such a dreadful thing. . . . It might prevent her 
 How could he ... ?" 
 
 But Marian, glowing, interrupted eagerly 
 
 "No, you don't understand us at all. No girl minds wait- 
 ing if he really loves her ; why ! that's why half the engage- 
 ments are long ones ; nay ! no girl minds waiting if she loves 
 her man." 
 
 "Really? Really? Is that true . . . ?" An intense 
 relief and joy filled Kirk. . . . Oh, how pure and sweet was 
 her presence, marriage with her seemed an incredible thing, 
 that could never happen. He could only tell her he loved 
 her. Should he tell her now? He would take her hand. 
 . . . From his heart the words were rising to his lips 
 "Dearest, then will you wait for me ?" 
 
 "Ay, you two young folks!" called the irreverent Dinah, 
 "we're all sitting down! and your bacon's getting cold, 
 Marian." 
 
 Kirk decided with joy to tell her, before evening, that he 
 loved her, and to ask if she would wait for him and marry 
 him. 
 
 For years past, each girl in rotation had taken her turn 
 to stay in on the Sunday mornings, but to-day all three sis- 
 ters dressed for church. There was some dispute as to whose 
 day in it was to be. Kirk overheard the end of a conversa- 
 tion ; Marian was speaking, hurriedly and persuasively, 
 
 "I know I did, Ruth, but I've not had Communion now 
 for a month, and you might stop in just this morning." 
 
 Ruth replied in her gentle calm way, 
 
 "You know it is not fair, Marian, but you can go if you 
 wish, but you will remember I stayed in for you only two 
 Sundays ago ?" 
 
 "Did you? I'd forgot," said Marian, irritated rather 
 than ashamed. "But Jim'ull be back early, and then vou
 
 THE BORN FOOL 313 
 
 can go out a walk before dinner. I'll help when I come 
 back/' Marian in the hall finished putting on her gloves, 
 and Ruth went towards the kitchen. The younger girls 
 with Kirk and Jim set off for church. 
 
 This incident was painful to Kirk. It had seemed selfish 
 of Marian. It was very painful until he shut his eyes to 
 it, as he had already done to other incidents, for such would 
 have injured and altered the ideal he had built up, and that 
 he now lived in so sensuously. To injure that would cause 
 him pain intolerable. He was compelled to argue with him- 
 self as he walked to church "She is not selfish, it is sim- 
 ply that she is more sensitive, she suffers more from this hard 
 life, she is less used to it, she suffers far more than do the 
 others, from the lack of change and happiness and fresh air. 
 But Ruth has grown quite used to things, and she has her 
 religious absorption to support her; she is a combination 
 of a nun and of that Martha in the Bible. Dinah is case- 
 hardened and material, and very strong in body and light in 
 heart. But Marian is ... is physically much more sensi- 
 tive than these others that explains much." 
 
 Kirk by himself returned from church, leaving the But- 
 terworths who stayed for Communion. Hours of divine ser- 
 vice were early at Bruside, and by twelve he heard Marian, 
 Jim and Dinah enter the house. They all came into the 
 room in which Kirk sat reading, and Jim addressed him. 
 
 "Will tha' go with Dinah and me a little wp"!k afore din- 
 ner, Mr. Clinton?" 
 
 "Yes, I would like it !" replied Kirk. He closed his book 
 and jumped up. 
 
 "Where shall we go?" 
 
 "Let's go to Morscarn Clough !" exclaimed Marian. "It's 
 close to, and ever so sweet, I think it's like your old south !" 
 
 She smiled at Kirk, and as they entered the hall they met 
 Ruth, who was fully dressed and just drawing on one glove.
 
 314 THE BORN.FOOL 
 
 Marian's face clouded and she began to pass her sister and go 
 towards the door. 
 
 Suddenly hysterical, her face distorted, Ruth turned and 
 seized Marian's arm. 
 
 "You're not going out ! You shan't !" suffocatingly cried 
 she. She held her sister convulsively. Marian, infuriated, 
 dragged her along, they struggled together. 
 
 "Loose me ! Loose me !" cried Marian and gripped Ruth's 
 hair. She tore it down and pulled savagely. 
 
 Profoundly shocked Kirk yet instantly seized the long 
 dark hair above Marian's hand and prevented further pain. 
 He parted the two quickly, but as gently as he could. 
 
 Ruth, sobbing hysterically, was led upstairs by Dinah. 
 Marian followed them. 
 
 Jimmie, greatly upset, exclaimed: 
 
 "Aw'm reet ashermed! ay! ar'm that ashermed . . . 
 Mesther Clinton ! If 'a wer thee, a'd ha' nowt to do wi* ony 
 o' them. Tha't a fool if tha' dooes ! There ! Ar've said it ! 
 
 A week later Kirk was walking rapidly down hill towards 
 the works. There were dark rings under his eyes, and he 
 drew short insufficient breaths as he looked down aimlessly, 
 first to right and then to left, in the bright morning. Then 
 he glanced upward. 
 
 "Oh God. The lark has no joy for me, will never again 
 have joy for me." 
 
 He dropped his head again, thinking for the hundredth 
 time of what had happened. How terrible it appeared. He 
 was full of grief and sick apprehension. What had he done ? 
 He had made her love him for ever, and now these frightful 
 feelings against her filled him. "Oh God ! do I hate her be- 
 cause of that? What can I do? What can I do? Oh! 
 Marian! Marian! Marian! why did you do that horrible 
 thing?" 
 
 " 1 can't go on the works," cried he to himself, his
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 315 
 
 heart contracting, all in front of him going black. He turned 
 off into a lonely bridle-path that led up to the moors. 
 
 "Ah! I've felt it at moments before, this awful feeling 
 against her, but I never thought it would come to this. Ah ; 
 I can't have lost everything? this is despair, despair. Oh 
 I can't live, what will she do ? It will kill her. Oh me how 
 can / be inconstant ? Surely it is not me, to be inconstant. If 
 it is I cannot live."
 
 CHAPTEK XXXVIII 
 
 BUT there were tenacities and fixities powerful in Kirk 
 of which he himself as yet was unaware. The quarrel 
 upon the Sunday, when two months had passed away, seemed 
 faint and long ago. He had recovered a part of his ideal of 
 Marian, and the girl herself was in a long and unusual mood 
 of meekness, humbleness, and doglike regret. She stayed 
 in oftener than she need have done for Euth and showed a 
 repentance that Kirk during his now very fickle moods of 
 joy magnified into lovely conduct. But he was no longer 
 happy or filled with dreams. Again and again he was greatly 
 disturbed, alarmed acutely, to find himself criticising the 
 girl he had so loved. When such feelings came he put them 
 violently away and cried fiercely to himself, "I will love 
 her!" 
 
 The effects of her coarse English upon his newly sensi- 
 tive ear he resolutely defied. And he excused her and tried 
 with varying success to make himself blind to her short- 
 comings. Consciously he shut his eyes to the furtive fric- 
 tion that he now detected between the sisters, and he en- 
 deavoured again to smooth things. He brought them pres- 
 ents of chocolates and dainties they could not afford, and, 
 after seeing his extreme surprise and regret not to say 
 grief when there had been a semi-quarrel over the division 
 of these good things, the two younger sisters curbed their 
 natural inclinations and had their fierce disputes in his ab- 
 sence. 
 
 Upon a December evening, early in the month, Kirk had 
 walked out with Ruth and Marian. 
 
 The road was hilly, the night very dark, and the fields 
 and moorlands lay still and silent beneath intense frost. A 
 
 316
 
 THE BOR^ FOOL 317 
 
 white shroud of mist filled the deep valleys beneath them. 
 The mighty constellations hung in space overhead, gleaming 
 and glittering with a preternatural brilliance. 
 
 As Kirk and the two sisters began to walk down a short 
 hill Marian slipped but Kirk caught her arm and saved 
 her from a fall. 
 
 "Why! it is all ice!" cried he, looking closely at the 
 road and seeing faint reflections. He took an arm of each 
 sister firmly inside his own. For two months past he had not 
 done this with Marian. It seemed a dear arm that he held 
 again, tenderly pressed against his side ; she was much weak- 
 er than he; he could feel her girl's form touch him; he 
 walked with sure feet, ready for a slip ; again and again he 
 saved them, even when they all three slid together. He had 
 learned to keep his knees bent for a slip in his many geologi- 
 cal wanderings over rough ground, and in those solitary fish- 
 ing trips to Wales, when he covered long tracks up and down 
 mountain and over wild country, often for hours after night 
 had fallen and then, too, he was a good skater. 
 
 On level ground he did not loose their arms. After be- 
 ing silent, he bowed his head a little between them, walked 
 very slowly, drew them close, and said in a low and sweet 
 voice 
 
 "You two will never quarrel again?" He heard Marian 
 draw in her breath ; then Ruth spoke. 
 
 ". . . It wasn't all Marian ... it was my fault; you 
 mustn't think hardly of her ; she wanted to go, so much, be- 
 cause . . . because . . . she is much younger than me." 
 
 "Ay, you are good, Ruth," said Marian in a stifled voice, 
 "you know it was me .... I'll never, never, do nothing like 
 that again." The tears flew into Kirk's eyes, for he knew 
 Marian was crying, he gently found her hand and clasped 
 it in his own.
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX 
 
 KIRK felt a proud affection for Mary as they walked 
 through Bruside near a cold sundown just before 
 Christmas. It was a youthful and boyish pride and 
 might have told him that this unknown village occupied far 
 too important a place in his life and consciousness. 
 
 Mary had grown remarkably pretty, and she knew how 
 to dress. Her jet black hair and eyes, her lovely little ears, 
 the bright colour in her cheeks, her handsome furs and be- 
 coming fur toque, her easy elegant carriage of herself as she 
 walked all attracted great attention. 
 
 "Kirk dear ! How very funny they are." 
 
 <r Who ?" asked he, smiling. 
 
 "Why, the Butterworth girls and all these queer rough 
 people. But they're so kind and hospitable and respectful 
 . . . and though they do stare so, one feels it's ..." 
 
 "Admiration ?" 
 
 "Don't be personal, Kikkie." 
 
 "Oh, I like their good taste. You have become pretty, old 
 girl, and no mistake!" 
 
 "Have I . . . ?" 
 
 "You know you have!" laughed her brother. "And how 
 you managed to get these nice things out of the old man I 
 don't know !" 
 
 They walked on some two miles while Mary told Kirk of 
 Severnly and home it seemed far away now, to him. Then 
 her thoughts returned to Bruside. 
 
 "I wish the youngest Miss Butterworth wouldn't wear 
 that dreadful fringe she's such a nice girl, she'd be quite 
 good-looking if it were not for that." 
 
 "Oh, I rather like it now, I think it suits her." 
 
 318
 
 THE BORN FOOL 319 
 
 "Well, I don't, dear and she has such lovely hair a kind 
 of pale goldish, quite uncommon, and so rich, and thick, I 
 get quite tired of my own raven locks." 
 
 "Do you think you are a good judge of women, Mary ?" 
 
 "What a queer question, my dear !" 
 
 " I think I take more interest in women, now, than I 
 once did; I like to study them. What do you think of 
 Dinah ? The little pretty one" 
 
 "Why ! I hardly know them, yet, Kirk . . . but they all 
 Beem very kind." 
 
 "Yes, they are, aren't they ? How do you like Marian 
 the youngest ?" 
 
 "Well, I have noticed her there's something rather nice, 
 very faithful about her, Kirk, I should say." 
 
 "I thought you'd like her best, I knew you would, I do 
 
 myself. She's so pure-looking . . . and lovable, and open 
 
 . n 
 
 "But of course, dear, I think you seem rather too friendly 
 with a girl of her station," said his sister. 
 
 "You forget, Mary, that you are in the wildest of the 
 West Hiding; ycu are not in an old county-family county 
 of the Feudal period! and this is the Martineau's house, 
 Mary; you will so like his music." 
 
 Kirk opened the gate and they went up the stone-slabbed 
 path to the doer. Mrs. Martineau opened it herself, smiling 
 enquiringly. Kirk introduced his sister 
 
 "I said I would bring her when she came, you remember, 
 to see you and hear your husband play Heller." 
 
 The house outside was the ordinary grim square-built 
 house, of coldly greenish-yellow grit-stone. The door jambs, 
 the sills, the lintels, the plinth-course, all "were of tough sawn 
 stone, square, naked, and destitute of softening arris or the 
 masons' rude art of ornament. The house was built to stand 
 the annual eight months of continuous severe weather. The 
 slates were cropped close as possible at eaves and gables, and 
 bound down with rows of iron cramps. The garden was a
 
 320 
 
 patch of grimed and beaten grass, divided by the washed 
 slab path. The big road in front was heavily setted, flagged 
 and curbed. And just as it did to-night the wind shrilled 
 and yelled during two-thirds of the year through the tele- 
 graph wires, that stretched thick and taut from monster pole 
 to monster pole as far as one could see. The most familiar 
 noise upon this road was the deep humming as one passed 
 each pole, the most familiar smell the odour of the creosote 
 upon them. The keen and clever minds that drove the great 
 mills and works, the multitudes of commerce, hourly poured 
 their busy thoughts through these dense skeins of wire. 
 
 But how quiet it was inside this small house ! The furni- 
 ture was Sheraton, and genuinely old ; the inmates spoke the 
 Southern English so sweet and cultured to the ears of Kirk 
 for ever he remained a sensitive impressionist, in a strange 
 land, throughout his Northern sojourns. 
 
 Mr. Martineau was long since booked a failure, by his 
 relatives. He had taken but a poor degree. He was proud 
 and sensitive, and spoke little. He had no money when he 
 married, and he had married very young. His son and 
 daughters had long gone out into the world to do what they 
 could. Their father had come in time to live and settle down 
 among these misty pikes and lows ; and for many years had 
 been organist in the Parish Church at Hepthwaite he also 
 taught at the Technical Schools, and thus he earned his 
 living. 
 
 Mrs. Martineau was gray, thin, fifty, and always cheerful, 
 kindly and refined. 
 
 Her husband with Kirk sat down and for some time talked 
 desultorily of books, Mary and Mrs. Martineau sat together 
 in a corner of the small drawing room it was a treat for 
 Mrs. Martineau to meet one of equal breeding in this desert 
 of uncouthness, and Mary was a first-rate chatterer. 
 
 At last Kirk came over to them smiling, and stooped over 
 his sister "You mustn't talk the whole evening away, old 
 girl, or he won't play for us do stop her, Mrs. Martineau !"
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 321 
 
 Mary was genuinely surprised, and sat rapt, while the 
 gray haired man played, with great devotion. She had not 
 taken Kirk's description seriously. Certainly, by his unique 
 interpretation he seemed to prove his belief absolutely true 
 that Heller was a great genius, neglected, misunderstood, 
 and had come to die of starvation in a Paris garret. Mr. 
 Martineau asserted that Heller sounded the profoundest 
 depths of thought and feeling. But Kirk thought Martineau 
 the genius, that the player was greater than the music. 
 
 Mary, girlishly enthused, offered warm praise but was 
 chilled by the polite absolute passivity and impenetrability 
 of Mr. Martineau. 
 
 When Mary and Kirk rose to go Mrs. Martineau spoke 
 to him 
 
 "Are you quite comfortable, Mr. Clinton, at Mrs. Gis- 
 burn's?" 
 
 "Oh yes, thank you." 
 
 "I can never remember all her daughters there are three, 
 I think, are there not ? They work at the mill ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Kirk, several times, punctuating her queries 
 and putting on his coat in the hall, under the bright in- 
 candescent light. 
 
 "The youngest is rather nice looking, isn't she ? What is 
 her name ?" 
 
 "Marian, I think," said Kirk, with a kind of wary resent- 
 ment, for he had caught Mary's dark glance, and the similar 
 acute interrogation of Mrs. Martineau. 
 
 The brother and sister walked back almost in silence. 
 Those little sentences seemed to reveal to Kirk that what 
 he thought his deep secret was somehow suspicioned on.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 KIRK unexpectedly had been comforted, and his resolu- 
 tions much strengthened, by his sister's liking for 
 Marian. Without admitting it to himself, he had feared 
 criticism, suspicion; and if he could he would have put off 
 the visit. But having for months spoken so frequently to the 
 Butterworths of his sister, and after rousing in Mary a keen 
 anticipation of her visit, he had not had the heart to stop her 
 coming, and he was still too truthful to have told Mrs. Gis- 
 burn that his sister could not come. Mary, shy as a bird 
 about herself, had not confided to her brother that she was 
 in love, and, indeed, about to be engaged. Perhaps it would 
 be on Christmas Day ! 
 
 A few days later, as Kirk returned from seeing her away 
 he once more felt joyous and light-hearted, for that beautiful 
 pure feeling of affection, of love, surged back into him. He 
 talked much, and was very gay at tea-time ; and with his eyes 
 and manner he had said to Marian, as he entered the bright- 
 lit room, "I do love you, I do love you." 
 
 After tea, Dinah rose quickly from the table, went into 
 the hall while no one observed, and brought back a little twig 
 of mistletoe. She held it over Kirk's head and stooped and 
 kissed his cheek. His youthful blood leaped even while he 
 resented the familiarity. Overturning his chair he chased 
 her, flew round the room, seized the mistletoe, nearly caught 
 her, and she screamed as she escaped and dashed upstairs. 
 Ruth, open-eyed and half-smiling up at him, was promptly 
 kissed, Kirk laughing as he did so, and the thought flashed 
 through him that he must kiss Marian. 
 
 "All right, Dinah" said Kirk breathlessly "Come down, 
 
 322
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 323 
 
 it's all over," and he sat down. Mrs. Gisburn in a state of 
 dismayed amusement had joined her hands as if in prayer 
 and exclaimed with astonishment 
 
 "Ay! Ay! Mr. Clenton! How can ye? Gurls! Whatever 
 would his sister think of it!" . . . Kirk caught Dinah in- 
 stantly as she arrived at the stair-foot and after a little 
 struggle kissed her soundly. Only half the twig remained 
 and his hand was stickied with the berries. He had no wish 
 to do this with Marian, and he hesitated, pretending breath- 
 lessness, but Dinah was laughing : "Look out, Marian ! He's 
 after you !" and Marian herself was moving away, glancing 
 at him with a strange, flushed, alluring, yet resentful look, 
 and the moment his own eyes met and mingled with hers a 
 peculiar feeling shot through himself. He chased her round 
 the room, chairs falling over, Jim and Dinah loudly laugh- 
 ing ; he pursued her into the hall, into the best parlour ; she 
 doubled out again; twice he met her eyes as she slipped his 
 hand ; she roused a feeling he had never known, and he cor- 
 nered her in the dim hall ; she fell on her knees, turned from 
 him and held her face in her hands ; he, too, was on his knees 
 and he seized her hand, took it from her face, overbalanced 
 and fell against her as he kissed her. Their faces were per- 
 force a moment pressed hard together as he kissed her. The 
 sticky juice was on her face and hair ; he was laughing un- 
 comfortably as he withdrew his left hand out of the middle 
 of her bosom and regained his balance, but Marian's face con- 
 vulsed, and she spat upon his forehead. None saw it. 
 
 He stood up, dazed, dismayed, slowly wiping his face with 
 his handkerchief, attempting and attempting to analyse what 
 he had done to Marian. He heard her voice speaking defi- 
 antly and tearfully. 
 
 "You shouldn't have hurt me like that." 
 
 The girl went quickly past him, and upstairs. On her 
 bed she sat down, her knees wide apart, her face hidden in 
 her hands, and she broke into hard silent sobbing. Her heart 
 palpitated terribly, and she thought with agony, "Oh, he'll
 
 324 THE BOKT FOOL 
 
 not love me, he never loved me, he'll never want me now, I 
 wish I were dead, I hate all men and my own feelings, too, I 
 wish I was dead, I wish I was dead." 
 
 Kirk had no experience or conception of a too-sensual love. 
 To him, Marian's act was inexplicable: horrifying. Kirk 
 had never seen the mare kick the stallion. Nor even had he 
 seen it, could he possibly have brought so gross a touchstone 
 to a human being above all, to a girl. He had never realised 
 those deep roots of love that grow down in the earthly and 
 the physical. He had looked only on the sweet flowers that 
 crown the stems, and aspire to heaven. 
 
 In the night Kirk dreamed Marian came to his bedside and 
 looked down at him with that strange look. He started up 
 in bed, wide awake, his teeth clenched. Fiercely he thrust 
 out this vision from his mind.
 
 CHAPTER XLI 
 
 B ROUGH invariably spent the first few days of Christ- 
 mas holiday with Mr. Bendigo, and the remainder with 
 his own family. He had for years been regarded by the old 
 man as a prospective son-in-law. At one time Brough had 
 himself thought this possible, but he was in no hurry, he- 
 desperately disliked being tied in any way, and first one 
 daughter, and then another, and finally the youngest daughter 
 of the old man had become engaged to other men, and had 
 married. But Brough from long habit continued to visit Mr. 
 Bendigo at Christmas, and often he was semi-seriously 
 chafed by the old man for not taking to himself a wife. 
 Privately, Mr. Bendigo was much disappointed in this mat- 
 ter. The husband of his youngest daughter had not been 
 a success, and the father now contributed to the household 
 expenses of the daughter. 
 
 While Kirk spent his Christmas in the north, Brought 
 as usual dined on Christmas Day with the Bendigos. Imme- 
 diately the midday dinner was over, the nephews to 
 Brough's great relief went off skating. Mr. Bendigo over 
 the wine and walnuts was once more twitting Brough, who 
 laughingly replied, 
 
 "But I'm not a marrying man, Sir, though I very nearly 
 did it once .... Do you recollect that little work you sent 
 me down to in Sussex, ten or twelve years ago, Munden- 
 hurst ? . . . Well, I lived with a widow and her daughter ; 
 she was a pretty little thing." 
 
 "What, the widow ?" 
 
 "No, Sir!" laughed Brough. "No fear! I meant the 
 daughter, and I tell you, Sir, I fell in love with her, the only 
 
 325
 
 326 THE BORJST FOOL 
 
 time in my life ! and I kept in love, too, until I found she 
 had two children by the local policeman !" 
 
 "Really! Shocking! How shocking, Brough." Old Mr. 
 Bendigo had raised his eyebrows, and gazed seriously at 
 Brough. 
 
 "Yes; it was rather shocking to me," said Brough, drily, 
 thinking the old man had no sense of humour, for Brough 
 had intended this little story as a prelude. Absently he fin- 
 gered the stem of a wineglass. He had never quite lost his 
 first youthful constraint in the company of Mr. Bendigo. He 
 was quite unaware that he still used the respectful "Sir" ; 
 nor was he conscious that with Mr. Bendigo he avoided in- 
 stinctively that habitual irony and drawl. 
 
 "We shall have to think about some one to take charge of 
 the Whitdale bridge," said he, at length. 
 
 "Yes," said Mr. Bendigo, musingly, somewhat pre- 
 occupied, "yes. . . . Charlie hasn't much to do at Dover ; he 
 might go down there ?" 
 
 "I think that would not do, Sir ; it will be an awkward con- 
 tract in some ways, a difficult piece of work and he doesn't 
 know the north, a beastly place Whitdale, I don't think 
 Charlie's strong enough for that climate, Sir." 
 
 "Oh ! oh ! ... oh, you think so, Brough ?" 
 
 "Well, if Charlie did come north, I suppose he would have 
 to be under me, and in that case I think it would be far better 
 to send young Clinton to Whitdale, and let Charlie try and 
 carry on at Bruside ; it's fairly plain sailing there, now, and 
 I could look him up easily, say once or twice a week, that is, 
 of course, if Charlie did come north." 
 
 "... You know, Brough, you don't make the best out of 
 Charlie." 
 
 ". . .1 think it might be a good thing to let Clinton go 
 somewhere else now, Sir." 
 
 "Why ? why ? I don't see that, Brough. I don't see your 
 point. Leave well alone. He's made good friends with the 
 other side, we have never had less trouble with a contract
 
 THE BORN TOOL 32T 
 
 . . . and I may tell you, Brough, Bruside has paid us better 
 
 than any other work, this last year. "Why take him away? 
 
 Why take him away ? . . . What's the amount of Whitdale ?" 
 "About sixteen thousand, including the steel-work." 
 "Humph, I thought it was more. We can't start before 
 
 March." 
 
 "Well, that's only two months away, Sir." 
 
 The old man did not reply. He had suddenly dismissed 
 the subject. He puffed away at his cigar ; he had some pleas- 
 ant news in keeping for Brough. 
 
 He looked with satisfaction at the younger man. 
 
 "Brough, I am becoming an old man." 
 
 "Oh! do you think so, Sir!" smiled Brough, genuinely 
 incredulous. But Mr. Bendigo slowly waved the denial aside 
 as he arose. In the dark furniture he unlocked a drawer 
 and brought to the table an important-looking document. 
 
 "The better the day the better the deed," said he senten- 
 tiously. He had not the least notion that he had made a 
 pun. He gave a parchment to Brough and bade him read it. 
 
 Glancing through the short deed, Brough learnt he was 
 to be manager and director in the south, and that himself, 
 Mr. Bendigo, and his two nephews, would enter into partner- 
 ship. The terms for Brough were generous. The new order 
 of things would commence in some six months' time. 
 
 He was exceedingly surprised, and very gratified. 
 
 The old gentleman re-filled the glasses, and they drank 
 success to "James Bendigo Limited." 
 
 After twenty minutes' conversation, Brough had entered 
 into a new relationship with his chief, and Clinton's name 
 coming up by chance he at once spoke more freely of him; 
 his heart was warmed by his own good future and success, 
 and by the wine. Further, he was moved sincerely by an af- 
 fectionate interest in Kirk's welfare. 
 
 "You take an interest in him, I know, Sir ... I knew you
 
 328 THE BOKIST FOOL 
 
 did . . . yes, between you and me, Sir, he's worth five times 
 what he gets, but he's too modest to ask for more." 
 
 Mr. Bendigo laughed quickly and spoke "Brough, 
 Brough, you are young, you must see with me as regards 
 salaries. I was thirty years of age before I rose to three 
 pounds a week. It's good for young men to live sparingly, 
 and learn the value of money. I dislike these sudden Ameri- 
 can methods. He's getting excellent experience, and I may 
 tell you that his father asked me to, ah to ... I don't re- 
 member the exact words; but he wished his son to live, ah, 
 very quietly, until he had come to years of discretion." 
 
 ". . . . A queer thing for a father to do ?" 
 
 "A little unusual perhaps ; his father is rather eccentric, 
 but a very sound engineer." 
 
 "Well," continued Brough, "Aikrigg tells me that Clin- 
 ton is seen about a good deal with some girl in Bruside. In 
 fact he fears Clinton may become entangled. ... I think 
 there's something in it, otherwise Aikrigg would not have 
 spoken." 
 
 "What! What's this, Brough? Clinton? Surely no! I 
 feel convinced he is a most exemplary lad. A strict father, a 
 strict upbringing, mother a very pious woman, a very fine 
 woman. I'm a reader of character, Brough, you know it. I 
 feel you're mistaken. Mere gossip who is this Aikrigg? 
 Not the stone man ?" 
 
 "Yes, Sir, the stone man, and a very decent shrewd chap 
 he is. Man of few words, well thought of down there." 
 
 "Poo-poo! Surely Clinton's not such a fool? besides, 
 he's a bit too much of a gentleman, yes, he's too much of a 
 gentleman to ruin a girl, too much of a gentleman." 
 
 "!N"o, Sir, yet you are right ; that is just the rub, in fact, 
 don't you see, Sir? If Aikrigg is right Clinton would 
 marry the girl. As you have just said, Clinton's not the 
 other sort; he is a bit too much the honourable fine-gentle- 
 man." 
 
 "Oh, oh. . . ." The old man showed his disappointment,
 
 THE BORN FOOL 329 
 
 his perplexity, and his great brows twitched as he looked at 
 Brough, who spoke again 
 
 "But I could not forgive myself, Sir, if I injured him 
 with you. But this is, to some extent, why I suggested he 
 should go to Whitdale. It's a difficult piece of work too 
 . . . very difficult, quite beyond Charlie. It's no good what- 
 ever, in my small experience, Sir, to speak to a youngster on 
 the subject of women. I tell you, I nearly married that little 
 minx down at Mundenhurst ; and I don't consider myself alto- 
 gether a fool, and young Clinton is a Trojan at work, he has 
 real talent, gets on with his men, and I never have to go near 
 him. It would be such a mess . . . from all points of view." 
 
 Bendigo and Brough were both temperate drinkers but 
 to-day they had each taken more wine than usual. The old 
 man felt quite fatherly now the position was shown to him. 
 
 "Brough," said he putting a hand on his companion's 
 arm, "do you inquire at once. Sound the boy yourself. I 
 can't think that this Aikrigg is right; it's mere gossip; it 
 must have shown in his work. . . . Yes, it would have 
 shown in his work. ... I must not let him go wrong like 
 that, we might lose a good youngster, and ... ah ... I 
 feel a real responsibility . . . sound him, sound him! and 
 write privately to me. . . . No, no, oh, no, I agree that 
 they do want looking after. Ah no, but I thought the boy 
 different, greater common-sense. You did very well to tell me 
 ... if we must move him . . . you say it's all plain sailing 
 now, Bruside?" 
 
 "Apple-pie order, not even a cement bag lying about! I 
 was at Bruside a week ago. He's done very well indeed." 
 
 "Tut-tut! it's half past three! what? Come out a little 
 before it grows dark, my boy, I want to show you the new 
 Clydesdale, a grand fellow, a grand horse !" 
 
 As they put on their coats in the hall Mr. Bendigo began 
 to laugh heavily, his eyebrows twitched as he took hold of 
 Brough's arm. "But if we give him a rise now, he'd ran off 
 and get married, the young dog!" and they went out laughing.
 
 CHAPTER XLII 
 
 MARCH had passed, the dark hills again had been cov- 
 ered through the long nights with creeping lines of 
 fire. The earliest days of April had been blue and scented 
 with the moorland smoke. Again was heard the larks' fitful 
 song in the windy cloudy skies; and May approached as of 
 old. 
 
 But Marian suffered an agony of grief concealed, for Kirk 
 still had not spoken ; and at times he showed even a coldness 
 towards her. Kirk himself had suffered, was suffering, a 
 revulsion, the loss of self-respect, a deep abasement, the loss 
 of love, and was now at death-grip with his honour the sole 
 virtue it seemed to him that he retained. That which he daily 
 and nightly brooded on distractedly and could not decide 
 upon was, should he marry her ? or, should he go away and 
 kill himself ? If he married her, he would save the girl ; if 
 he killed himself, he would escape from this horrible life, 
 and the miserable selfish animal he had discovered in him- 
 self would die, and he would be at rest in oblivion from his 
 inconstancy and grief. 
 
 But that would kill Marian; for she, he was quite cer- 
 tain, would kill herself unless he comforted her. 
 
 Repeatedly he had been on the point of offering her mar- 
 riage, but each time, at the crucial moment, the insincerity of 
 it shocked and revolted his nature. He could not begin to say 
 the lie, "I love you" ; and yet he could not terminate their re- 
 lations for that was too great a selfishness and cruelty. To 
 leave her was to kill her. He of all men could not bring 
 himself to break a girl's heart. Honour and cowardice, sel- 
 fishness and self-sacrifice, waged in him an exhausting, re- 
 lentless, ceaseless fight, night and day. He had no single 
 
 330
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 331 
 
 minute's peace of mind except when he slept heavily; hut 
 the awakenings were each anguished. His work was intensely 
 distasteful, all human beings were distasteful to him ; he was 
 silent, almost morose, and fearful of himself he feverishly 
 filled his spare time up with work in which he took a fic- 
 titious and goaded interest. 
 
 By her secret distress Marian hecame chastened in body 
 and spirit. She was pale and thinner, less fleshy, less 
 physical, and therefore more attractive to a man of Kirk's 
 temperament. As he watched her, how desperately he fought 
 at times to recover that lovely ideal in which the girl had 
 once lived ; but instead, an intense pity grew in him, replac- 
 ing to some extent the drear void left by that departed, high, 
 beauteous physical-sensuous love. He sorrowed acutely as 
 can only the young over the loss of his exquisite-seeming 
 love. He had lost with it his feeling of irresistible strength 
 and honour, and every vestige of that love, ecstasy, and joy 
 in nature. He had lost all. The first song of the little 
 hedge-bird had pierced him, it had pierced him through and 
 through with grief. 
 
 Thought of escape often found entrance in him despite 
 himself, and then he wished indeed that the Whitdale work 
 had been given to him. He had even begun to pack up his 
 things, when the countermanding telegram arrived telling 
 him to remain at Bruside. But at each recollection he re- 
 membered that he would, that he must perforce, have spoken 
 to Marian before he went. 
 
 Many times he cried out in secret to himself, "Oh God! 
 why am I wretched and fickle? why am I inconstant? Oh 
 God ! is she not pure ? affectionate ? and good ? Ah, why was 
 I given that great, great power of loving, only to have it taken 
 from me ?" 
 
 His depression was communicated to the household. Intui- 
 tively they knew somewhat of the desperate conflict in his
 
 332 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 soul, and they furtively watched the lovers; even to Dinah 
 was borne in the nearness of some tragedy. 
 
 Marian's body had often been much affected by her mind. 
 Of late she had done her work ill, and week by week she 
 showed greater exhaustion. Several times in March the over- 
 looker had spoken roughly to her this had never before oc- 
 curred; and now for weeks George Sutcliffe, watching his 
 work-people pass the turnstile in the cold bitter mornings, 
 had ceased to give Marian that customary "Good morning, 
 lass," that he reserved for the old hands and the better-class 
 girls. Dinah had jeered, first behind Marian's back and then 
 openly, because her sister's earnings were much below the 
 average but her real motive was that secret jealousy which 
 burned on in her each time she detected Kirk giving any 
 special attention to her sister. 
 
 All were paid by piece-work, and instead of bringing home 
 the usual twenty-two to twenty-six shillings Marian for weeks 
 had put into her mother's hands on Saturdays sums so small 
 as seventeen shillings. The girl concentrated herself in con- 
 cealment. She had as an impressionable child ingested from 
 her stepmother and environment a strength of hard and sul- 
 len pride, and this now alone upheld her. The change in her 
 health had been so gradual that Kirk by an extraordinary 
 blindness failed to see except in part how much this pas- 
 sionate girl was suffering through himself. On a Saturday 
 late in March she had come in some time behind tne others, 
 and she put her wages into Mrs. Gisburn's hands, not looking 
 at her but painfully speaking 
 
 "I can't help it, Mother." 
 
 The hard old woman was touched for once and said kindly 
 and very unexpectedly, 
 
 "Never mind, Marian, my lass, get your tea." 
 
 The girl went hastily into the kitchen, forced back the 
 tears, carefully wiped her eyes, looked fearfully at her face 
 in the little glass, and then came in again outwardly composed 
 but with despair in her soul. No one should ever know what
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 333 
 
 she felt. She would have to drown herself in the lodge. She 
 had gone to do it after Jim Thornaber, to whom she was then 
 engaged, had suddenly insulted and deeply hurt her, but 
 Dinah had run hard after her and brought her back. . . . 
 "Ah," thought she, "Dinah wasn't bad then. Now there 
 isn't one I can ever tell." 
 
 As occurs so frequently in the North, winter suddenly re- 
 turned. On April the fifth a Friday the soiled and trod- 
 den snow, the frozen slush, formed a hard crust in the main 
 street of Bruside. The moors all around were again white, 
 and the frost was so extreme that Kirk's work was brought 
 practically to a standstill. Late in the afternoon he finished 
 at the office, and, unwilling to return home, he went up on to 
 the moors, walking along miserable and aimless until the 
 night fell round him. His mind was in a state of stupor. 
 Sirius began to scintillate splendidly in the South, the deep 
 valleys filled with cold mist though overhead all was clear 
 and cloudless, and the full moon had risen in the East. Kirk 
 with distracted eyes saw the treads of feathered feet left by 
 the grouse, and he saw the exquisite crystals glittering like 
 diamonds on the round slope of snow that he ascended. He 
 slipped, falling to his knees. He remained on his knees, his 
 hands in the snow. In that attitude of supplication he cried 
 out silently the burden of his feelings. "Oh, mother! Oh, 
 good spirits ! if you exist ; Oh, God of Sirius ! if you exist, 
 Oh, powers greater than myself ! if you exist force me to do 
 right, force me on, spare me nothing, force me against my 
 wretched will." 
 
 He remained there, paralysed in mind, unable to move for 
 some minutes. Consciousness of the futility of expecting 
 help and guidance from the starry void, from anything, or 
 any being returned into his mind. He slowly regained hit 
 feet and stood questioning himself. 
 
 "How can I marry a pure woman if I don't love her? 
 If she found out it would break her heart, just the same, just
 
 334 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 the same ... as if I went away now." He shrank as he 
 imagined himself saying to her words of love that he did not 
 feel. 
 
 As he went slowly downwards towards the village lights, 
 a new idea came to him and he stood still, eagerly holding it. 
 
 "But if I do not love her, how could I be so terribly 
 troubled ? If I do not love her, why can I not bear to see 
 her hurt ? nor endure the idea of deserting her ? I know noth- 
 ing. . . . Oh God ! if you do exist, I humbly implore you to 
 help me." 
 
 "Perhaps it is all only horrible thoughts that I am troubled 
 by?" A wild gleam of hope filled him once more as he re- 
 turned to the house. But, by the following evening, this 
 fitful hope had died away, and he was the worse for it. He 
 came home again, depressed and morose. 
 
 The frost continuing had made weaving difficult, for the 
 air was so dry. Marian's looms had been stopped again and 
 again since early morning. She had been stooping over 
 them all day. She remained behind a few minutes, after the 
 mill had stopped. The severe pain in her back which had 
 troubled her more and more during the past weeks had be- 
 come acute during this afternoon. The frequent stooping, the 
 lack of any rest, the mental anguish, had much aggravated 
 the pain, and by herself she walked stoopingly towards home. 
 
 Physical miseries are all the harder to bear when we are 
 in sorrow. As she neared home she had to cross a piece of 
 glassy road on which no ashes had been thrown. She fell 
 and severely bruised her hip, but got up again as soon as she 
 could, for two bullet-headed boys were laughing at her. The 
 added pain and their lack of sympathy brought tears into her 
 dry suffering eyes. She entered the house. A little snow 
 clung to her dress where her hip had struck the stone-paved 
 road. She passed through the large room on her way to the 
 stairs. She did not see Kirk sitting there by himself but
 
 THE BORN FOOL 335 
 
 the look upon her face had stricken him. As he heard her 
 slow steps on the staircase, the whole of his selfish thoughts 
 left him and he was filled only with that divine pity, that 
 strong manhood and putting away of the self that is so akin 
 to love. A serene goodness filled him as he asked himself 
 with astonishment, 
 
 "What on earth do / matter? What can I have been 
 thinking all this time ? It's so marvellously plain ! It's given 
 to me to take care of Marian all her life ! I'm utterly un- 
 worthy of her she is so pure, that was why she did that, 
 she felt my horrible feeling, I did not recognise it, she's abso- 
 lutely innocent, and didn't know what she hated, but I can 
 and I will look after her materially." 
 
 The consummation of marriage, pure and natural solely 
 for those who truly love, he would not and could not imag- 
 ine. The plain thing now was to save her from this cruel 
 life, and comfort her. 
 
 The evening meal delayed a little for himself was nearly 
 over. Mrs. Gisburn was eager and impatient to begin the 
 weekly minute and laborious house-cleaning on which she so 
 prided herself. There was much to be done. It would take 
 till eleven to-night and the best part of Saturday afternoon 
 and evening to get all done. Supported grimly by Kirk the 
 sisters last week had not polished the furniture ; and certain 
 numerous copper saucepans and metal dish-covers seldom 
 used had not been polished they had only been rubbed 
 over with a cloth ! The bedroom carpets had not been taken 
 up as usual, to be shaken and beaten sometimes by lamp- 
 light on the back paving, and these and other defects had 
 lain heavily all the week upon Mrs. Gisburn's mind. But 
 she and Ruth had been so busy with the wash, with baking, 
 with the entirely unneeded whitewashing of the cellars, and 
 the back premises, that the furniture actually had been un- 
 polished for an entire fortnight ! a neglect never before per- 
 mitted. The upsetting of such a habit, a second nature built 
 into Mrs. Gisburn by her own stern mother, affected her al-
 
 336 THE BOKNT FOOL 
 
 most as deeply as a forgery would upset the conscience of 
 an elderly respectable head bank-clerk. She scarcely ate her 
 own meal and the moment Kirk finished and left the table, 
 she stood up briskly and began to speak in a strong reproving 
 voice 
 
 "Come on, gurls, it's Friday night, and th' house in a fair 
 mess right through; come on, every one of ye, Ruth and 
 Marian get th'pots washed up quick ; Mesther Clinton'ull not 
 mind working in best parlour for a bit, I daresay." 
 
 As she spoke, the sisters of habit and obedience began to 
 stir reluctantly, but each face was weary. These grown 
 people remained abjectly responsive to the commands of the 
 woman who had always exerted ascendancy over them, from 
 their motherless childhood. 
 
 Kirk had returned for a moment into the living-room to 
 get something he wanted, but first he had thought for several 
 minutes over the ridiculous waste of energy in keeping 
 bright the polished surfaces of useless things merely out of 
 vanity. He had read much socialistic writing of the Blatch- 
 f ord type, and from the whole he had taken to heart the argu- 
 ment that all furniture, walls, fire-grates, floors, utensils, etc., 
 should be so made and painted as to require little or no 
 precious human labour spending on them. Thus the human 
 race would be saved some unnecessary toil, and be given more 
 leisure for things that civilised and elevated. Mrs. Gisburn 
 had always complaisantly received his arguments it was 
 just young men's talk! Dinah on her knees in the large 
 living room viciously polished the leg of an ordinary kitchen 
 chair. Jim on the stepladder was handing down to his mother 
 those absurd and never used brass pans and numerous extra 
 dish-covers. Marian and Ruth were washing up on the large 
 plain wood table. Marian had a white apron tied on, and 
 she stooped painfully over the pan of hot water. She was 
 extremely pale to-night and seemed strangely patient. 
 
 As Kirk re-entered unnoticed in the bustle, the strong
 
 THE BORN FOOL 337 
 
 odour of furniture paste met him and he heard Dinah's sav- 
 age remark as she looked up at Marian. 
 
 "Ye'll have to wash them and to-night, my lass ! it's your 
 turn, and I'm not going to do the spare room by meself to- 
 morrow ! it's her turn, mother, tell her." 
 
 "Wash what ?" said Kirk sternly, his face hardening. 
 
 Dinah glanced at him suddenly. 
 
 "Why, th'lobby and th'floors." 
 
 Holding two wet plates in her hand Marian, standing in 
 the same peculiar stooping attitude, began to speak hysteric- 
 ally, banging the plates feebly on the table, as it were to 
 emphasise her words 
 
 "I can't, do, any, more. I wish I was dead. I've been 
 on me legs, since five o'clock and me back's that bad " 
 She began to sob. 
 
 Kirk quite infuriated gently took her by the arm and 
 seated her upon the sofa, he took the plates from her lap and 
 threw them on the table ; one broke. 
 
 "You idiotic woman ! Do you value furniture more than 
 the happiness of your daughters ? Do you want them to hate 
 you? Do you see they hate to hear your voice? Do you 
 know what mill-work is ? NO ! you have never had any 
 frightful weary day at it. You have not once entered a mill ! 
 Even I know more of these girls than you do. You are ruin- 
 ing their health, and their life, and their spirit, with your 
 damned furniture and fads." 
 
 She had drawn in her breath quickly, and her face had 
 gone angry and irascible, but Kirk was angrier. His eyes 
 had the stillness of command. He spoke standing motion- 
 less as he had done to truculent men with the hard-grating 
 brutality inherited from his father, with that natural inborn 
 power of command, which, when exerted, is never disobeyed. 
 
 "No. Stop, woman. Or they shall leave you." 
 
 Mrs. Gisburn sank backwards into a chair as though a 
 bayonet threatened her.
 
 338 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 He raised Marian to her feet, glanced at Mrs. Gisburn and 
 said, 
 
 "Come into the front room, all but she." He held the door, 
 and after the girls and Jim had passed through he locked it. 
 
 "Now you will rebel against this. It will not do one day 
 longer. Sit down, Marian dear, lie down on the sofa. . . . 
 I shall back you up. You have nothing to fear. If needful 
 you will withhold your wages from her, and I will take charge 
 of all money. But she will settle down into the new order 
 in no-time. Meanwhile, you will obey me. 
 
 "I will improve things at once. Later your step-mother 
 will be glad, very glad. I am your friend. You know I 
 feel very much for you, and wheresoever I am in future years 
 I'll help you in trouble. And now to business." 
 
 He took from his pocket a small diary, looked for some 
 blank pages, then put down the diary and obtained a piece of 
 foolscap from the writing-table. Jim, so far acquiescent, 
 caught his eye, laughed nervously, and spoke quietly 
 
 "However tha't going to get ower th'owd 'un, nay! Ar 
 konno' tell ! Tha's takken my breath away !" 
 
 Kirk looked up with a fierce smile. 
 
 "You'll see. And you, Ruth, don't be shocked. We are 
 doing a right and just thing. 
 
 "Now, Ruth, first of all, I want a complete list of all that 
 so far has been done weekly in the house. We'll take it in 
 days Monday first. I shall then cut out everything unneed- 
 ful, and the rest will be divided between you, and be honour- 
 ably done, without quarrelling or grumbling. Besides, each 
 will know her exact time and work, and each will have but 
 half as much to do, when I've done with it ! Come on, Ruth, 
 and you others check her." He looked round at Marian. 
 Her eyes were shut. 
 
 "Never mind her, Mr. Clinton. I think Oo's asleep, it's 
 just what t' lass wants," said Jim. 
 
 In about half an hour, after arbitration carried on in low 
 voices between Ruth and Dinah and settled decisively point
 
 THE BORN FOOL 339 
 
 after point by Kirk, each girl's division and rotation of house- 
 work had been determined, and on the fly-leaf and blank 
 pages at the front of his own pocket-diary, Kirk wrote a 
 little time-table beneath each sister's name and one beneath 
 his own. Certain scrubbings that fell to Marian had been 
 struck out and booked to himself. 
 
 "Furniture will only be polished every six weeks," wrote 
 Kirk. "That's a good reform," said he, reading it over 
 with satisfaction, "and now we better make substitution 
 rules." 
 
 This also was done, and Jim, his tepid socialism for once 
 afire, delightedly added a word of advice 
 
 "Well! you lasses! Mesther Clinton's knocked th'owd 
 leddy longways ! an' none hurt her, netther ; it's t'best for all 
 o'thee, her as much as ony. All thee's got to do is to mak a 
 gradely job, an' t'houd fast like goom by they rools, an* 
 each do thee bit fair an' square. If th'owd leddy says awt, 
 tha's but got to ser, 'Mesther Clinton's med rool, and thee 
 mun set down to it.' Er'll none go agen him, tha'll see! 
 Her '11 do more for Mesther Clinton than for ony o' ye !" 
 
 "As regards Marian's work," said Kirk, "I shall do most 
 of it myself, while she is, as we can all see, so poorly and 
 done up. It's my right to help any one of you, if you are not 
 well, and I shall help you, Dinah, or you, Ruth, just the same 
 if the need arises." 
 
 "But you can't do that!" said Ruth, at last speaking and 
 much troubled. "Mother would never hear of it ! and besides, 
 I hope Marian would be too much ashamed to let you do 
 such a thing, and " 
 
 "Stop, Ruth ! How can you or Mrs. Gisburn prevent me ? 
 . . . You must never again speak like that, it is not right." 
 
 Kirk smiled confidently. "And I have not asked Marian's 
 leave, nor yours, and shall not do so. I do it because I choose 
 to do it." 
 
 "But if some one comes in and sees you ?" timidly asked 
 Ruth.
 
 340 THE BOKK FOOL 
 
 "Bnt they won't ; I shall keep the door locked, and clear 
 out while you open it full of thought !" 
 
 Jim and Dinah laughed. Dinah was intensely eager to see 
 Kirk wash floors, to see if he could really continue to "get 
 over mother," but Ruth felt quite mentally disordered. 
 
 "Now we shall attack your mother," said Kirk, standing 
 up. "The attack will be simply obeying the new rules, and 
 we shall begin now. To-night we will do the following work 
 only." 
 
 During the next hour an extraordinary brisk cheerfulness 
 animated those around Mrs. Gisburn. It was so odd to feel 
 sorry for her in a humorous kind of way. She remained 
 silent, taking no part, and sat there most of the time in a 
 kind of stupor, and she watched Kirk while he did Marian's 
 part and helped Ruth. At last she stood up, and began as it 
 were humbly to assist her step-daughters.
 
 CHAPTEE 
 
 MARIAN was to remain at home for ten days for the 
 sake of the change and partial rest obtainable, and 
 Ruth would replace her at the mill. This was satisfactory to 
 all, for the loss of six or seven shillings a week through 
 Marian's poor weaving was a serious matter in their eyes, and 
 Ruth was a good weaver. 
 
 Kirk himself stayed in next afternoon and he found that 
 he could scrub floors, wash pots, polish furniture, etc., quite 
 as well as any one. 
 
 A sudden and tremendous flood caused by heavy rain fall- 
 ing on quickly-melting deep snow rushed down the river for 
 many hours on Sunday, and rose until midnight. Kirk had 
 been sent for hastily at six o'clock that evening. Himself 
 and every man available worked strenuously till three next 
 morning and by their efforts prevented serious injury to the 
 new unfinished river-wall, and to the new bridge. Fortu- 
 nately they had abundant broken stone near at hand. With 
 this material they pushed out here and there a temporary 
 groin. These saved further damage and without doubt 
 stopped destruction of the bridge. At one o'clock in the 
 morning when the men were somewhat flagging, Kirk with 
 permission from a handy police-inspector sent to a near-by 
 public-house and a quart of beer was soon served out all 
 round, and the work went on quicker. Two hours later, Kirk, 
 happy by reason of great effort successful in result, thought 
 to himself, "I understand men better than I shall ever un- 
 derstand women . . . But I do understand one, and I shall 
 propose to her to-morrow no! to-day! of course." 
 
 341
 
 342 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 He toiled up the long hill to Bruside. There was a deep 
 relief in the prospect of setting Marian's heart at rest. He 
 thought carefully what words he would use "Marian, will 
 you honour me by marrying me?" or "Marian dear, I am 
 only poor, but I will make you happy ; will you marry me ?" 
 The last he decided was the better. He let himself into the 
 house with his latchkey. 
 
 To his surprise Mrs. Gisburn was sitting up, a fire burned 
 brightly, and the table was laid for himself. 
 
 "Oh ! Mrs. Gisburn ! you should on no account have stayed 
 up for me! You must be tired to death. Did you not get 
 my message? Why! it's half -past three! I sent a mes- 
 senger." 
 
 "I got message all-reet, but ye don't think I'd goo to bed 
 and leave ye to come in all starved and wet, and no one to 
 see to ye ?" 
 
 "Why, it's very kind and thoughtful of you." 
 
 "Nay, . . . ye've said some cruel things to me . . . but I 
 know men; ye'd have come in, and gone oif to y'r bed all 
 starved." 
 
 Kirk stood and looked down at the cloth. He spoke very 
 persuasively and gently. "But isn't what I did for the best ?" 
 
 She turned and stood stiffly by the fire, her straight up- 
 right back towards him, she was more deeply moved than he 
 knew. At last she replied reluctantly : 
 
 "Ay . . . happen it's for t'best . . . I'm getting an owd 
 woman." 
 
 "Why, of course it was for the best." 
 
 He took her hard hand in his own and drew her round to 
 face himself as he spoke. "You were working your own 
 self to death, as well as the girls. Why, you know you were !" 
 Kirk began to smile. 
 
 "You know you were, and now you're glad a man stopped 
 you !" She suddenly took his hand anew, and gripped it 
 twice. 
 
 "Now you go to bed," said he.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 343 
 
 Kirk slept until late in the morning. He was awakened 
 by Mrs. Gisburn knocking and entering with a breakfast- 
 tray. She put it upon a small table near him. 
 
 "I woke ye because it's none good for ye to lie so long 
 wi'out meat. Ye can ring the little bell when ye've done, 
 so me and Marian can wash pots up, and ye should lie in bed 
 till middle o' the day." 
 
 Twenty minutes later, Kirk as he sat up listened, and felt 
 certain he heard Mrs. Gisburn go out on some errand. With 
 a beating heart he rang the bell and waited, he rang again, 
 and then heard footsteps on the stair. The girl knocked. As 
 she entered he beheld her pale thinned face, her wistful eyes 
 endeavouring to smile at him ordinarily, and he was filled 
 with an intense lovable impulse. "How could I possibly 
 not have loved her?" 
 
 "Marian, you know I love you." 
 
 She came unsteadily across the room to the low bed and 
 sank down on his breast, and like a big child she hid her 
 face in his neck. Twice he kissed her flushed cheek. His 
 arms were round her. Her bosom upon his : a strange new 
 sensation for him. For a minute he was happy. Then 
 Marian raised herself from him a little, saying in a kind of 
 ashamed and low, but aggressive voice 
 
 "I want a man who will kiss me." 
 
 A profound revulsion shocked Kirk he thrust it out. He 
 kissed her twice on the forehead, then on the lips. Again 
 her head dropped on him. Now, indeed, it came upon him 
 with great fear that he had done the terrible and irretriev- 
 able act. For, if he did not love her, he could not conceal it. 
 His lips were dry, his face pale. By sheer strength of will 
 he stroked her pale beautiful hair ; but he felt as Judas, when 
 he too gave the traitor's kiss. He saw into the future, it 
 would break this girl's heart. But while she lay in his arms 
 he strove with the uttermost power of soul and body to keep 
 control "She shall not find out. God ! God ! help me, she is 
 your child !" Silently and defiantly he cried this. Then he
 
 344 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 looked out distractedly over her hair, stroking it gently, 
 Ah Ah but he would not be able to face her when she 
 knew. He could think of nothing but death, his own death. 
 He could not live with his abominable heart. He felt all 
 horribly contracted; his pulse scarcely beat. But he must 
 speak. 
 
 "Are you happy, Marian ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Her voice was muffled, but unmistakably happy. Her arms 
 faintly tightened round his neck. That was a great relief. 
 
 "I am very clever, I have not deceived in my life, but I 
 have immense power to do so, and now I will, I must and I 
 will, deceive even this girl." A sudden alternative presented 
 itself. He thrust it away. "She shall never know, never! 
 never ! or else I'll shoot us both." 
 
 They had not heard Mrs. Gisburn come in below. Twice 
 she had called Marian ; now she was coming upstairs. Marian 
 moved to withdraw from Kirk, but he firmly held her hand as 
 her step-mother stood at the door. Marian was very em- 
 barrassed, but Kirk said with a strongly forced smile and a 
 calmer voice, 
 
 "We are engaged, Mrs. Gisburn." 
 
 "How old do ye think she is, Mr. Clinton ?" Mrs, Gisburn 
 asked this painfully and gravely. 
 
 Kirk smiled strangely as he looked from Marian to her 
 mother. 
 
 "She's nigh on twenty-eight," said Mrs, Gisburn. Marian 
 did not move. 
 
 ". . . Well? What of that?" Nothing further could' 
 surprise him, or, rather, affect him, in his state of mind. 
 
 "I've told ye. She's six years your elder." 
 
 "I don't care if she is."
 
 CHAPTER XLIV 
 
 THE night following upon the day of his engagement was 
 terrible to Kirk. He had no sleep. He lived through 
 the hours minute by minute, overwhelmed by the fear of his 
 own thoughts 
 
 "I have deceived her. She will find out. It will kill her. 
 I've broken a girl's heart." Eor hours he turned wretchedly 
 on his bed and thought of suicide, rejecting it, re-contem- 
 plating it. 
 
 "I have killed her. I can't go through it again. I've done 
 the worst sin there is ! I cannot face her." 
 
 He feared greatly the coming day, the forced horrible re- 
 newal of sacrilege, the pretence of love, the agony of con- 
 cealment, the inevitable disaster that must happen when she 
 knew what was in his heart ; he feared like one of those who 
 has undergone horrible physical torture, and who lies through 
 the night with spoilt limbs and nailless hands ; with the fear- 
 ful, ever-present recollections of the extreme moments of 
 agony. He lay in dead fear, like one of these awaiting the 
 footsteps of the torturers who will come with daylight. 
 
 But towards dawn his hyper-sensitive fears and feelings 
 were less acute ; for they were become numbed, worn out for 
 the time, and were replaced by the profoundest apathy and 
 sadness. 
 
 The cocks began to crow. Inexorably another day had 
 arrived. The sound of distant crowing had always made 
 Kirk full of sadness. Dawn in the most wretched districts, 
 in black manufacturing regions, is broken always by the 
 crowing of cocks cramped up in grimy back yards and 
 miserable hopelessly-trodden runs, where the birds live out 
 their wretched lives. Even amid the hills and downs of the 
 
 345
 
 346 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 South, the distant crowing rising into the pure dawn from 
 solitary farms, in the silent early morning, had often, in 
 Kirk's mind, seemed to belong to the endless toil of mankind, 
 the heavy pressure of existence; the forced labour, the un- 
 rested limbs again dragged painfully from the heavy sleep 
 of blessed night, the banishment of all sweetness, the dark 
 separation of human life from the beautiful ordered harmony 
 of the heavens, the seasons, the flowers, the forests, the sea in 
 many colours. For us, dawn was but the renewal of strife, 
 the re-saddling of the sore unhealed back. It was in this 
 heavy spirit that he languidly and nervously arose and 
 dressed. 
 
 But youth and health were still unbroken in him. His 
 ideals still fought powerfully for life; and they sustained 
 him and brought fleeting, unnatural, unexpected, fickle moods 
 of joy; like those brief blessed lulls in a fatal painful illness; 
 and, in one of these moods, anxious unconsciously to bind and 
 strengthen his resolves, he wrote feverishly to Mrs. Athorpe. 
 
 "Mr DEAREST AUNT ALICE, 
 
 "Rejoice with me, for I am engaged to be married to a very pure, 
 devout, and affectionate girl, who I know loves me deeply, although 
 I am utterly unworthy of her and it still seems so strange to me 
 that she should love me, for men are not at all like women, who 
 are so eternal and beautiful in the constancy of the love they give us. 
 
 "You will wish to know what she is like. She has grey-blue beau- 
 tifully faithful clear eyes, rather a rosy face, and rich pale hair. 
 She lives here with her step-mother and her sisters. 
 
 "I hope you are feeling better, my dear Auntie, and that your gout 
 has quite gone. I hope you will leave town early this season and 
 spend plenty of time at Cromer, for you know how much good it 
 always does you. Please remember me to Canon Athorpe, and give 
 my love to cousin Eleanor. I hope they are both quite well. 
 "Believe me ever, with best love, 
 
 "Your affectionate 
 
 "KlRKPATRICK." 
 
 He handed the letter to Marian, who read the important 
 paragraph. A slight flush rose in her cheeks, and she stooped
 
 THE BORN FOOL 347 
 
 and kissed his forehead. He drew her down spontaneously 
 and kissed her as he would have done with Mary as a 
 brother, but not as a true-lover ; yet the temporary relief and 
 happiness greatly soothed him. 
 
 A few days later he travelled to Liverpool to see Brough 
 and discuss certain points about the work and other matters. 
 Kirk had not seen Brough for two months, and he now con- 
 gratulated him upon his new prospects as a director and a 
 partner. 
 
 They spent a busy afternoon together, until, indeed, it was 
 so late that Brough persuaded Kirk to stay with him for the 
 night. So Kirk telegraphed to Bruside, and after dinner and 
 wine the elder man took Kirk to a theatre. 
 
 Kirk this evening had recovered his balance, by companion- 
 ship with Brough, by means of the wine, but mostly by relief 
 from that fearful strain the counterfeiting of love. For he 
 was still but twenty-two, and full of much bodily and mental 
 strength. Since coming to know Brough well, Kirk had 
 truly fathomed that when Brough knelt down as if in prayer, 
 on that night long since when they slept in the same room 
 he had done this solely because he thought it would prevent 
 a sensitive shame on Kirk's part should he wish to say his 
 prayers. The delicacy of that action, only understood many 
 months later, and all observation subsequent gradually re- 
 vealed Brough to Kirk as a man of most innate goodness 
 but one who protected himself, or chose to mask himself, with 
 an external hard material mentality. Brough in his ironical 
 manner still called Kirk by his Christian name, and Kirk 
 much liked this token of an affection or liking undeclared, and 
 not needful to be demonstrated between them. Clinton was 
 unaware of the complex attraction that he raised in Brough, 
 who was peculiarly charmed by Kirk's strong sense of honour, 
 Quixotic purity of mind and eye, chivalrous ideas regard- 
 ing women, and further, by his young colleague's unspoiled
 
 348 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 affectionate nature and then all these so curiously conjoined 
 with brains and great practical ability ! 
 
 Kirk in the happy days could make Brough laugh 
 heartily, but would never tell ribald stories, and Brough had 
 long ceased to recount them in Kirk's presence certainly 
 not those crude inventions that he sometimes interchanged 
 with other men. 
 
 Last Christmas, the Bendigo nephews rather full of wine 
 and just a little nettled by Brough's reference to Kirk at their 
 expense had sought to chaff and draw Brough, and they 
 succeeded in a way 
 
 "Yes, yes, yes, flaccid, rancid, doocid, Charleous Charles, 
 and ginger-headed, ginger-whiskered, ginger-hearted James 
 too pious, is he? And therefore odd company for me?" 
 drawled Brough with irritable choler. "That is just exactly 
 why I like him, he is the most interesting child or man I ever 
 met. He's doocid pi, and yet most damned good at work, 
 and makes it pay my sons, which you do not, O my whoreson 
 beetleheaded flap-eared knaves ! and he is witty, too, when he 
 has, as we may say, the time, the place, the loved one all to- 
 gether. . . . Too much of the gentleman ? is he ? coarse ruf- 
 fians ! Of course he is, for you." 
 
 Brough drawled all this oddly, with a brutal calmness, add- 
 ing the last words rudely and in matter-of-fact tones as he 
 knocked out his pipe; and then finally rammed his meaning 
 well home: 
 
 "That is just the precise difference, between you two and 
 we two." 
 
 The opera pleased Kirk and removed him from reality, 
 placing him back firmly for the nonce in that heaven-world 
 of ideal love. It was long since he had been to a theatre. But 
 the music failed to move Brough and twice Kirk found his 
 friend's eyes fixed upon himself. As the curtain of the sec- 
 ond act descended, Kirk turned to Brough and expressed a 
 fervent admiration. The music had wrought on him, and he
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 349 
 
 was filled with a noble sense that he had, in face of all, be- 
 haved with honour ; that he had done rightly and bravely, in 
 adhering to Marian. He believed he had recovered his love 
 yet, the next moment, Brough's words half curious semi- 
 quizzing words strangely chilled him "Were I a silly girl, 
 I think I'd fall in love with you ! . . . Oft times, Kirkpat- 
 rick, thou lookest as though thou wert positively made for 
 love, thy body and thy soul." 
 
 ". . . Do I?" 
 
 In Kirk's mind, very painful and poignant thoughts be- 
 gan to interweave with the words that Brough now uttered : 
 
 "I'll tell you something now." . . . "Myself and the Old 
 Man heard you were falling head over heels in love with some 
 village girl but later on, Aikrigg, my trusty spy, said it was 
 only a flirtation, Kirk-patrick" Brough dwelt on the name 
 "and even that, Kirk-patrick, surprised us; but we were 
 glad, nay, overjoyed perhaps would be a riper word, to hear 
 Kirkpatrick had let it drop or rather, let drop the girl 
 there was 'nowt in it' to use the expressive but so unclassical 
 words of Mr. Aikrigg" Brough smiled mischievously as he 
 went on "who seems to think he has a grave responsibility 
 for placing Kirkpatrick in the local harem. You must avoid 
 the delights of woman, but you may flirt. All young men 
 decent young men, Kirkpatrick are like that." He regarded 
 Kirk's set face. 
 
 ". . . You think me coarse ? But even I once fell in love ; 
 right deep in love with a little dainty-seeming girl, offering 
 her my heart, my hand, the choiring of my soul, and my 
 ancestral debts. I was accepted and bethought me of the 
 wedding, when I found the little darling had mothered two 
 children by the local constable on nightly beat. . . ." 
 
 "I'm engaged to be married, Brough, to a pure girl." 
 
 "No . . . you don't mean that ? The devil-in-hell ! What 
 a fool . . ." Brough abruptly turned his back on Kirk, 
 crossed his knees violently and threw his arm over the back 
 of the seat.
 
 350 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 He meant what a fool he himself had been not to have 
 obeyed the old man at once and personally looked after Kirk. 
 But Kirk had flushed darkly. A new sense of masculinity 
 filled him. He seemed suddenly to be years older. He 
 touched Brough, and said 
 
 "My private affairs are my own, and will not affect the 
 work." 
 
 "Well, well, well, well," murmured Brough, without look- 
 ing at him, or moving. 
 
 He was profoundly annoyed by a sense of utter disillusion, 
 vexation, and unsettlement, and grieved by his own part in 
 the matter. He stood up. He did not look at Kirk, but 
 said, 
 
 "Do you want to see the rest of this grease-paint? Or 
 shall we go and have a drink ? I feel . . . that I want moral 
 support of some kind. I shall not longer be able to lean upon 
 Kirkpatrick. ... I feel grieved, Clinton." 
 
 He asked no further questions. Increase of salary would, 
 thought he, assuredly be stopped if news of this foolish en- 
 gagement came to old Mr. Bendigo. Aikrigg, he recollected, 
 was supplying stone by rail to Whitdale. 
 
 "The news will come to old man Bendigo through beauti- 
 ful bountiful Charlie," was Brough's next angry and sar- 
 castic thought. But he himself would tell no one. He felt 
 strongly that he had done very ill in the matter, and from 
 his own judgment of Kirk it seemed that things might run 
 a fatal, fatal course. 
 
 Late that night Kirk wrote his first love-letter, beginning 
 "My dearest Marian" 
 
 He told her "On no account touch the floor-scrubbing, 
 dear, for that is my prerogative and I shall be back in time. 
 Save yourself as much as you possibly can, and do not let the 
 others force you to do what you know, now, I cannot bear to 
 see you doing. I have bought some capital stuff for blacking 
 grates, and shall paint them all with it, and then there will be 
 no more of that back-aching black-leading ! I have told Mr.
 
 THE BORE" FOOL 351 
 
 Brough that I am engaged, and I expect he will tell Mr. 
 Bendigo; for though, of course, our private affairs have 
 nothing whatever to do with my employers I want them to 
 know; and this afternoon I asked Mr. Brough about a rise, 
 and he said he would do his best for me with Mr. Bendigo, 
 so I think it will be granted. I must save up now as much 
 as I possibly can. 
 
 "You should receive this letter a few hours before I ar- 
 rive. I expect to come by the eight-fifteen but do not on any 
 account meet me as it will be dark, and the hill is so bad for 
 you until you get strong again. However odd or quiet I may 
 seem to you at times, dear for we have strange moods in our 
 family, and I know that I inherit these from my father yet 
 ever believe me, dearest Marian, your loving Kirk." 
 
 Next morning Brough and Kirk spent an early hour at 
 the new Liverpool office. Brough then asked Kirk to inspect 
 some heavy timber over at Birkenhead, and they arranged to 
 meet later on at Lime Street Station. Brough would then go 
 South and Kirk return to Bruside. 
 
 They lunched at the station and talked over further details 
 of work; then Brough stood by Kirk's carriage door a few 
 minutes, thinking. Suddenly he said "Oh!" and felt in his 
 pockets. 
 
 "I'd forgotten something, you left this at the office, I 
 opened it, Kirkpatrick, to find who owned it." 
 
 Kirk felt the tell-tale blood rising and burning in his face 
 and ears. "He must have seen it, for some of it's written on 
 the very title page," thought he. 
 
 Brough had observed and waited a moment, he changed his 
 position, and, looking Kirk through and through with his 
 truthful keen eyes, he said : 
 
 "Are you happy, quite happy, Kirkpatrick ?" 
 
 Kirk found it not possible to meet those eyes and tell a lie. 
 He looked away, clenched his teeth, and replied firmly 
 through them, 
 
 "I am quite happy, thank you very much, Brough."
 
 352 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 As the train began to move, the elder man took his hand 
 and said, 
 
 "Goodbye . . . And good luck. If you are ever in diffi- 
 culty, or want my advice on your own affairs, come and see 
 me." 
 
 "Goodbye," said Kirk, a mist in his eyes. 
 
 During this brief absence he had wonderfully rebuilt his 
 precarious ideals, for he was one of those with great powers 
 of generation, and re-generation. Knowledge was but for 
 transmutation. Experience, for exaltation. Feelings and 
 emotions were in him as potent, fixed, and strong, as the 
 power pent in deep and dammed up water. To this source of 
 his character Brough had penetrated. He had noted that 
 Kirk always preferred "I feel" to "I think" . . . and on this 
 night it recurred to Brough, and he murmured to himself, 
 "and yet he can think, he can think, so widely and acutely !" 
 
 In the hall Kirk of his own desire kissed Marian. And 
 then she, smiling, and her eyes still love-lit, held out to him 
 a letter bearing the black crest of Mrs. Athorpe. They went 
 into the front parlour, where they were alone. 
 
 Kirk opened and read the letter while Marian watched his 
 changing face. 
 
 "MY DEAREST KlBKPATRICK, 
 
 "I received your letter but could not pass it as usual to Eleanor. 
 I cannot rejoice with you, for it is very foolish, greatly foolish 
 of you, to become engaged or think of marriage at your age, nor 
 do I understand why the people of the young girl you mention 
 should have allowed her to become engaged to you; for your salary 
 must be very small. It is but five years since you left Severnly 
 School, and you are not, I think, yet twenty-two. I am feeling very 
 unwell and quite unable to reply to your news, which has given me 
 a great shock. Your dear mother would deeply have disapproved 
 such an early engagement, and you tell me nothing of the girl whom 
 you say you love. I do indeed trust that she is a lady, and is your 
 own equal. But I had understood you knew no nice people where 
 you are? Marriages beneath one always lead to the extreme un- 
 happiness of both parties.
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 353 
 
 "I have just re-read your short note. I do not understand what 
 you mean when you say that 'she lives here with her stepmother 
 and sisters.' You have mentioned no one to me in all your letters, 
 Kirkpatrick; and I cannot tell you, Kirk, how much grieved I feel, 
 that you have not confided in me. It seems such a breach of that 
 candour in you that your mother loved. I cannot understand this 
 engagement at all. I have not cared to tell my son and his wife. 
 They will think you are mad, and they take so much interest in 
 you. It is but the other day Eleanor said to my son, 'Kirk has only 
 to marry well, and he will make a name, and will arrive. 
 
 "You made a great impression upon them when you came here 
 from Cirenhampton, for you were always a clever boy, and my 
 darling Agnes, your mother, hoping so much for your future, once 
 said to me: 'He is my child of many prayers.' 
 
 "I am growing very feeble, and I have few years to live, and 
 I am no longer able to do as I like. Does your father, and does 
 Mr. Bendigo know of your engagement? They will strongly dis- 
 approve. Nor can I approve of a girl who becomes engaged to a 
 young fellow of only twenty-two, only just setting out on his 
 career in life, and without proper means for her support for you 
 have yourself pointed out to me how many years must be spent by 
 young engineers before they receive an adequate salary, and I think 
 you have not yet passed all your exams? I am hoping that your 
 news is only the result of some boy and girl freak, and that you will 
 soon be tired of each other, and see your extreme mutual folly. I 
 am too exhausted to say all I feel, and I am writing this with diffi- 
 culty, in bed; for your mother, had she lived, poor dear, would 
 herself have written this to you. 
 
 "Your loving Aunt Alice." 
 
 As Kirk put this letter back into its envelope, Marian, 
 unable to control her anxiety, asked him 
 
 "What does she say, Kirk ?" 
 
 She put out her hand for the letter, but Kirk gently 
 withdrew it. 
 
 ". . . She thinks it unwise for us to be engaged, Marian ; 
 she does not see it as we do. I knew she would say these 
 things." 
 
 "Let me see it, Kirk." 
 
 "No, I can't possibly show it you. It would only hurt 
 you." He tore it in two in its envelope, dropped the frag-
 
 354 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 merits in the fire, and watched them burn. Marian asked 
 him tremulously, 
 
 "Does she . . . does she think I'm not good enough for 
 you?" 
 
 "No, no, dear, she thinks we are too young, that's all, but 
 she writes severely ; don't ask me what she says." 
 
 By great effort he had forced himself to reply soothing- 
 ly, but Mrs. Athorpe's words had stricken him with their 
 truth. It was his first clear vision of the world's view of his 
 position, and in his breast as he saw the girl's deep emotion 
 he was overcome by fear the same terrible fear of not being 
 able to love her, of deceiving her, of breaking her heart. 
 
 Quite wordless and gone pale, Marian turned and hid her 
 face on Kirk's shoulder. 
 
 He instantly put his arms round her, strongly and pity- 
 ingly. His feelings were roused. Great pity had replaced 
 love. "Never mind, Marian dear, never mind, dear. Don't 
 fear anything. I don't want any relations or friendships. 
 You'll always have me, dear, for yourself. I'll always take 
 care of you. You know I love you, and will always love you." 
 To the intellectual half of himself he said sternly, "I defy you 
 to stop me loving her!" 
 
 "Oh, Kirk !" said she, raising a disfigured and tearstained 
 face, "I felt something go through me when you were reading 
 that letter." 
 
 "Never mind, dear," manfully said Kirk, holding her 
 firmer, smiling, and as it were hurling himself into the 
 breach with a grim humour "You can feel something going 
 round you now ! can't you, dear ?" and he held her close round 
 her supple waist. The girl smiled through her tears. 
 
 Afterwards for some time he sat in a low chair while 
 Marian kneeled beside him with her head and arms on his 
 knees. Well content was she to be resting on the body of 
 the man she loved, and she was quite unconscious that he sat 
 there rigidly, that he looked out from his fixed and strained 
 eyes, and again fought with himself.
 
 CHAPTER XLV 
 
 KIRK saw much more of Marian while she remained at 
 home. He passed agitating days. By powerful mental 
 and emotional effort he defied the effect of that selfishness he 
 detected in her. Each day with relief he closed behind him 
 the house door when he set off for the works. He had by 
 power of strong will regained something of his idealism and 
 love of Marian ; yet the fear of a second loss haunted him 
 like a terrible spectre, always present, too fearful to look on, 
 yet just behind him, and he dared not to look behind. He 
 threw himself into his work by main force, for though he felt 
 too distraught to enter into worldly things, yet if he did not 
 then his fear and sorrow pressed round him and crushed 
 him so that he could scarcely breathe. To the close observer 
 he looked thinner, his eyes were shrunk and too bright, and 
 his whole manner showed extreme mental and emotional ten- 
 sion. He started violently when a moorland sheep came 
 suddenly out of a roadside lane. While returning each even- 
 ing to the house, he spent the upward walk schooling his 
 feelings, forcing upon himself a false calm and state of 
 brightness; for on his arrival he must greet and kiss poor 
 Marian. He retired to bed each night with intense relief, 
 deeply thankful for solitude and that he found it easy to 
 please her. He fell at times into the heavy sleep of exhaus- 
 tion; but always his awakening was distressful. Generous 
 pity and solicitude for Marian, his promise and his honour, 
 kept him to the path he trod. 
 
 About three weeks after the day of engagement, he came 
 in for breakfast and found on his plate a private letter from 
 Mr. Bendigo. He opened it with misgiving and was glad 
 that Marian had gone on some small errand. His foreboding 
 
 355
 
 356 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 returned tenfold when he read the letter, for Kirk's sensi- 
 tive nature was impressionable as that of many a young girl. 
 
 "Surrey. 
 "DEAR CLINTON, 
 
 "I have heard with considerable surprise that yon are engaged 
 to be married. I feel a certain amount of responsibility for young 
 engineers under my employ. It is very easy for a young man to 
 be led into an unfortunate entanglement, but I trust if what I men- 
 tion is true, that you have at least consulted your father in the 
 matter. I am assured that he would agree with me, that it would 
 be most injudicious of a young fellow in your position to think of 
 marrying. I write to you, also, as being privileged by my old ac- 
 quaintance with your father. I will mention that he wrote me 
 privately about you at the time I took you into my service. I will 
 say further that you have served me satisfactorily and caused me 
 to take a personal interest in your welfare. 
 
 "The question of your salary has recently been brought favourably 
 to my notice by Mr. Brough, but, you will please understand clearly, 
 that should the news of your engagement prove true, I would not 
 feel justified either to your father or to yourself, in placing a 
 premium on any foolish desires you may at present entertain, and 
 which would prove inimical both to your career, and to your present 
 work. 
 
 "I shall await your reply by return of post. 
 
 "Yours truly, 
 
 "JAMES BENDIGO." 
 
 He sat with the letter in his hand, feeling unable to eat 
 the food placed before him by Mrs. Gisburn; twice, for 
 appearance, he drank a little coffee, and then forced him- 
 self to begin eating for he felt Mrs. Gisburn's eyes were 
 upon him, and that she was anxious, and he felt suspicion 
 that she divined his state of mind. 
 
 Truly she had to some extent discovered him, and also the 
 contents of the letter. It was the first from his employer 
 which had come bearing the word "private" and it was 
 not addressed in the usual formal type-writing. Over an 
 hour since she had turned it over and perceived in it some- 
 thing unusual ; she thought it must contain orders to send
 
 THE BORN FOOL 357 
 
 him to those other works but as she watched his face she 
 saw the letter contained graver matter, and her slow imagina- 
 tion led her to a dim but truthful perception. The cause of 
 the shock, too imperfectly concealed by Kirk, was guessed by 
 her. 
 
 Sh i sat down and began to sew, then she put her hands in 
 her lap and said slowly, 
 
 "Mr. Clinton, ye mussn't let them dead feelings cc :ne to 
 ye. Ye must either be a man, or a mouse, now." 
 
 Kirk held his breath a moment then spoke to her calmly. 
 
 '^Whatever I feel, you need have no fear of what I think, 
 Mrs. Gisburn. What I do, will be all right." 
 
 He took the morning paper, propped it up as though to 
 read, looked at it steadily, and ate a little food. 
 
 But he dare not wait for Marian, for he was so overcharged 
 that he felt he must immediately be by himself. 
 
 It was the Queen's birthday and Mr. Bendigo always had 
 the day observed on all his works. Kirk had forgotten this 
 fact and now he was thankful for it. He passed the single 
 watchman at the gates and went on to the deserted private 
 office, which he unlocked and entered. Of habit he opened 
 a window and sat down. To his strange emotional trouble 
 from which he had so vainly sought desperate escape but 
 found himself at every turn fatally barred in by his honour 
 and by the unbearable agony of hurting Marian to this was 
 now added a bitter sense of hurt it was clear that all his 
 hard work was to go unrewarded. He had been unaware how 
 keenly he had built up hopes on the increase of salary. It 
 was bitter to know that he had fallen in the esteem of his 
 superiors, and he saw money difficulties ahead, and that he 
 must seek a fresh appointment very likely without a testi- 
 monial from Mr. Bendigo. He remembered the innumer- 
 able efforts and disappointment after disappointment before 
 he had escaped from home. At this moment his sick condi- 
 tion of mind recoiled despairingly from these prospective
 
 358 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 efforts; a grievous deathly nausea against the human life 
 now for the first time in his own life overcame him. No 
 longer could he endure his conditions. He would take flight. 
 He had fought and fought bravely and now he had lost. He 
 would flee to some far country, where no one knew him 
 and no one would ever again hear of him. 
 
 He stood up and went feverishly to the safe, to take out 
 the little hoard he had begun to save up for the wedding 
 the wedding that he now saw had never been destined to take 
 place. By the small bag of money lay his loaded revolver. 
 
 "It is better for you, poor girl, oh far better; I am not 
 what you imagine, I am only a wretched man who has no 
 heart, who is one of those horrible fickle ones whom you will 
 hate. You will soon forget my treacherous face." 
 
 Through the open window suddenly began to pour in the 
 rapturous song of an ascending lark, trilling and trilling, like 
 its own glad little heart, in the joyous May sunshine ; but it 
 pierced Kirk's heart like an exceedingly sharp knife. He 
 made an inarticulate noise. Instead of the money his hand 
 clenched the revolver, he lifted it quickly, cocked it at the 
 full, dropped into a chair, put the cold muzzle to his full 
 temple and pressed his finger on the trigger harder harder 
 as hard as he could 
 
 Then with anger and shock he brought the weapon before 
 his eyes. He stood up and pointed it through the window 
 and pulled hard, but no explosion followed. He then saw 
 the unobtrusive safety-lever had been drawn over, un- 
 noticed. He drew it back and at this moment the lark's 
 song, heard of him but subconsciously ceased as suddenly 
 as it commenced. It caused a relief to the great pressure of 
 his grief. He sat down again and put the muzzle to his tem- 
 ple, but he did not pull the trigger. He dropped the weapon 
 in his lap, thinking, "I am a damned coward as well rs a 
 cad," and instead of the desire of death came a fearful 
 weakness to tell Marian everything, to ask her to forgive 
 him, to tell him what he was to do.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 359 
 
 He went back up the hill and found Marian down on her 
 "knees scrubbing the oilcloth floors. Upstairs Mrs. Gisburn 
 made a great noise with the furniture. The moment he saw 
 Marian he knew his ideas were impossible. He stepped over 
 her feet, protesting, his hand on the roundness of her bodice. 
 
 "Oh, Marian, dear! You know so well you mustn't do 
 this ! You know what Dr. Rennie said. And you promised 
 me you wouldn't." 
 
 He took her wet hands and raised her to her feet. He was 
 filled with a sense of himself re-conquered. Here in this life 
 he could and would tenderly help her. He was of no slightest 
 value himself, but she was precious, and her heart was loyal 
 and loving. His own was too worthless to be further con- 
 sidered. He kissed her and she smiled radiantly as she ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 "Oh, Kirk ! I'm all wet ! I didn't want you to catch me ! 
 and mother can't bear seeing you do it, she goes on ever so 
 when you're not here. Do let me do it, Kirk," said she, try- 
 ing to draw away "I feel ever so well to-day." 
 
 "No, I shan't. You must obey me now, and not your 
 mother. It hurts me awfully to see you down on your knees, 
 and your poor back so weak." 
 
 He untied her apron and threw it on the sofa. 
 
 She obeyed him and locked the front and back doors. "When 
 he saw her sitting down and peeling potatoes the apron re- 
 adjusted he was satisfied, and fell-to vigorously on his knees 
 while Marian watched critically through the kitchen door. 
 After a few minutes she came and stood over him. He looked 
 up at her and she stooped and took his hand and kissed the 
 little curls of hair she loved, and then repeated the kiss on 
 one of his small ears. 
 
 "Eh, I've never heard of one like you, Kirk! you do 
 housework better than a woman! you are a dear, Kirk." 
 
 Kirk laughed nervously, she could not see his eyes. 
 
 "You go back to your work, Miss, or we shall have the old 
 lady making a fuss."
 
 360 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Kirk while he scrubbed remembered his mother taking 
 him to see a young widow lady and her two boys of about his 
 own age or a little older. Afterwards his mother had said 
 to him, 
 
 "They are very poor indeed, Kirk, so poor that they can- 
 not afford even one servant, and those two dear boys, of 
 their own accord, do all the heavier housework, to save their 
 mother. That is true chivalry, Kirk." 
 
 In the sunny afternoon Marian proposed they should go 
 for a walk, so Kirk threw a cloak over his arm and they 
 walked slowly up the main road of Bruside. 
 
 Marian had put her arm in his and was deeply enjoying 
 herself, very much aware of what Kirk did not see the 
 numerous folk peeping at them through the sickly geraniums 
 and window flowers. 
 
 They turned off and went down hill by a quiet path that 
 led them among the small green pasture-fields; here they 
 were well hidden by the high stone walls, and by a scattered 
 little wood or shaw. Daisies were fully out, golden dande- 
 lion petals sparkled in the new grass; under the trees of the 
 little shaw showed a few wild hyacinths. The lovers selected 
 a retired spot where Kirk spread the cloak. Marian knelt 
 in a sitting position, and Kirk sat beside her. She took one 
 of Kirk's hands in both her own, and held it in her lap. 
 
 She looked pretty; her illness had thinned her, and she 
 seemed quite slender in her dark close-fitting dress. A square 
 yoke of thin white material showed on the bosom; this was 
 very becoming and gave Marian a look of youth and maiden- 
 liness. 
 
 "Tell me about when you were a boy, Kirk," said she, 
 looking away over the hollow of the valley, to the great spread 
 of brown sunlit moorland that rose up beyond them. 
 
 So, sitting touching each other, he began to tell her of his 
 strange ecstacies in the woods, and how a wild flower had 
 caused him tears one day, at Cirenhampton ; then he told her 
 a little of the day at Junipen, and he described that dear
 
 THE BORN FOOL 361 
 
 southern land to her. He told her of the sorrowful strange 
 feelings he had, when he had heard the youthful girls' silvery 
 laughter floating far up to him from the lawn of the old 
 farm-manor, two years ago, and as he told her this he sud- 
 denly for the first time connected that prophetic feeling with 
 his present-day. "It was a premonition," thought he, and 
 fell silent, and the horrible weakness to make confession, to 
 tell Marian, to unburden himself, even to be himself comfort- 
 ed, to put his own head on her bosom, began a second time 
 to overcome him. The struggle was so great that he trembled 
 and shivered. 
 
 Marian glanced at him and was alarmed. 
 
 "Oh, Kirk! You're ill?" 
 
 His face was working, and he was looking down, clenching 
 the grass with his free hand. 
 
 "Oh, Kirk! oh, Kirk, dear . . . why are you so dread- 
 fully sad?" 
 
 He could not reply. 
 
 Then with a piteous voice and look averted she whispered 
 to herself, 
 
 "Ah . . . don't you want to marry me, Kirk ? Kirk, you 
 must never marry me, if you don't love me." 
 
 She loosed his hand, turned away, and began to sob, cov- 
 ering her face and drooping her head, kneeling in a crouch- 
 ing attitude. 
 
 Then was he utterly revolted by what he thought his cow- 
 ardice. 
 
 "Don't, dear ! oh, don't, dearest ! don't cry, I can't bear it, 
 Marian, don't cry. Oh, you are so mistaken " he was 
 kneeling and had hastily drawn her to him, and clasped her 
 very tenderly. 
 
 "There, dear . . . there . . . there, dear . . ." 
 
 Oh, how sweet and humble she was in this distress, and he 
 was overwhelmed with desire to comfort her. She leaned 
 passively against him and drank in his passionate words. 
 
 "Don't cry, dear, don't ever be troubled again, I don't
 
 362 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 know what made me so sad. . . I'm subject to these strange 
 moods. I told you that I was. I told you of the flower at 
 Cirenhampton . . . that it made me cry ... to explain to 
 you ... I cannot help myself my strange moods but 
 be assured, ever, dear, that I love you, that I am yours only, 
 and never doubt me again; I shall never love any one else 
 but you." "This," thought he, "is indeed true." 
 
 She gradually ceased crying, and after a few minutes 
 spoke to him tremulously. 
 
 "I I didn't know, Kirk, dear, why I said that. Some- 
 thing came over me, so sad, so dreadful, and then your voice, 
 and when I saw your eyes " 
 
 Kirk soothed her and gently pressed her head against 
 his shoulder. 
 
 Marian began wiping her wet cheeks, then she smiled 
 "Kirk, I think you and me are both a bit queer sometimes 
 we're not like others like other folks but we've got each 
 other, dear, always but sometimes I feel something so dark 
 come round me, as if I had nothing left, and then I feel such 
 a dreadful sadness I could kill meself it frightens me . . . 
 but I've got you, dear, now . . . I'll never think like that 
 again." 
 
 She leaned back on him and looked up in his eyes so that 
 willingly he bent his head and kissed her anew. 
 
 They walked back arm-in-arm through the village, and 
 Kirk helped Marian to prepare tea. Afterwards he proposed 
 secretly to her to take train to Hepthwaite and there buy the 
 engagement ring. Marian smiled and flushed, and went 
 upstairs quickly to put on her coat and hat. 
 
 As they descended to the valley she quickened her steps 
 and danced a little on his arm, exclaiming, 
 
 "Oh, Kirk! I feel so well! don't let's go by train! let's 
 walk there ! it's ever so nice along the river ; we can sit down 
 if I get tired." 
 
 Several people on the main road met them and smiled
 
 THE BORN FOOL 363 
 
 meaningly. Marian smiled back proudly; she had taken 
 Kirk's arm immediately they left the house. 
 
 The path they followed was of black cinders, and went 
 beside the river, through the single breadth of flat meadow 
 that formed the narrow valley-floor. Here the river was bor- 
 dered by ragged hawthorns in full new leaf, still unsullied 
 by the smoke. Above the reach of covetous hands were a few 
 sprays of delicious blossoms ; and the newly broken twigs be- 
 low them showed how appreciated were these rarities. Be- 
 tween these bushes on the river-side was seen the pink sunset, 
 reflected from the pools of still water among the rocks and 
 boulders of the broad channel. 
 
 Kirk knew the water was polluted ; but the slight evening 
 wind blew away the smell from the lovers. The greasy 
 boulders were mostly hidden by huge green leaves of wild rhu- 
 barb; the tall and curious pink flowers of this plant rose 
 in spires above the sky-reflecting water. The mills were si- 
 lent, the dark green hills were coloured by the sunset, and in 
 the unusual stillness sounded faintly the traffic on the setted 
 roads, the distant shouts of children, and from some farm 
 high upon the moors one could hear the far-away barking of a 
 sheep-dog. 
 
 There were other lovers arm-in-arm on this path and 
 Marian was acquainted with nearly every one of them. Kirk 
 did not observe the young men, but he noticed that Marian 
 and the girls exchanged warm glances. It was that secret 
 eternal triumph of women over men and of which women 
 are always aware. One or two pairs stopped and wished 
 them happiness, displaying a shyness in the presence of 
 Marian's well-dressed and austere young stranger. 
 
 "Why, if that isn't Edward Garside coming!" said Marian, 
 a little fluttered. 
 
 Kirk was aware that this now wealthy brickmaker had 
 once been refused by Marian. 
 
 Garside was a man of about thirty-five, and was ill-dressed 
 in new clothes, but he bore himself like a master. He knew
 
 364 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 Kirk a little, for he had supplied certain special bricks for the 
 works. 
 
 He approached them down the middle of the path and they 
 mutually stopped as they met. Mr. Garside looked at Marian 
 and smiled frankly and a little sadly. He made no greeting, 
 but said in a sincere, quiet, and deliberate manner, 
 
 "Well, Mesther Clinton. Ar always said thee was a 
 straight 'un; and tha's getten a good lass; and o' good 
 parents for ther wur m'feyther's friends. Ov known Marian 
 sen her wur a little gurl ... I wish thee both joy and mooch 
 happiness!" He shook Kirk's hands and then Marian's. He 
 put his hand to his cap in reply to Kirk's salute, and went 
 on deliberately. 
 
 All these congratulations were a strengthening and con- 
 firming of Kirk in his set purpose. 
 
 At the jeweller's unpretentious shop Marian took much 
 time to select a ring. Kirk chose her one containing a single 
 clear, starlike diamond. This ring looked good and the de- 
 sign was chaste. But Marian preferred one more ornate, a 
 thin ring, with five little diamonds held very lightly in open 
 setting. 
 
 "Besides, Kirk," whispered she to him "it's ten shillings 
 lees than the other, and it fits me, and the other seems just 
 a bit too small." 
 
 "All right, dear, I want you to choose what you like best, 
 inside our small limit." 
 
 "It's you must put it on, Kirk," said she. 
 
 Kirk and the young jeweller smiled and Kirk slid the 
 chosen ring on her short finger. 
 
 On the way to the station Marian with some little diffi- 
 culty drew on her suede glove and Kirk observed this. 
 
 "It does stick up well, Kirk, doesn't it ? I think it's just 
 lovely ! just what I've always wanted !" 
 
 In the train she fingered the little ridge made on her glove 
 by the hidden ring. They both laughed, Kirk chaffingly, but
 
 THE BORN FOOL 365 
 
 he delighted in giving presents and was so glad Marian was 
 well pleased. 
 
 She took his hand and looked so happy and relieved that 
 he experienced a joy he thought was love returned to him, 
 but which really came from the satisfaction of his conscience 
 and peculiar sense of honour, and, in a lesser degree, from 
 that innate pleasure that all young men share in the first 
 possession and protection of a young and physically attractive 
 woman. 
 
 Just before they neared the house-door Marian stopped in 
 the darkness to pull off her resisting glove. 
 
 "Kirk ! Let's see how soon they notice it !" 
 
 Dinah saw it first. 
 
 "Eee ! She's got her engagement ring !" 
 
 But dismay fell on Marian for she saw a diamond was 
 gone! Dinah and Marian north-country and supersti- 
 tious, instantly thought this a bad omen, but did not say 
 so. Much depressed, Marian hastily followed Jim, and Kirk, 
 who carried a lantern, and they all three searched about the 
 spot in the road where she had pulled off her glove, but after 
 repeated search they found nothing. As they re-entered the 
 house they met Ruth coming out 
 
 "It's all right! Marian! I've found it in the glove!" 
 
 " . . .1 won't have it now I'll get it changed Oh, Kirk, 
 I do wish I'd had the one you chose me! It's ever so un- 
 lucky." 
 
 But Kirk laughed at them all and re-assured Marian. 
 
 "I'm quite glad really a good thing it has come out at 
 once, so we can easily change the ring. I thought it looked 
 too fragile ; and the diamonds are not nearly so sparkling as 
 the single good one. We'll go over again to-morrow evening, 
 dear."
 
 CHAPTER XL VI 
 
 MR. WILKINSON thought very ill of Clinton's en- 
 gagement but he did not speak of it. Kirk soon 
 mentioned that Mr. Bendigo had refused him an increase 
 of salary, and that he intended to leave the old man's service 
 so soon as he could secure a better-paid appointment. He 
 asked Wilkinson to tell him of any berth that came to his 
 knowledge. It flashed through the older man's mind that if 
 Kirk left Bruside he would soon see his folly, and would 
 take advantage of the separation to break off the engagement ; 
 but he also thought it would be very unwise, and unfortunate, 
 for him to leave hastily employers who thought so well of 
 him. It seemed a bad business for Kirk to leave a big firm 
 in which Wilkinson judged Kirk had good prospects. 
 
 But meanwhile Mr. Bendigo took his own action, and 
 Kirk early in June received a letter telling him that Charlie 
 Bendigo would shortly arrive at Bruside. He would take 
 charge of the works, but under Kirk's supervision. After 
 instructing Charlie, Kirk was to go and live at Chunaldale 
 in Hillshire, where a contract for new waterworks had been 
 secured. He was to return every fortnight for two days or 
 so, to see that Bruside progressed satisfactorily. If any- 
 thing urgent arose at Bruside, then the nephew would tele- 
 graph for Kirk. The old man finished his long letter with 
 these words : "I think you should be quite able to make these 
 arrangements work well." 
 
 Chunaldale is the most southern outlier of the cotton 
 towns, and is forty miles south-west from Bruside. The 
 town, a rather large one, is built in the tumbled trough where 
 several deep valleys join together, on the most northern edge 
 
 366
 
 THE BORX FOOL 367 
 
 of Hillshire, and where the highest region of the Pennine 
 Range adjoins the manufacturing purlieus of Lancashire and 
 Yorkshire. Chunaldale contains some large but out-of-date 
 spinning-mills and a few chemical dye-works, and is a rather 
 old, squalid, decayed-looking town. Gritstone yellow and 
 black gives the colour of the walls, and the roofs are of thin 
 grey and dirty-yellow slabs of stone. But within a mile of 
 all this the bracken-covered solitudes and the high valleys rise 
 up to wild and beauteous moors, that undulate two thousand 
 feet above the level of the sea. 
 
 In early days before steam came in the abundant water 
 power at Chunaldale attracted spinners, and there are still, 
 to-day, many little ruined, mossy, ivy-grown mills, se- 
 questered here and there in those steep tree-filled ravines that 
 radiate southwards and upwards from the big Chunal Dale. 
 Cut on those deserted little mills one can find among the ivy 
 dates that go back to 1790. 
 
 Kirk took rooms let by a gaunt old maid, who had seen 
 better times. Very many years before, she had been gov- 
 erness to a wealthy family and had been well treated. But 
 the children growing up had gone to school, and then Miss 
 Grayley had secured less and less remunerative posts. She 
 had passed through painful years of poverty and discomfort, 
 and at length had become almost destitute. In this great 
 strait she had at last written to one of those children, now 
 grown up. She asked for a very small loan. The excep- 
 tion had taken place, and old Miss Grayley had been put 
 in receipt of a small annuity. She returned to her birth- 
 place, where a friend or two still remained to her, and there 
 she took a small house. This she gradually and sparsely fur- 
 nished. For some years before Kirk's arrival she had in- 
 creased her income by letting rooms to a young schoolmaster, 
 who boarded with her. He had just left ; and in reply to her 
 advertisement Kirk vacated the local hotel and took rooms 
 with her. He could live very cheaply in this way, and he 
 and the old maid ate a midday meal together. Her refined
 
 368 THE BOKIST FOOL 
 
 speech and manners gave pleasure to Kirk; and after the 
 first weeks of reserve she told him a good deal of her life. 
 But he told her nothing direct of his own, and she never 
 questioned him. 
 
 Although somewhat embittered Miss Grayley preserved 
 a kind heart that oddly belied her severe face, her gaunt up- 
 right carriage, and her occasional sarcastic remarks on men, 
 things, and women. 
 
 She served Kirk's breakfast and tea in the front sitting- 
 room, thinking he would prefer this. 
 
 Kirk now saved every shilling that he could, his object 
 being early marriage, for he felt sure that Marian could not 
 much longer withstand mill-life, and to save her from that 
 would make up though but a little for despicable in- 
 constancy. 
 
 He was allowed second-class fares on railways, but he now 
 travelled third-class and saved the difference. 
 
 The separation from Marian was a great relief, but had 
 quite an opposite outcome from that hoped for and expected 
 by Mr. Bendigo, Mr. Brough, and Mr. Wilkinson. Constant 
 juxtaposition would have been far more dangerous for 
 Marian's hopes, for even she would at last have discovered 
 him ; or, the unrelieved pressure would have grown to more 
 than he could bear. Every three days he wrote to Marian 
 affectionate letters that he found very much easier work than 
 actual daily contact with the beloved, to whom he so feared to 
 be unfaithful. He signed himself "your loving Kirk." 
 
 Yet this was a nightmare-like period. His spectres of re- 
 morse and fear seldom ceased to dog him. The state of 
 great nervous strain continued. Whole days of agitation came 
 often and often, and he suffered continually the longing to 
 make to her a clean breast, and then, would think he, she 
 could take him if she desired. But he knew that she would 
 not he knew it would break her heart, the same as he felt 
 his own already broken and so he must fight himself down.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 There was nothing else; and he continued successfully to 
 fight down every natural wish. 
 
 He began at length to suffer from real neurasthenia. His 
 sleep became meagre, very broken, and that terrible feeling 
 as though a vice held the pit of the stomach seized him for 
 days. His daily work became a second ceaseless effort of the 
 will. He began without reason to fear all things; he pre- 
 feared ordinary business interviews with quarry-owners, tim- 
 ber merchants, estate agents, with the engineers who had de- 
 signed the scheme he worked on, with the cousin of the noble 
 local landowner all interviews that passed off perfectly 
 well, and in which there was not the least reason for any fear ; 
 they were interviews in which he was most successful. 
 
 But after business hours, then it was that darkest depres- 
 sion and desolation most frequently overcame him, and he 
 was driven out and up into the hills to sit by himself, 
 anxious, unnerved, hopelessly depressed and desolate. There 
 in the fading light with no sounds breaking the silence 
 but those of falling water, the weird monotonous nightjar, the 
 sad bleating of sheep, the calling of the distant moorcock 
 gathering together for the night there in these lonely places 
 he would wrestle terribly with his intense grief, with his 
 enormous desire to flee away from what appeared duty irre- 
 vocable. He longed unspeakably to go abroad somewhere, 
 without a word to a soul, and be free, and forget all these 
 terrible emotions, and be content to know he was a cad and a 
 blackguard, inconstant, fickle, selfish, unable to love un- 
 worthy of all noble love. But yet, by flight, he would escape 
 this acute stress of insincerity and this great burden that he 
 so feared he could not much longer uphold. In these solitary 
 places during the increasing beauty of summer, he mourned 
 terribly and alone over the loss of all happiness, loveliness, 
 and love. 
 
 Between these paroxysms he would as it were build again 
 at his fallen ideal of Marian, and try to believe he loved her ; 
 and always he had an affection for her, a sincere and deep
 
 370 THE BORIST FOOL 
 
 desire to help her from her painful environment and comfort 
 her. 
 
 The Bruside works were now visited fortnightly by Kirk, 
 and he arranged his visits to include the weekend. 
 
 Marian was again working at the mill and this gave Kirk 
 some anxiety, but Marian seemed altogether stronger, 
 brighter, and, what was very grateful to Kirk gentler and 
 more unselfish at home. 
 
 The summer passed into a very cold and wet autumn ; by 
 mid-October the high hills round Chunaldale had received 
 their first covering of snow, but in the deep valley it fell as 
 cold rain or wet sleet. The rocky rivers grew full and one 
 roared past the little house in which Kirk lived. He could 
 always hear it in the night while he lay awake. 
 
 His professional work had become so pressing and con' 
 tinuous that he could seldom rest on Sundays. Urgent work 
 always arose to be done while the mills were stopped, while 
 the railway traffic was light, or it might be some figures or 
 returns were needed quickly by headquarters. 
 
 Kirk should have been preparing for his final examina- 
 tions in civil engineering, but he had no strength of mind left 
 for the effort. His ambitions had become very fitful, so that 
 now, when at times he felt less troubled, and when the day's- 
 work was over, he had a form of greatly needed recreation 
 and oblivion, in taking up again his geological thesis on 
 Cirenhampton, . . . marshalling his facts, drawing his sec- 
 tions, and himself preparing numbers of small drawings for 
 the text. Such things no longer deeply interested him, but 
 the labour on them prevented other thought. To save fuel as 
 the winter drew on and because it seemed heartless to let 
 Miss Grayley sit alone hour by hour in her sitting room, 
 he often took his work into her parlour, where he covered the 
 large table with his papers and books of reference, while the 
 old maid sat and knitted, after late tea. Occasionally they
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 371 
 
 would speak to one another. At times, paralysed by sadness, 
 he would sit and do nothing, his hrow on his hand, unable 
 to concentrate his thoughts. 
 
 In addition to the true thirst for knowledge originally 
 possessed by Kirk, and which as it were still carried him on 
 by its momentum, there was now a second motive, and a 
 third and sad motive, in this geological research. It had 
 seemed to open a way into a new means of livelihood. He 
 had received much kindness and recognition from eminent 
 geologists since his first discoveries when he was still a youth ; 
 and old Dr. Cholderton twice had spoken to him of the 
 Geological Survey. If he could but join that body he would 
 for ever leave civil engineering, to work at things he liked 
 and for which he knew he had talent. . . . Then, too, the 
 salaries to him seemed very good. Besides . . . geological 
 survey-work would mean long periods of absence from 
 Marian. 
 
 Before November he found himself though not by his 
 own initiative again in weekly correspondence with Pro- 
 fessor Kally, who read the proofs, improved the English and 
 the style, criticised, helped, and found for him many valuable 
 references. 
 
 Miss Grayley quietly studied Kirk and all that he did. 
 He told her nothing of Marian, and very little of himself. 
 But she had gleaned some information by putting twos and 
 twos together. She viewed with disappointment the letters 
 that Kirk received weekly, addressed in a hand-writing so 
 strikingly uncouth "neither male nor female," said she to 
 herself. But Miss Grayley decided that a girl wrote them, 
 that she was "sloppy and clumsy," and was no person to 
 whom Mr. Clinton should be writing. The postmark was 
 Bruside where he went once a fortnight, and she formed a 
 shrewd idea of the truth. As she grew to like Kirk and 
 to look forward to his coming home, she approached nearer 
 and nearer to a time when she would speak to him of his 
 own affairs when some timely chance arose, for often she
 
 372 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 heard him sigh again and again, and she saw that some 
 great sorrow weighed upon him. 
 
 Early in December Kirk had in hand a trench over thirty 
 feet deep, in the bottom of which was to be laid part of the 
 main cast-iron pipe-line of the waterworks. To enter and 
 reach the service reservoir, this main was being laid through 
 a hill, on which were built the outskirts of the town: and 
 through this hill, and between the rather close-built houses, 
 passed the deep trench. 
 
 Miss Grayley asked Kirk why it was needful to lay these 
 great pipes so very deep, and he endeavoured to explain to 
 her that it was unfortunately essential, in order to avoid 
 "rising above the hydraulic mean gradient; otherwise, Miss 
 Grayley," said he "the water would refuse to flow through 
 them to the service reservoir and thus to the town." 
 
 When the trench had been sunk two-thirds of its depth, 
 under the supervision of a not too competent ganger he was 
 an Irishman it became time for Kirk to visit Bruside. 
 
 On the day before he went Kirk gave this man full and 
 careful instruction, and by next afternoon he arrived at Bru- 
 side. Here he met the chief assistant of the engineer who 
 had designed those works, and for five days they sat to- 
 gether in a draughty wooden office, which had replaced the 
 old cottages. The Bruside works were by now nearly com- 
 plete and many points of cost remained to be settled. Charlie, 
 very miserable, and living at a public-house three miles away, 
 occasionally looked in at the office, and stood and warmed 
 himself at the smoky stove. 
 
 Charlie took a light-hearted view of Kirk's engagement. 
 It amused him oddly now it had occurred, and he felt cer- 
 tain it would not last. At the same time he felt genuinely 
 sorry, for he knew it affected Kirk's pay. But Clinton 
 seemed so different from the Clinton of Cirenhampton and 
 had become so taciturn, reserved, and so much older and 
 more commanding, that Charlie ventured no word on the 
 subject.
 
 CHAPTER XLVH 
 
 KIRK returned to Chunaldale with an ordinary bad cold, 
 of which so far he had taken little notice, beyond the 
 -annoyance it caused him. On arriving he went at once to his 
 rooms. Miss Grayley told him that a man had come several 
 times that morning to see him, and again after lunch, and 
 had seemed very anxious indeed for his return. She described 
 his appearance. Kirk at once went out of doors and walked 
 rapidly towards the big trench. Even as he approached he 
 could see things were seriously wrong. He found his orders 
 had been disobeyed, a different system of timbering had been 
 used. Water and running-sand under great pressure as 
 surmised by Kirk had been met with. This sloppy ma- 
 terial was now escaping through the joints and base of the 
 loose and bad timbering. One whole side of the trench 
 with the timbering, and the mass of earth and roadway sup- 
 ported by the timber for nearly four hundred feet of length 
 had already sunk a little. The heavy cross-struts of the 
 timbering were out of level, others were fractured, or on 
 the point of fracture. Fine cracks were visible in the road, 
 between the houses and the trench. Immediate drastic 
 remedy was essential or there would be a disaster the 
 destruction and collapse first of the road, and then of the 
 row of houses. The incompetent foreman was by now un- 
 nerved, and useless. The time was three o'clock and che 
 day bitterly cold and windy. Heavy cold December rain fell 
 at intervals. Kirk noticed the man had not even had sense 
 to stop surface-water running down the fine newly opened 
 cracks in the roadway. Kirk had this work commenced 
 forthwith. He then sent a note to his best ganger, Bob Foster, 
 
 373
 
 374 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 a tried and trusty man, he bade him come without the least 
 delay. He told him to leave standing the work he was do- 
 ing. Kirk awaited this man, who was to bring with him 
 all his gang and also send for any other men who could be 
 collected. The matter was highly urgent. 
 
 Kirk then sent another hasty note to the superintendent of 
 police. He asked for a half dozen constables, to turn all 
 traffic into another road, warn the people in the houses, and, 
 if need be, enforce exit from the threatened homes. He sent 
 to his central stores for heavy timber. 
 
 He next started timber men to work, double-strutting at 
 the worst places, but there was a shortage of timber, and he 
 waited anxiously for supplies of "long-stuff" and "die-square" 
 to be brought from the central stores. How thankful he was 
 that he had always kept a stock untouched and ready for 
 emergencies. 
 
 The rest of the men on the spot, about fifty in number, 
 and all tired by a heavy morning's labour and the struggle 
 in the deep and wet trench-bottom, he set to work moving, 
 carting, and wheeling away the banks of earth that remained 
 near the deep excavation, so as to lessen the weight on the 
 timber. Kirk also ordered men to throw back into the trench 
 some of the excavated sand and earth. He sent for hay and 
 stable-dung, and for trowels, with which the stuff would be 
 rammed into the timber joints and thus prevent the slow 
 but continuous escape of sand and silt, now taking place 
 nearly thirty feet down. For this same reason he also slowed 
 the speed of pumps and allowed the water to rise half a 
 dozen feet. But when the new ganger came with eighty 
 or ninety men, it was already nearly dark. 
 
 Kirk now called to the man responsible for this mess. 
 
 "I've done with you. Leave the work, quick. Wages to- 
 morrow at nine." 
 
 The burly man looked at Kirk with a black anger, but 
 said nothing, and then walked away, his face disturbed.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 375 
 
 "Now, Foster, this trench must he 'soldiered' throughout. 
 Thank goodness! here comes the first lot of stuff to do it 
 with! Light up those Lucigens! Quicken the pumps a 
 shade!" 
 
 They glanced along the dark trench, already lit dimly 
 by many small lights. 
 
 "You're right, Sir; 'soldiers' should stop it, Sir, an' noth- 
 in' else will." 
 
 ''Now shout-up the men or they won't stick it in this beastly 
 rain, and the trench is simply damnable double wages for 
 every one who stops and does his bit." 
 
 Foster shouted with stentorian voice "Now, all you cock- 
 bucks! . . . Double-shift for every man as works!" 
 
 An immediate increase of vigour took place ; the men be- 
 gan to work with renewed will. 
 
 Kirk remained till eight o'clock, and then went home. He 
 was soaked through, and colder than any one; for the men 
 by physical exertions kept themselves warm, and Bob Foster 
 was provided by the firm with thick oilskins and a good 
 sou'wester. 
 
 Kirk had changed his clothes and half finished a meal, 
 when a loud knock resounded through the house. 
 
 With a sense of disaster Kirk himself hastened to the 
 door. Outside in the pouring sleety rain stood Foster, shame- 
 faced, and behind him was a mob of sulky dripping navvies 
 and timbermen. 
 
 "They've come out of it," said Foster. 
 
 "What ! ! . . . Do you call yourselves men ?" 
 
 Kirk rushed back into the house and forcibly thrust on 
 his saturated coat. 
 
 "Come on ! Follow me ! Every man of you !" He pushed 
 through them roughly, fiercely. Every man followed him, 
 through the pouring rain. 
 
 Half the length of trench was now safe, but the other 
 half had moved nearer to destruction. Even as Kirk looked 
 down, a big strut cracked, crushed up, and fell: but he
 
 376 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 judged the timber would stand at least another hour, before 
 the collapse came. He looked round at the lamplit faces, 
 and clenched his jaws. The policemen were there. The in- 
 spector behind him attentively awaited orders. Then Kirk 
 took a lantern from Bob, and they went inside one of the 
 narrow gardens that fronted the row of houses. They stooped 
 to look closely, and, as Kirk had feared, they found the 
 garden wall had begun to lean, very slightly, outwards. The 
 rain running down the wall entered a crack one-eighth of 
 an inch wide, just where the earth had joined the wall. They 
 hastily examined twelve gardens. The crack was continuous. 
 The long fissure in the road had all been carefully stamped 
 full of clay, unfortunately it showed no change: plainly the 
 whole road and gardens together was now preparing to 
 move in mass. 
 
 The crowd of men had gathered round three blazing fires 
 that were close together. Kirk went up on to a heap of earth 
 by these fires, and the soaked men stood silent and attentive 
 all round him. 
 
 "How many of you are here ?" said he hoarsely. 
 
 A timekeeper replied "About one hundred, Sir." 
 
 "Have they grubbed since dinner?" 
 
 "No, Sir." 
 
 "Oh, my God!" 
 
 Kirk took Bob's pocketbook and wrote a note on the sod- 
 dened and wet leaf in the glare of the nearest roaring Lucigen 
 light. He tore it out and gave it to Foster, and said in a 
 loud and tranquil voice so the men should hear well 
 
 "Bob, my son! send this order to the nearest pub, four 
 men and three barrows, and bring back three kegs of the best 
 beer, and plenty of bread and cheese. A pint all round as 
 soon as it comes, and a pint every hour. Put old Jack in 
 charge, and serve it out quick, a bit of grub with each pint 
 bring plenty of cans, and then go back for more beer." 
 
 A general slow but encouraging movement had taken place 
 among the men when the magic word "beer" sounded in their
 
 THE BORN FOOL 377 
 
 ears. Besides, they were very hungry: that was their real 
 trouble. Kirk forthwith struck again in this psychological 
 pause. 
 
 "Men! Stand by the firm. Most of you are old hands. 
 Mr. Bendigo's a good master to us. You know me. There'll 
 be no one hurt to-night!" 
 
 "Bob ! Down into the bottom ! with me !" said he aside, tak- 
 ing Bob by the arm "or they'll funk it !" 
 
 "Come on, my sons!" 
 
 He began to climb down, lowering himself from bay to 
 bay with bare hands, through the muddy, strained, and dan- 
 gerously distorted timbering, lightly and quickly trying each 
 piece with his foot before he trusted his weight upon it. Bob 
 climbed down closely after him, and carried a lantern. Be- 
 fore they were halfway down, Kirk glanced up and saw a 
 dozen good timbermen were following. 
 
 The continual sinister cracking, wheezing, creaking, and 
 slight groaning of the timber-walls was now much more 
 audible to Kirk and told him of the great pressure on these 
 timber walls. While above, the wind, the Lucigens and the 
 pumps had stopped one hearing these ominous sounds. He 
 noticed the thick horizontal "whalings" were desperately 
 bulged. The struts holding them apart were being slowly 
 forced into them, timber forced into timber. He felt 
 alarmed, frightened, now he was down. The timber would 
 very likely bridge them if it came in, and then they would 
 drown as the water rose for the pump suctions would be 
 choked or smashed. A moment of indecision seized him 
 whether he ought to risk the men's lives? and Bob's, who 
 had so many children. Whether he ought not to get every 
 one out of the trench and the houses without delay? But 
 men above him were lowering two great "soldiers" that is, 
 vertical timbers equal in length to the depth of the trench. 
 They would stand upright and opposite, in pairs, and then 
 be strutted apart with short massive timbers. Kirk and Bob 
 at once helped with their own hands, guiding the descending
 
 378 THE BORN" FOOL 
 
 bulks. The indecision passed and Kirk's clothes were soon 
 smothered with mud. Danger, Marian, everything but the 
 work, was forgotten. A second crowd of men, above, and in 
 the trench, were lowering another pair about nine feet away. 
 
 Kirk shouted at them. 
 
 "No ! No ! Every twelve feet ! till we have her done all 
 through the worst, and then again, between 'em!" He 
 coughed a great deal after shouting. 
 
 "Get up on top now, Bob, and break them up into six 
 proper gangs ! they're wasting themselves and tumbling over 
 each other ! I'll stay here." 
 
 The first new pair of soldiers were in place, nearly strutted, 
 and had taken up some of the local destructive pressure. 
 
 "Lookout! . . . damn! !" 
 
 A heavy short piece of oak loosened by the new timber- 
 work suddenly had fallen, and struck other timbers in its 
 violent descent. The red-headed man it slightly hit swore 
 tremendously, while he rubbed his shoulder. He moved it 
 and found himself all right, but the pain was severe he 
 rubbed himself again and swore profusely. But Kirk 
 laughed and spoke. 
 
 "By Jove, Ginger ! you ought to be an M.P. !" and all the 
 men laughed, for anything went down well in such condi- 
 tions. 
 
 The work progressed excellently. Beer was again served 
 all round with bread and cheese, eaten hastily by all but the 
 police, who drank and munched slower. The men limited 
 by their short vocabulary used and re-used all the most ob- 
 scene and favourite expletives; they joked most grossly, and 
 worked most ardently, despite the miseries of ice-cold mud 
 and water, saturated boots and clothes and the very real 
 danger. 
 
 By one o'clock in the morning the trench past the houses 
 was safe, and there remained only a short length to be made 
 secure. Beer and a good mouthful of food had been served 
 out three times. Kirk clambered up again. He had made his
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 379 
 
 way backwards and forwards several times by now, through- 
 out the whole length below. He now went along the road 
 towards the remaining forty feet of deep cutting. Bob a 
 third time asked him to go home, for Kirk was of course quite 
 wet through ; the rain had gradually turned to sleet and he 
 felt very cold and coughed incessantly, but he felt also an 
 enormous satisfaction with the night's work, and was in 
 high spirits, and Marian had remained quite forgotten. 
 
 "I seem to have a frightful cold, Bob! but the bally old 
 trench is saved !" 
 
 "You go 'ome, Master, now, and get 'arf a solid glass of 
 whisky down your neck, Sir, there ain't no cause for you to 
 stop here not another minute." 
 
 "Well, let's just look at the last bays." 
 
 They approached the spot Kirk suddenly sniffed, and 
 put his head low down. 
 
 "That's gas ! ! Hold this lantern ! no get right away ! 
 Put-it-out !" 
 
 Kirk went behind the spoil-heaps and met a powerful rush 
 of gas, and at the same moment he heard the low, strange and 
 sinister whispering of an earth-mass in preliminary move- 
 ment. He rushed to the trench "Up for your lives! she's 
 going !" 
 
 Panting men were furiously scrambling up. They had 
 heard and taken the alarm before Kirk shouted. 
 
 "Get from the side! Off with the lights!" 
 
 Then followed a loud roar of rending crashing timber, and 
 two deep muffled blows that shook ground beneath the excited 
 men. 
 
 "Are you all out ? Are you all out ? Are you all out ?" 
 cried Kirk anxiously. 
 
 "Every mother's son!" replied a hoarse deep voice. 
 
 They dare not go near the huge cavity for the night was 
 pitch dark, and gas could be heard escaping in volumes from 
 the broken main. Bob had sent two men running to the 
 gas works. The strong wind fortunately blew the vapour
 
 380 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 from the houses and the lamp-lit trench. Kirk then sta- 
 tioned police so that no night-farer could walk into the huge 
 pit and all the men save about twenty were dismissed 
 after finishing the beer, of course. 
 
 Kirk, Bob, and the remaining men collected at a safe 
 distance, round the fires, and awaited the people from the 
 gasworks. 
 
 These men had promptly shut off the gas on their way 
 to the subsidence, and when they arrived Kirk was able to 
 examine the collapse. A big piece of road was swallowed, 
 but no further damage would ensue. 
 
 "Well! Jim, we have been lucky!" 
 
 "That's so, Sir. We'll stop and trim this a bit, but you 
 go 'ome this gordforsaken minute or you'll catch your death 
 of cold and do what my missus never 'as much trouble 
 to make me do get half a glass of solid-whisky-neat down 
 your neck, Sir, afore you turns in, and get a good muck- 
 sweat on you, Sir." 
 
 "All right, Bob," hoarsely said Kirk, smiling, and he 
 added, "I'll do it to please you !" 
 
 He walked home feeling strangely light-headed. He had 
 forgotten Marian, He was intensely self-satisfied. "Ju- 
 dicious beer and good leading overcometh all things!" had 
 said Brough. Nothing beat real things ; authors and artists 
 and most people knew nothing of the pleasure of real things, 
 of good fights with heavy dangerous things and men. 
 
 He remembered when he got home that there was no 
 whisky that he knew of in the house. He never drank it 
 except occasionally with Brough, or when with some one 
 he met. His bed-room had no fireplace, and felt dank and 
 cold. He saw his breath as he coughed. He felt extremely 
 cold now. He spread two jackets on the bed and got in, but 
 coughed so much that several times he left his bed to drink a 
 little water. At length he fell asleep and dreamed frightful 
 nightmares, in which he was caught and suffocated in the 
 trench.
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII 
 
 WHEN morning came he felt very ill. His chest 
 seemed as though blown up tightly with air, and he 
 breathed fast and short. Alternate heat and shivering passed 
 over his skin, and every cough hurt him deep down in the 
 back. Snow was now beating and whispering on the window- 
 panes, and his room was icy cold. 
 
 At eleven o'clock the doctor sent for by Miss Grayley sat 
 on the bedside, his finger tips on Kirk's rapid pulse while 
 he gravely watched the sparkling eyes and flushed face of 
 the patient. Kirk smiled, and with some difficulty exactly 
 described his own sensations. He sat up and the doctor 
 listened to him back and front. The change of position made 
 Kirk feel very sick. 
 
 "Are you married?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You'll be a lot worse before you're better." 
 
 "Why? Am I so ill?" 
 
 "Pneumonia, my young friend. Shall we send for any 
 one?" 
 
 "... No . . . thank you, doctor." 
 
 "I think your family should know. . . . You must have 
 a nurse at once. Perhaps you, Miss Grayley, will help in 
 the daytime ?" 
 
 "Yes, indeed I will, one professional nurse is quite 
 enough." 
 
 "You're going to be very ill, I am afraid, Mr. Clinton. Is 
 there no one who should be told ?" 
 
 "I shall not die," said Kirk resolutely. "You needn't 
 
 381
 
 382 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 worry. But I like your bluntness. My kind doesn't die 
 young," said he. 
 
 The doctor laughed, and declared to Miss Grayley 
 "That's the sort of patient for me!" 
 
 "I must write a letter, at once, and see my foreman," in- 
 terrupted Kirk. 
 
 "You will do nothing of the sort ! You must not have even 
 your hands out of bed ! not if you want to be pulled through 
 this. This room won't do, Miss Grayley." 
 
 He walked out into the larger bedroom where he saw the 
 fireplace. 
 
 "Get him in here at once while he can walk. But first air 
 the blankets. Put in a fire, and it must be kept in night and 
 day it must never go down. One minute, Miss Gray- 
 ley 
 
 himself he re-entered Kirk's room. 
 
 "Now you've got to be absolutely obedient, and think of 
 nothing but getting well. I'll send you a first-class nurse, a 
 lady whom I can trust; but her fee will be three guineas 
 a week. I suppose you can afford that ?" 
 
 Kirk received this shock in silence. He saw his little store 
 of money was going to be used up. 
 
 "If you are not very skilfully nursed you will die. It will 
 pay you to have a good nurse." 
 
 Kirk gave consent. He had thought, "If I die, then 
 Marian will die miserably." 
 
 Kirk promised he would obey orders. He promised the 
 doctor he would do no writing; he undertook to keep his 
 hands covered. 
 
 The doctor wrote a telegram and gave it to Miss Grayley. 
 
 Marian would wonder why he had not written, and Kirk 
 thought anxiously how to explain why he could not himself 
 write. How foolish he had been to promise faithfully that he 
 would keep his hands beneath the clothes. Impatiently he
 
 THE BORN FOOL 383 
 
 awaited the nurse. He would ask her to write for him. He 
 felt that he could not disclose himself to Miss Grayley. 
 
 He began to feel very ill. He had never before felt his 
 heart beat at so ridiculous a rate ! 
 
 About five o'clock his small acute ears heard the snow- 
 deadened sound of a carriage ; the noise of doors in the house 
 quickly followed. Kirk feverishly imagined the conversation 
 in progress between the nurse and Miss Grayley. 
 
 Miss Fortescue possessed a quiet, well-bred and very sooth- 
 ing manner. She was rather plump, but graceful and suave 
 in movement. The nurse and patient on seeing each other 
 mutually smiled. 
 
 "Good evening, Nurse . . . I'm a nice crock, I am." 
 
 Miss Grayley left them together. Miss Fortescue pressed 
 the burning dry hand and put it back under the clothes. She 
 felt the two pillows for a moment, then put her smooth skilful 
 hand softly under the back of his neck and reversed them, 
 bringing the soft one uppermost and squeezing it in a very 
 practised neat way to a comfortable roundness. 
 
 "Thank you ... I say . . . that's much better." 
 
 "Miss Fortescue, would you mind writing a letter for me ? 
 I'm such a fool. I told the doctor I wouldn't. There's ink 
 and paper, in the next room." 
 
 "Of course I will," said she moving gently about the room 
 "I've written many, many letters for patients always do- 
 ing it. Shall we do it now ?" 
 
 "Please ; thank you, so much." She returned and sat down 
 half-facing him. 
 
 "It must be very short, for you ought not really to talk 
 more than you can possibly help speak quite low." 
 
 Kirk thought painfully, and began to dictate. 
 
 " 'My dearest Marian, I have a ... sprained wrist/ r 
 
 Miss Fortescue looked at him deprecatingly, and he smiled 
 at her. 
 
 ". . . But why should you wish to say that, Mr. Clinton ?
 
 384 THE BOEN FOOL 
 
 Any one who cares for you would far rather know the truth.'' 
 She waited till he finished his severe coughing. 
 
 "Do you ... do you . . . think she would ? would it not 
 trouble her a great deal ?" 
 
 "She would far rather know you are ill than be deceived 
 by you." 
 
 "Are you sure ? I'm so afraid of her being frightened." 
 
 "I am quite positively sure it is best to tell her." 
 
 "Well . . . 'My dearest Marian, I have had, the bad luck, 
 to get a slight, dose, ... of pneumonia, and like a fool, I 
 promised the doctor, I would do nothing' Please, Nurse, put 
 the commas in, not many, a long way apart, it will sound 
 . . . easy then. 'You must not, worry a bit, dear, comma, 
 and of course, if I were to become, seriously ill, I would ask 
 you, to come and see me ; but it would be, quite a waste of 
 money, to do so now, comma, and I am very comfortable here, 
 and have a very, nice nurse,' " Kirk and his nurse smiled 
 " 'indeed,' " added he, " 'full stop,' " and they smiled again 
 at each other. 
 
 " 'It has been necessary, to have a trained nurse, because 
 I am forbidden, to get up, and poor old Miss Grayley, is too 
 old, to attend to a young, fellow like me. There is no, danger, 
 at all, I shall soon be on my legs, again, comma, I will send a 
 note, every three days, as usual.' ' 
 
 "I think that you have done quite enough now, Mr. Clin- 
 ton," said the nurse rising from her chair "You see it's 
 made your cough very much worse." She gave him some 
 barley water. 
 
 He moved his head negatively "A bit more " She took 
 the pen up again. 
 
 " 'I had some, bother, with a bad trench, and got, a bit 
 wet, comma, but as you know, I am really, a very tough, and 
 healthy chap, comma, so don't worry, dearest, but obey me. 
 Your affectionate and loving, Kirk. K, i, r, k.' ' 
 
 Miss Fortescue addressed the envelope to his dictation and 
 went into the next room. There she wrote a hasty note
 
 THE BOKIST FOOL 385 
 
 "Dear Miss Gisburn, I must tell you that Mr. Clinton is 
 seriously ill, although at present there is no great danger. 
 He will be what I consider a good patient, and I feel sure 
 he will pull through. You can rely upon me to nurse him 
 with every possible care I have had much experience, I am 
 forty years old and I will see that nothing is left undone 
 for him that should be done, so do not be unduly anxious. 
 The doctor will certainly not allow either you or any one to 
 see him for at least a week or so, while the disease runs its 
 usual course. When you write do so calmly as he must on no 
 account be worried about your feelings, about his work, or 
 about anything. I will send you a line myself each day, and 
 if he were to become dangerously ill which I don't much 
 expect I will telegraph for you. Believe me, dear Miss Gis- 
 burn, yours very sincerely, Helena Fortescue." 
 
 The next morning Kirk's temperature had risen to a hun- 
 dred and three and each cough hurt so acutely that he held 
 himself tightly with both hands. He had increasing diffi- 
 culty to prevent crying out as each spasm began. During 
 the afternoon the doctor made his second visit that day. He 
 sat on the bed and looked down at Kirk, who lay in a curious 
 position face downwards, with his head over the side of the 
 bed. 
 
 The nurse enquired about this with a single look, and the 
 doctor replied aloud 
 
 "Let him lie as he likes if he feels easier that way ; but we 
 must get him up now." 
 
 An extraordinary weakness overcame Kirk, and he allowed 
 himself to be assisted to a sitting position while the doctor 
 sounded his back, uncovering a little at a time. They laid 
 him down again. 
 
 Putting his hands beneath the clothes the doctor felt Kirk's 
 body and limbs. 
 
 "Built like a long-distance runner ! ain't he nurse ? He's 
 very wiry and hard, but he's not fat enough." 
 
 "I am, I got placed, in the mile, and the half, mile."
 
 386 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "You shut up talking, my young man, and strictly obey my 
 she-dragon. You've got to save every bit of wind for this 
 sprint, I can tell you I" 
 
 "I will." Kirk grinned cheerfully at the nurse, but his 
 face already was altering. 
 
 Early that night he became delirious, with a very high 
 temperature. He complained incoherently that rings of 
 bright light were round him, brighter and brighter, too daz- 
 zling to look at, especially the vivid spot in the centre. He 
 threw his head from side to side, to escape the glare. Then 
 he imagined his thumbs were growing enormous! each as 
 big as his body ! while he himself shrunk to a minute being. 
 By three o'clock in the morning he was quite unconscious, 
 but highly delirious, and in unnatural strength repeatedly sat 
 up in bed and jumped about convulsively. At four o'clock 
 Miss Eortescue knocked until Miss Grayley came. 
 
 "He's very delirious I was so sorry to disturb you but 
 he throws the clothes off the moment I leave him, and I've 
 not had time to make the cotton jacket there it is, just take 
 my needle and finish off lining the vest with the cotton wool, 
 quick as you can, then we'll get it on and he won't run such 
 a risk of chill." 
 
 Quite frightened by Kirk's torrent of words and violent 
 movements, Miss Grayley asked if the doctor should not be 
 sent for. 
 
 "Not yet, but we'll have him here early if this lasts." 
 
 When they were slipping the wool-lined armless vest 
 round Kirk, he seized Miss Grayley's arm with a vice-like 
 grip, and spoke hoarsely, rapidly and most excitedly. 
 
 "It's coming in, I tell you, Bob ! ! . . . can't we get up ? 
 . . . come here, dear! there! to me! in my arms, why I'd 
 never hurt you ! put your dear head down, in my arms . . . 
 it shan't kill you, by God ! Marian . . . stand over here, Bob ! 
 . . . I'll never let you know . . . will I hell ! No ! I cant 
 love you ! ... if you will laugh so horribly . . . what shall 
 I do ... what shall I do ? ... I've broken her heart . . .
 
 THE BORN FOOL 387 
 
 she doesn't know ... I can't do it ... Mother . . . why 
 don't I love her?" . . . He struggled with Miss Grayley. 
 "It's coming! I tell you it's coming! ! ! . . ." He gave 
 a terrible jump in the bed, stared fixedly, then fell back, and 
 lay still a little like one asleep. . . . Miss Grayley was 
 trembling all over, and her arm hurt from the force with 
 which Kirk had clutched it. The nurse calmed her 
 
 "They are often like this, Miss Grayley. He's quite a 
 normal case ... Of course, you know as well as I do that 
 what patients say in delirium is either sacred, or rubbish, and 
 must not be repeated ?" She was carefully covering up Kirk. 
 
 "Oh yes, yes, poor fellow, I know he's in trouble about 
 some girl I guessed it she writes to him " 
 
 "Will you put a little coal on for me? Use those old 
 garden-gloves I brought, make no noise, it might break the 
 torpor. I had not expected he would be delirious quite so 
 soon." 
 
 Kirk was unconscious for three days and came to himself 
 in the afternoon, while the doctor stood over him. The pa- 
 tient began to cough and suffocate. 
 
 The nurse rapidly lifted him. The doctor held him and 
 vigorously fanned him with the nurse's chart-book. 
 
 "Open the window!" cried he. Miss Grayley did so 
 quickly. 
 
 But Kirk slipped down, struggling convulsively for breath. 
 The doctor grabbed him by his brown curly hair and lifted 
 him right up into a sitting posture, and Kirk got painful 
 breath. 
 
 "By Jove, young man, you mustn't do that !" 
 
 Kirk panted weakly and coughed, he was too weak to hold 
 himself, and too weak to prevent a faint groan at the fearful 
 pain in his back. After a little, the paroxysm ceased, and 
 he was laid down again on the high pillows, and then he 
 continued his anxious first thoughts before he was delirious
 
 388 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 He must not die because of Marian, and he would not die ; 
 and he clenched his teeth . . . 
 
 "Now shut it!" said the doctor to Miss Grayley. He went 
 out with Miss Fortescue and stood still, looking at her. 
 
 "Nurse, he's a very bad case. I'm afraid he's going." 
 
 "If the delirium or coma returns . . . but his will is very 
 strong . . . now he's conscious." 
 
 Some days later Kirk lay in bed, more helpless physically 
 than a baby, too weak even to lift his fore-arms, but con- 
 valescent. He was raised up frequently for agonised cough- 
 ing, and was fanned. He felt desperately emptied of life 
 but the disease was leaving him. During two days excessive 
 perspiration trickled from him. Strength slowly returned 
 day by day. 
 
 One afternoon, as the winter evening came on, he gazed 
 at his nurse until he met her dark eyes. 
 
 "Nurse . . . you dear woman . . ." whispered Kirk. 
 
 "Well?" said she, coming to him and laying her smooth 
 hand upon his forehead. 
 
 "Your hand's like mother's . . ." He took it feebly and 
 kissed it. A strange tear ran down past the sharpened angle 
 of his jaw. 
 
 "Will you write for me? and ask Miss Butterworth to 
 come?" 
 
 "Would you like to see her so soon ? Can you bear it ?" 
 
 "Yes ... I must see her, now." 
 
 Two days later Marian arrived. All morning Kirk had 
 been conjuring up an affectionate meeting, but now that he 
 heard her steps ascend the stair a sudden fear overcame him, 
 and he had no strength left to combat his nervous expectancy. 
 
 Outside the door Miss Fortescue met Marian. A sharp 
 sense of tragedy went through her when she saw the girl was 
 not one for Kirk and was much older. The unguarded glance 
 and hostile feeling were felt by Marian. 
 
 "You must not let him talk much. He is very, very weak, 
 indeed, Miss Butterworth. Please sit facing him I have
 
 THE BORN FOOL 389 
 
 put a chair for you and then he will not have to move his 
 head. You must be quite calm and ordinary. I'll come 
 back in a few minutes : you will not agitate him . . . ?" 
 
 "No" said Marian, but not listening to the words. For 
 she felt a strong jealousy of this charming woman, and a 
 grief and resentment at her own sense of inferiority and 
 isolation. 
 
 Miss Fortescue opened the door, saying brightly to Kirk, 
 "Mr. Clinton, your visitor is here !" 
 
 Marian entered and the door closed behind her. 
 She stood transfixed by the great change and deathly ap- 
 pearance made in Kirk's face. Then, uttering a cry of an- 
 guish she fell on her knees by the bed and threw her arms 
 round him, and pressed her head on his breast. 
 
 This shook the bed and upset him very much, for he was 
 immediately very afraid of beginning to cough. 
 
 Then she kissed him and let her head rest again on his 
 chest. The pressure was more than he could bear in his ex- 
 treme weakness. She laughed nervously to herself in her 
 great joy of contact with her lover. With shut eyes she felt 
 for his hand. 
 
 "Marian, dear . . . it's too, heavy, dear, my chest- 
 She stood up over-hastily, again shaking the bed. She 
 spoke in that thick voice she could not help when overcome 
 by great emotion. 
 
 "Oh, dear, have I hurt you? I didn't mean, I'd forgot 
 you were so dreadfully ill. Oo, Kirk ... if you'd died 
 ... It would have killed me. ... Oo, Kirk darling, y'r 
 mustn't die. You don't know what I've gone through." 
 
 She stood still, her hands clasped tightly against her heart, 
 while fearfully and introspectively she thought of the first 
 shock of the bad news, and of all that followed. 
 
 "I think, I do, dear," feebly said Kirk, overcoming him- 
 self "Give me, your hand. Don't shake me, dear, it makes 
 me, cough, I'm all right, now, ... but I'm so, cut up about 
 the money, it will cost."
 
 390 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Ay, Kirk, dear, never mind that!" said she, stooping 
 over him, while her hand stroked his wet hair "I could wait 
 for ever for you " 
 
 ". . . I'm not worthy, of you ... or any girl, you are so 
 faithful, dear, ... I want to get you, away, from that hor- 
 rible, mill . . ." 
 
 "Ay, you mustn't worry, dear !" cried she with a lightened 
 heart, jumping up and re-shaking the bed and Kirk knew 
 he was going to cough and he tried to sit up and hold him- 
 self "Call Nurse!" said he faintly, his face distorted. 
 Marian opened the door and hearing the cough beginning 
 Miss Fortescue came swiftly in and held Kirk up. 
 
 To Marian it was agony to see Kirk suffer like this, and 
 she went perfectly white. When he had been laid down again 
 the nurse bade her say good-bye. She kissed Kirk and he 
 turned his clammy face and kissed her. He smiled anxiously, 
 with clenched jaws, and pressed her hand. 
 
 In the evening the patient's temperature rose very high, 
 and he suffered a partial relapse. The doctor made his own 
 inquiries of Miss Fortescue ; and they determined to admit no 
 one else to see him. 
 
 But in a few days Kirk began steadily to improve. Un- 
 expectedly, a calmness and stoical resignation entered him on 
 the day after Marian's departure. 
 
 After all these months of acute unrest and severe mental 
 struggle, it was a blessed feeling to know he had achieved 
 resignation and complete self-conquest, to perceive that the 
 period in his life of intense desire for personal happiness, 
 that burning love-passion, full of selfishness, grief, impossi- 
 bilities and madness had burnt itself out. Never had he felt 
 so extraordinarily calm, so stably fixed in purpose, so irre- 
 vocably confident that now, at last, he would go on along his 
 life-road, looking neither to left nor to right, fully aware 
 that his plain duty, the sole honourable course, was to lead 
 Marian by the hand, "Until death us do part." "Until death 
 us do part." His duty beyond that remote point would cease.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 391 
 
 But Marian Butterworth was in no such state of mind. 
 The further she receded from Miss Fortescue, the more arose 
 in herself an uncontrollable jealousy an intuitive fear of 
 hostile influence, a fear that quite unnerved her ; so much so, 
 that, on reaching home she sat down at once and wrote hastily 
 to Kirk, making what she thought a clever allusion to this 
 woman, who had treated her so cavalierly, usurpingly or, in 
 Marian's thoughts, "off-handedly," "jealously," "cruelly." 
 Bitter tears filled her eyes as she recalled that first unguarded 
 glance of surprise and disapproval. A pulse of hot anger 
 dried her tears as she felt again the miserable inferiority 
 which had overcome her in that woman's presence. 
 
 "She doesn't know my darling Kirk. He's worth fifty of 
 her sort ! and it's me he loves !" 
 
 She put her woman's last word in a long postscript 
 
 "Miss Fortescue seems very fond of you, Kirk, and I'm 
 sure she's nursed you well, she'd hardly let us have a word 
 together though you'd never see that yourself, dear I sup- 
 pose she'll leave you as soon as your cough gets better. Miss 
 Grayley says she gets three pounds a week." 
 
 Marian read this over and felt a good impulse to cross it all 
 out, or tear up the letter. After a long pause she put aside 
 her jealousy and her humiliation. She went to the fire and 
 carefully burnt the letter. A new and beautiful feeling had 
 entered her ; she felt uplifted and braver. She sat thinking 
 of Kirk, and there were fresh tears in her eyes, but they were 
 tears of .tenderness. Humbly she determined she would try 
 hard to improve herself and become worthy of him. She 
 had been foolish and wicked to doubt his faithfulness. 
 
 In this spirit she wrote another letter, taking pains with 
 her writing, and she concluded with these words: "Miss 
 Fortescue must stay with you until you are quite better, Kirk 
 dear, for she is a splendid nurse I could see, and though it 
 takes a lot of money, I don't mind that one littlest bit, be- 
 cause you're getting better all right. I have prayed for you 
 every day. God bless you, dear. Ever your loving Marian."
 
 CHAPTER XLIX 
 
 THE convalescent went to Cornwall, where, during six 
 expensive weeks, lie continued the reduction of his 
 savings. 
 
 The calmness of his mind remained. Marian's jealousy 
 made him feel sad, it but gave evidence of his new reflections 
 that all human beings were terribly separate that all those 
 ardent, touching hopes of true union, of great love, between 
 men and women, were mostly useless, and none would ever 
 be fulfilled. One or the other, the man or the woman, always 
 failed; Marian had failed to some extent. He himself had 
 failed grievously, therefore he must bear the greater burden. 
 Affection, evidently, was a very difficult form of duty and 
 had to be performed like most duties dead against our sel- 
 fish personal inclination. 
 
 At Looe Kirk slowly recuperated, and at this distance 
 from the north, in the warm sweet winter of Cornwall, not 
 altogether would his youthfulness be denied, and he began 
 to feel some mild enjoyment in his life. The people staying 
 in the hotel found him an interesting personality. Whist 
 he played with mathematical precision. He was well dressed, 
 well-read, quite au-fait by nature, went walks with mothers 
 and fathers, listened well, appeared to be sincerely interested, 
 spontaneously re-arranged old ladies' cushions the un- 
 scientific angle of the uncomfortable, said he, obliged him 
 to alter it. Then, too, he spoke never of himself, but evaded 
 all leading questions with quiet, skilful, and gently satirical 
 replies. To the girls and younger women he was an enigma 
 they discussed. It soon became plain he courteously avoided 
 them ; yet when this was not possible, his manner, if oddly 
 tender and fatherly, was yet invariably pleasing, rather sur- 
 
 392
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 393 
 
 prising 1 , very attractive to them. He was not aware that he 
 hungered so deeply for companionship of refined women; 
 he was not aware that such would have meant infinitely more 
 to him, and to his future life, than to an average man. One 
 day when walking with a certain Major Arkwright and his 
 wife, he was startled to be laughed over curiously. Looking 
 at her young companion, Mrs. Arkwright remarked 
 
 "No one could call you a ladies' man, and yet, you know, 
 Mr. Clinton, you have a most compromising manner with 
 them!" and she and her husband laughed. 
 
 ". . . But surely I have no such manner? Ah I see!" 
 said Kirk, contracting sensitively, "You mean I am the 
 opposite ?" 
 
 "No ! oh no, young fellow ! don't you dissimulate ! you 
 have a way and a taking manner with the girls and you know 
 it!" 
 
 "I do not I assure you . . . I'm sorry I thought I 
 avoided them." A painful flush rose in his thin cheeks. 
 
 "Oh, what an ungallant !" 
 
 "That's only his superior blase manner isn't it, wife?" 
 
 "No . . . indeed, it is only ... I reverence women, but 
 it seems such an utter waste. If a man were going to marry 
 her, then he should do all these things. I feel sure, I know, 
 that women would not really like me ... if they knew me 
 really. They like men who are naturally unselfish, men un- 
 critical, and who are great in some way, fine physically, strong 
 in some good way, or very clever I'm none of these" Kirk 
 began to smile "I remember one girl who said the man she 
 would marry must have a deep voice, and she was right. I 
 notice such men are always strong and stable in affection. 
 Women must have affection given them, but men can do 
 very well by themselves it's their duty to do so." 
 
 "My dear fellow ! of all the very rummest ideas ! but there ! 
 we all go through these phases while we're young ! What is 
 he, dear ? Twenty-two ? The lofty grave conceit of it ! At 
 twenty-two ! Laying down the law re women. I'm forty-five,
 
 394 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 and you make take it from me, young Sir, No MAN ever really 
 comprehends a woman! That's just the delight of them! 
 Their unexpectedness ! Now as a matter of actual fact most 
 of what you said is just the other way about. Why ! I've seen 
 the prettiest, wealthiest, sweetest girl in the station throw 
 herself, absolutely chuck herself ! at the most wretched speci- 
 men of a sub !" While he looked at Kirk, he put his hand 
 on his wife's arm "Just think of Ella Ross, my dear, and 
 her worm of a husband ! A fine girl like Ella ! And he'd 
 no money either. . . ." 
 
 "All the same!" began Mrs. Arkwright secretly de- 
 lighted of the opportunity "there's a great deal in what Mr. 
 Clinton says not of himself" she bowed and smiled at 
 him "though I'm not going to flatter him but on the day 
 I first met you, dear, I knew something that you had done." 
 
 "Dear lady ! silence. Nothing has ever been so detestable 
 a nuisance. I grant you the argument off-hand no more !" 
 
 These pleasant days passed away, and Kirk said good-bye 
 to all these friendly people, as one might say good-bye when 
 leaving civilisation, to return to exile in some Polar waste. 
 
 He received orders to go to Bruside, put all in final order, 
 settle all outstanding accounts, and see the new engines start 
 their work. 
 
 After leaving Crewe snow began to appear thinly on the 
 ground. At Stockport heaps of dirty snow lined the further 
 parts of the platform. The Bruside valley Kirk well knew 
 would be deep in snow. About seven in the evening he ar- 
 rived, greatly feeling the cold. Marian met him. She had 
 come down in a cab. Together they drove up with the win- 
 dows closed, and the glass grew heavily bedewed by moisture, 
 condensed from their breath. 
 
 Oh how terribly poor Marian's accent and manner jarred 
 him after these two months of absence ! 
 
 In the house that evening they left the doors open again 
 and again, of habit, and the draughts and chilliness, added
 
 THE BORN FOOL 395 
 
 'to his mental distaste and trouble, made his uncontrollably 
 irritable. 
 
 After once more asking for a door to be closed left open 
 this time by Marian in her pre-occupation Kirk went and 
 put on his great coat. 
 
 "If you really want me to live, you must help me to keep 
 warm. I can feel the shape of my wretched lungs inside, 
 and if I get cold again I shall have a relapse. I feel cold to 
 my bones." 
 
 "Oh, Kirk, dear," said Marian, "I'm so sorry, do you think 
 you've come back too soon ? It's so cold here."
 
 CHAPTEK L 
 
 WHEN Kirk lay ill at Chunaldale Mr. Bendigo had 
 written very kindly telling him to feel no anxiety 
 and take no thought of his work. His salary would continue, 
 and until the doctor thought fit he must not return to duty. 
 Brough thoughtfully had visited Kirk to see that he was well 
 cared for, and to confirm Mr. Bendigo's orders. 
 
 But Kirk now judged that three months of inaction, 
 coupled with the bad effect of his engagement, must assuredly 
 prevent for a long time any increase of salary. Should he 
 remain with Mr. Bendigo, at least a year must pass before he 
 could expect better pay. Thus a year would pass before he 
 could keep himself and Marian. 
 
 Early in March Wilkinson told Kirk of an appointment : 
 an assistant engineer was required by a civil engineer at 
 Holmroyd. This place, one of the large woollen towns of 
 Yorkshire, was distant from Bruside only some ten miles 
 north across the moors, but by rail it was thirty miles. 
 
 Wilkinson showed Kirk the letter written to him by Gif- 
 ford, the engineer in question. Gifford asked Wilkinson if 
 he knew of a likely man suitable for the berth. He would 
 prefer a young assistant possessing some practical experience 
 in waterworks. Salary to commence with would be at the rate 
 of say two guineas per week. For a good candidate, the post 
 would be a permanency, for Gifford had years of work booked 
 ahead. He hoped Wilkinson was doing well, and was in good 
 health. 
 
 "It's not much to start with," said Wilkinson, "but he'd 
 soon raise you, say in six months, if you do as well as you've 
 done for Bendigo. 
 
 396
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 397 
 
 "He treats his men well. I was with him for three years, 
 myself, on the Swale Valley works. He's a coming man. I 
 believe you would do well with him. But don't let me per- 
 suade you, Mr. Clinton. You must decide for yourself. 
 
 "But if I write to him about you I think the berth's yours. 
 You, of course, must refer him to Mr. Bendigo, as well. He'll 
 want that sure to want to know all about you." 
 
 "Oh ! that's rather awkward/' said Kirk. "I forgot to tell 
 you Brough wrote me this morning that Mr. Bendigo is 
 very ill. He was taken ill quite suddenly last week, a slight 
 stroke, rather serious Brough seems to think it." 
 
 "Indeed? Well! I'm very sorry indeed to hear that! 
 very sorry ! . . . What would be your position, Mr. Clinton, 
 if he died? What if the nephews wanted the brass, the 
 capital ? Brough's only a fifth share, he told me. The two 
 nephews might break the firm up. There are no public share- 
 holders, I think." 
 
 "No. I understand it to be a simple partnership, between 
 the old man, his nephews and Brough ; and the nephews, as 
 you know, don't get on over well with Brough. . . ." 
 
 "Ah . . . well; think it over; make your mind up, and 
 I'll see you this afternoon. I must write by return, you see, 
 or you might miss it, that is, if you want it." 
 
 "Thank you very much, Mr. Wilkinson, it's most kind of 
 
 you." 
 
 "Nay ! There's no thanks needed. I'd not be sure I'd 
 done the best by you, Mr. Clinton, if you did take this bil- 
 let. You must make your own decision. Who is it I'll 
 quote ? 'It's a dark business to meddle with another's fate' 
 or something like that." 
 
 Kirk determined to make the move. From what Brough 
 had told him he thought Mr. Bendigo would, of purpose, 
 withhold a better salary, and he judged that he had fallen 
 very considerably in the old man's esteem. Then, also, if 
 he were aiming to become a fully qualified civil engineer, he
 
 398 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 had by now spent quite enough time with a contractor, and 
 should try to join the staff of some well-known civil engineer 
 a member of the Institute. Gifford was just such a man. 
 With Gifford Kirk might certainly expect more leisure. The 
 hours would be from nine to five. He would have time, and 
 would in fact even be encouraged, to prepare for and pass the 
 "Associate" examination. 
 
 Then, too, he had no wish to live in the South until 
 Marian was educated. He had full faith that Marian under 
 his own loving tuition would earnestly work, read, study, 
 and correct her manners and pronunciation, once she left Bru- 
 side and lived with himself. Patiently and gently he would 
 teach her. 
 
 Sooner than expected, Clinton was sent for by Mr. Gifford. 
 Mr. Gifford a large, well-built ruddy man of forty-five 
 smiled frankly, laid a pen down, and spoke very quickly, with 
 a good accent. 
 
 "Well, Clinton, you want to join me?" 
 
 "Yes," said Kirk, also smiling. "If you will but make it 
 worth while." 
 
 Gifford laughed cheerfully, and sought on the table for a 
 paper. "Oh! I see! I said a hundred and four per an- 
 num. . . . 
 
 "Weil, Clinton, you're very young, and I have six other 
 young men up and down the country. But I want you here. 
 I must treat all fairly . . . let-me-see ! . . . I must aak you 
 a question or two. What-the-devil-am-I-to-ask-you ?" 
 
 While he spoke he had eyed Kirk's pale face and thin form. 
 
 "Ah ! Now suppose I put you in charge of a rather bad 
 contractor? and he dumped a lot of dirty sand on the con- 
 crete bunkers and began to mix it in, what-would-you-do ?" 
 
 "First curse a moment, I suppose. Then order absolute 
 stoppage, send for contractor's man in charge, and for Clerk 
 of Works. Turn two cement bags inside out, bang them, fill 
 them in their presence with two samples. Order the stuff 
 and the concrete to be removed forthwith right off the works.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 399 
 
 Either myself or C.-of-W. would stand there to see it done. 
 If they were not brisk, or refused, I would threaten stoppage 
 of the whole works, and penalty as per specifications. Then, 
 of course, I would write contractor, ordering removal of 
 ganger, and stating further that any repetition would mean 
 dismissal of his agent for the work. I would send you a copy, 
 with report, and one sample." 
 
 "You didn't meet the other candidate?" said Gilford, 
 laughing. "Did you, Clinton ?" 
 
 "]STo, Sir," said Kirk, laughing in sympathy with Mr. Gif- 
 ford's twinkling eyes. 
 
 "He said he would come and report to me at once what 
 they were up to ! a nice boy, but evidently quite without ex- 
 perience." 
 
 A whistle blew and Gifford grabbed a speaking tube and 
 listened 
 
 "WHAT ! . . . WAIT-A-MINTTTE !" and with eyes twinkling 
 his hand over the tube he turned to Kirk 
 
 "Clinton ! that contractor ! that-very-rascal-is-here ! 
 damn him !" Then Gifford bawled through the tube : 
 
 "Wants-to-see-me-does-he-indeed ? . . . OH ! IT'S YOURSELF, 
 MR. WRIGLEY, is IT ? ... WELL ! TAKE-A-SEAT ! AND-ANY- 
 
 THING-ELSE-YOU-CAN-LAY-YOUR-HANDS-ON ! !" 
 
 Kirk laughed heartily, and Gifford smiling keenly said, 
 "How's your health, Clinton ?" 
 
 "Oh! . . . been ill? What? Last winter at Chunaldale ? 
 Beastly place. There's only one county in the country fit to 
 work in, and that's Yorkshire !" 
 
 "You are not north-country, are you, sir?" 
 
 "I am. Went to Cambridge. Got my degree. Nearly 
 killed me, the heat, mugginess, flatness. I learnt little enough 
 engineering, in fact nothing !" 
 
 "But English?" 
 
 "Quite right ! quite right !" laughed Gifford "They polish
 
 400 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 us. But about salary. If you satisfy me, you shall have more 
 in nine months that's-not-long ?" 
 
 "Very well. Thank you, Sir." 
 
 "By-the-bye, you better keep this well worth keeping 
 
 " Gifford sought among the many papers ranged in front 
 
 of him. "There read it !" He grasped the tube and shouted 
 "Send Wrigley in !" 
 
 Kirk took the letter, and, in the familiar handwriting, but 
 gone noticeably shaky, he read as follows : 
 
 "London, May 5th, 19. 
 "DEAR SIR, 
 
 "Mr. K. Clinton has been in my service as a resident engineer 
 in charge of important public works since April , 19 . He is 
 a young engineer who possesses well above the average in skill, 
 ingenuity, and tact. His methods are sound, and have repeatedly 
 been justified by the event. He is reliable, a hard worker, and 
 thoroughly trustworthy. In the present state of my health I give 
 him this testimonial as a duty that I owe to him for his faithful 
 services, which I should be sorry to lose. 
 
 "JAMES BEXDIGO, 
 "for James Bendigo, Ltd. 
 "K. Gifford, Esq., M.A., M.Inst.C.E., 
 "Bank Chambers, 
 "Holmroyd." 
 
 The respectful, warm and grateful feeling that he had 
 formerly held towards Mr. Bendigo strongly rushed over 
 him. He turned mechanically to the door, opened for 
 .Wrigley. 
 
 "Good-bye, Clinton !" cried Gifford, and grasped his hand. 
 "Then you'll be here-in-a-month ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 Regret, at parting from Mr. Bendigo and Brough, tem- 
 pered his success. He had not imagined Mr. Bendigo so 
 generous, so unselfish, as to write Gifford such a letter. Never- 
 theless, Kirk left the heavy portico and came into the smoky 
 sunshine with a lighter heart than he had known for months* 
 He sent a telegram to Marian, telling her of his success.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 401 
 
 He could, he believed, save eighteen shillings a week out of 
 two guineas, and in six months perhaps they could marry. 
 At the present moment he had only ten pounds in the world. 
 He had just paid the doctor's bill, received from Chunal a 
 few days ago. 
 
 On arriving at Bruside he received a letter from Mr. Ben- 
 digo, in which he was informed very briefly that from the 
 first of the next month his salary would rate at 110 per 
 annum. But this offer had arrived too late. Kirk showed 
 Marian the letter and she advised him to remain with Mr. 
 Bendigo, for then thought she he would not go away from 
 her. But Kirk pointed out the precarious state of the old 
 man's health, and, what was more important, his own po- 
 sition as a civil engineer. 
 
 "Besides, Marian, it is settled, as I gave Gifford my word. 
 I like him, and my mind is made up." 
 
 In April Kirk commenced his new duties. He found Holm- 
 royd was a town, hideous, squalid, sordid. The streets were 
 tortuous, narrow, hilly, noisy, and were paved throughout 
 with rough stone setts. On dry days when the wind blew, the 
 air filled with clouds of noxious dust, which was full of dry 
 soot, grit, and pulverised horse-dung. The frequent damp 
 weather caused a black and sooty mud to coat all underfoot, 
 often many times in a week ; and when dry the pavements 
 were disgusting, for half the people seemed afflicted with ca- 
 tarrh, with bronchial trouble, or consumption. Kirk realised 
 it was a bad place for health, especially for one still recover- 
 ing from pneumonia. Everywhere among the monotonous 
 and grimy houses stood mills, factories, bleach-works, iron- 
 works, dye-works, fell-mongeries and the like. A large river 
 made its walled and confined way through the centre of these 
 congeries of black buildings. Highly polluted, the river ex- 
 haled by night and day a warm and sickly smell, offensive as 
 the steam from a sour and greasy dish-cloth. The death rate 
 was very high. There were no clean open suburbs ; the houses 
 and mills thinned out gradually among miles of desolated
 
 402 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 fields, black-walled and studded with deserted buildings, 
 brickworks, small collieries, and those horrible little villages 
 built round old-fashioned mills around old works that still 
 made coarse cloth or bad blankets and used the local water- 
 power. On the first Sunday Kirk walked out into the hilly 
 sodden pastures, all blackened by smoke, and found they were 
 manured with human excrement. He longed for the purer 
 air and the elevation of Bruside. Southward where the smoke 
 allowed, he could see the moorlands ; and he knew that those 
 low bleak hills and plateaus effectively divided this eczema 
 of trade from Marian's birthplace. 
 
 Kirk spent the next few days at Bruside. That little town 
 seemed sweet now, and he quite looked forward to his future 
 visits. 
 
 But he found these weekly trips cost more money than 
 could be spared. He would only visit Bruside on his old 
 terms of board, and to this was added the rent of his rooms 
 at Holmroyd. The loss, with fares, was too considerable. 
 To save the railway fare he walked several times over the 
 moors ten miles, beginning with a steep four-mile hill. But 
 he found it too exhausting in his weak state of health, and he 
 promised Marian he would not repeat this long walk until he 
 had regained his strength. His lack of complete recovery 
 was very patent to every one who knew him. 
 
 After a visit in May, he wrote to Marian telling her they 
 must be content to see each other once every three weeks, 
 so vital was it to save money. 
 
 In the Gisburn-Butterworth household things were not go- 
 ing smoothly. Bruside folk hinted that Marian would not 
 see much more of Mr. Clinton. They said he came less fre- 
 quently because he was cooling-off. Dinah was the recipient 
 of this rumour and she brought it home. Marian, who lis- 
 tened, set her face and replied :
 
 THE BOR^ FOOL 403 
 
 "You don't know nothing about him, Dinah, and never 
 dare come again telling me your nasty stories. ... !" 
 
 But she was troubled. Her health, only in part recovered, 
 once more showed symptoms of decline, and the hot weather 
 had again arrived. She had asked her mother for something 
 from her wages to save towards marriage but this Dinah 
 fiercely resented, and between the sisters enmity increased. 
 
 Kirk on his next visit to Bruside was alarmed to find 
 Marian at home, unable to work. She had met him at the 
 station, and had leaned more and more upon his arm as they 
 slowly walked towards the house up the interminable hill. So 
 exhausted was Marian, by weakness, and by present pain 
 which increased, that Kirk made her sit down and rest on the 
 low places where the upper part of the stone walls had fallen 
 away. Tenderness and pity filled him as he noticed her face, 
 and that she walked with a painful stoop. The pain in her 
 back, and the short cough that came on with exertion, gave 
 him much apprehension. She was visibly thinner, and in 
 her weakness she appealed most strongly to his manliness. 
 But mingled with his apprehension for her was a glow of 
 feeling that made him happy, and astonished. He ejacu- 
 lated to himself, "Good God! as though I could ever pos- 
 sibly have deserted her !" He held her arm warmly against 
 himself, and spoke tenderly to her. On reaching home, her 
 real weakness and illness were so obvious as to awake the 
 concern and sympathy of her family. Ruth, although she 
 loathed the life, volunteered to go to mill for two weeks. 
 
 Marian felt sure she would be better in a fortnight. It 
 was the ceaseless standing and stooping and the heat that 
 had made her poorly, said she, but now she would be able 
 to sit nearly all day. And then, too, Jim was very kind. 
 He offered to get up before the others and make early break- 
 fast, and thus give Marian a long rest each morning ; for by 
 established and accepted custom whoever stayed at home must 
 rise first.
 
 404: THE BOEJST FOOL 
 
 Near the end of the fortnight Jim, by previous request of 
 Kirk, sent a note. He stated that his sister was neither worse 
 nor better. Kirk obtained leave of absence for the Saturday, 
 and went to Bruside on Friday evening. Next morning he 
 took Marian by train to Leeds, there to see a gynecologist of 
 repute. 
 
 When the elderly nurse returned with Marian to the wait- 
 ing room, Kirk asked her, 
 
 "May I have a word with the doctor ?" 
 
 "Certainly, Follow me." 
 
 Kirk spoke to the small sharp man* 
 
 "My name's Clinton. I'm engaged to Miss Butterworth. 
 She works for her living. She is over-worked, it seems to me. 
 But what really is the matter with her, doctor ?" 
 
 "Well, she's very anemic, Mr. Clinton, although she looks 
 moderately well . . . her heart is not at all right, no 
 disease, yet, I think, but it might come on. . . . She should 
 have absolute rest and change for quite six months. She's 
 not at all fit to be married, Mr. Clinton, in my opinion, just 
 yet. A bracing seaside place would do her a world of good. 
 The pain in her back is due indirectly to standing, it is caused 
 by something else. It is rather serious. Until that is cured 
 it will be by rest she should not marry. I must tell you 
 this: that in her present state it might kill her to have a 
 child. She must lie down for hours every day, and for some 
 months take life very easily. That's imperative. Medicine 
 is of no use. I have told her the same." 
 
 These statements filled Kirk with trouble. Money was the 
 immediate difficulty. This quite upset his recent decision to 
 marry quietly, at once, and take rooms for a time. . . . But 
 to live apart . . . where could they find the money ? 
 
 He stood in silence for a few moments, then thanked the 
 doctor, paid the fee, and returned to Marian. When outside 
 he spoke to her.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 405 
 
 "Now, dear, you'll have to go to the seaside. He says it 
 might kill you if you married me now." 
 
 "Oh . . . Kirk ... I can't bear to go away by meself, 
 and look what it would cost ! We haven't the money !" 
 
 "It has to be done somehow, dear." He was thinking he 
 might borrow money from Brough, after telling him every- 
 thing needful. 
 
 "I suppose the doctor told you ?" 
 
 ". . . Yes, I'd told him we were going to be married." 
 
 "How much could you live on, dear, at Scarborough ?" 
 
 Such a project seemed wonderful to Marian, and as they 
 went along she thought hard. 
 
 "Ten shillings for my room now and eight when the sea- 
 son's over, and seven shillings for food. It would cost seven- 
 teen or eighteen shillings, Kirk . . . and I've got enough 
 clothes for some time . . . But I couldn't bear it, to be all 
 that way off ... and you look so poorly yourself, Kirk." 
 
 "Why! then we can do it, dear!" cried Kirk, quite re- 
 lieved. "I can live easily on a pound ! It's going to be done ! 
 so you need say no more !" 
 
 "Oh, Kirk, it is good of you !" she squeezed his arm. 
 
 "No, no, it isn't, dear ; it's just our bad luck ; you would do 
 it just the same for me, I know, if you could, if it had arisen. 
 Besides it will make me happy to know you are away from 
 that place for ever and no longer suffering." 
 
 She squeezed his arm, very happy that he so loved her. 
 She spoke hopefully. 
 
 "Then when I'm better we'll be married! and live in 
 rooms ! until we save up enough for our own home, Kirk." 
 
 A fortnight later Kirk saw Marian off. 
 
 She had been better, but now was much worse, for she 
 had let herself be stung by Dinah into another week's work 
 at the mill. 
 
 Kirk with much concern saw her leave, for she could walk 
 but slowly, and leaned forward with an anxious look upon 
 her face. To save expense he did not go with her, but she
 
 406 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 knew some one at Scarborough, who kept a boarding-house, 
 and they expected her. She greatly felt this parting from 
 her home, and at the moment of leaving she quite forgot the 
 unpleasantness of the past week, when Mrs. Gisburn and her 
 sisters had cried shame on her for going away at Kirk's ex- 
 pense. That which troubled them so much, was the scandalous 
 appearance of the act. Whatever would Bruside say ? Every 
 one knew they were not rich, enough to keep her at the seaside 
 so said Dinah Besides, how could she for shame! go 
 away at the expense of a young man to whom she was not 
 married! But Marian, strengthened by peremptory letters 
 from Kirk, declared that no one really knew whether they 
 were well-to-do or poor. She pointed out that no one but 
 themselves knew Kirk was to pay for her ; so Dinah finding 
 Marian no longer to be moved by arguments with an air of 
 pride quickly told inquirers that her step-mother under a 
 specialist's order had decided to send Marian away for a M&g 
 rest. She was careful for the sake of appearance to accom- 
 pany Marian, with Kirk, to the station. She made Jim also 
 be there. He said an affectionate good-bye to his sister, who 
 wept; but Dinah's last words to Marian were full of an 
 asperity that made him laugh. 
 
 "Crying ! You ! why you're a lucky thing ! with your great 
 round red face !" 
 
 Kirk, seeing Marian's trunk safely in the van, heard noth- 
 ing cf this. 
 
 He returned to Holmroyd. He could himself have well 
 done with a summer holiday. As he walked from the station 
 how specially disgusting seemed this place. His gaze fell on 
 the grease-covered setts where the steam trams waited be- 
 tween their uncouth and lumbering journeys. How he hated 
 this smell of dye, this dust of dried dung that drifted along 
 the pavements and collected in the stone gutters, that blew 
 up in the hot and cold air and filled the eyes and nostrils. 
 And to-day the attenuated river was all sickly pink, and 
 steamed ; the dull and smoky sunshine rested on drying banks
 
 THE BORN FOOL 407 
 
 of foetid river-slime. The streets were full of be-shawled 
 women and pale greasy men, all hastening back to work ; and 
 the noises of mill-sirens, of clogs, of harsh accents, and of 
 massive horses drawing lorries through the tortuous iron 
 streets, dinned in his ears. 
 
 Marian, never before so completely separated from her 
 relatives, suffered a childish but trying loneliness. After a 
 few weeks she wrote to Kirk that she could not much longer 
 bear to be away. She had evaded his constant questions about 
 her health. Nearly every day he wrote to her in order to keep 
 her spirits up, and make her feel she was in close touch with 
 him ; but she yearned to come back. In August, after anxious 
 financial considerations, for Marian found she could not 
 live on less than twenty-four shillings a week Kirk deter- 
 mined that a visit from himself would make her more con- 
 tent. So he obtained leave for a week-end, and arrived at 
 Scarborough late on Friday night. This seemed to revive 
 Marian more than all her month's stay, but she was la- 
 mentably weak, and to Kirk she looked more delicate than 
 before she went away. Yet this delicacy of her body was 
 strangely helpful to Kirk, for the girl was subdued, far 
 more gentle, more refined physically and mentally, than she 
 had ever before been to him. His first love seemed genuinely 
 and spontaneously to return, like the last tender days of sun- 
 shine before winter. 
 
 During this brief visit he was everything to her that any 
 girl could wish. He had forbidden her to see him off on the 
 Monday morning, for he had to leave at half-past five. He 
 kissed her good-bye, and good-night, and she promised to be 
 brave, and remain at Scarborough. But she arrived at the 
 station early next morning in good time to see him off. He 
 thought it touching unselfishness. There was scarcely a soul 
 about, so he put his arms round her and kissed her good- 
 bye. As he leaned out of the window he waved his handker- 
 chief until her face, smiling through her tears, became indis- 
 tinguishable.
 
 CHAPTER LI 
 
 ARCHDEACON ROKEBY was the Vicar of Holmroyd. 
 His opinion of this great town coincided with Kirk's, 
 but more complacently, for the living was worth well over 
 three thousand a year. He was a markedly cultured man, 
 he had been head master of Marlborough, and had written 
 several books on geometry and conic sections. He it was who 
 delivered those original and celebrated lectures that caused 
 such protest among the low Churchmen but so refreshed and 
 reinvigorated those of wider mind the host of Christian 
 people who long had been troubled by the problem of the 
 gospel those who had asked themselves in vain, "How could 
 our God of Love exact the harrowing sacrifice of the Christ 
 His own Son merely to appease his wrath with man? 
 Merely to appease His irritable revengeful wrath against His 
 own creation! A creation whose past, present, and future 
 lay always open and before Him !" 
 
 Archdeacon Rokeby first it was who preached the new 
 healing and so clear doctrine : The death of Christ was but 
 an incident ; the great and mighty object of Christ was at-one- 
 ment, to be at one with men, to give them for ever a sublime 
 example of how human fellow-men should live. The "atone- 
 ment" was a false word directing to a quite wrong idea, one 
 that obscured the omnipotent love of God. Let it be for- 
 gotten. The enemies of the Church declared he had justly 
 shown the incongruity of "atonement." 
 
 "Meanwhile, men and women, nay! even children," said 
 he, "have given up their lives unselfishly, not for the whole 
 human race, but for even a single fellow-being. But Christ 
 alone has ever given such sublime precept and example." 
 
 The Archdeacon was powerful, well-connected, and all 
 
 408
 
 THE BORN FOOL 409 
 
 knew this important living was but one of the last of Ms steps 
 towards a bishopric. His traducers had not prevailed against 
 him. In fine measured English he had shown them how false 
 was their assertion that he undermined the doctrine of the 
 Eucharist. 
 
 He was a spare tall man who carried himself grandly, and 
 often he might be seen walking in the town, dressed in the 
 most shabby well-cut garments and wearing the most faded 
 buttoned leggings that Kirk had ever seen, most especially 
 on the legs of an ecclesiastic. But his hands were perfect, 
 his linen spotless, his gaunt face well shaven. The arch- 
 deacon accepted with dignity the material good gift of God, 
 his three thousand four hundred a year. But in his private 
 bureau was a scheme already agreed upon with the Charity 
 Commissioners that would divide up two-thirds of this fat 
 living among the poor curacies of the district after he him- 
 self had gona 
 
 Kirk's function it was to ravage the archdiaconal garden, 
 by laying through it three parallel lines of enormous iron 
 pipes; for no other route would serve, and Parliament and 
 the archdeacon had given sanction. Here one morning the 
 noble-looking spare man first made Kirk's acquaintance. He 
 smiled as he approached, and spoke with what Kirk thought 
 the most beautiful and cultured voice of man that he had 
 ever heard. Involuntarily the younger man raised his hat 
 and bowed. The archdeacon offered his hand. 
 
 "Ah . . . good-morning, you are Mr. . . . ?" 
 
 "Clinton I'm Mr. Gifford's new engineer." 
 
 "Indeed? Indeed? Then you take Lorebum's place? 
 Did you know him ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 "A delightful fellow ! a charming fellow ! We were truly 
 sorry when he left us, but you ? Do you like this town ?" 
 
 "No. I think it horrible . . . But your garden is an 
 oasis, and so well cared for, I shall see that the least possible 
 disturbance is made."
 
 410 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "I feel sure you will: I am prepared for it now; but I 
 must show you a few things I had arranged with Loreburn 
 ... all those rose-trees poor things ! they do not flourish 
 in this air we thought they might be re-set along that wall ; 
 let us go there." 
 
 They walked across the wide lawn. 
 
 "It looks South ... as I think we do ourselves, some- 
 times." 
 
 "Yes, I do !" responded Kirk, touched and delighted by the 
 strange remark. 
 
 "What school were you at, may I ask, Mr. Clinton ?" 
 
 "Severnly." 
 
 "Oh! Then you were there in Warleigh's time? And 
 then you went to Cambridge, of course, being an engineer. I 
 myself was at Oxford." 
 
 "No, I was less fortunate I went neither to Oxford nor 
 Cambridge." 
 
 For a moment surprise filled his companion, but as he 
 looked at Kirk's refined face he put aside his feeling of less 
 warmth, and continued. 
 
 "Then at Severnly you would belong to the modern side ?" 
 
 "No, it had not been introduced then. I did Latin, thank 
 goodness." 
 
 "Ah ! you read ? You love your books ?" Rokeby stopped 
 and gently put his hand on Kirk's arm. "Do you know, 
 you remind me very much, so very much, of some one . . . 
 I cannot think who . . ." finished he, dreamily, and walked 
 the young man on towards a large greenhouse. "And no 
 mathematics at Severnly ?" 
 
 "Oh, just the usual veneer !" said Kirk, laughing a little. 
 
 "And whose geometry did they inflict on you ?" 
 
 "I think it was old Todhunter." 
 
 "Ah . . . ah, a very, very extraordinary chaos to my 
 mind. I must give you one of my 'Geometria.' Loreburn 
 told me it was most helpful to him." 
 
 "What ! have you written a geometry, Sir ?"
 
 THE BOKK FOOL 411 
 
 "I have written three, but, really, homo unius libri." 
 
 "Thank you, I should much like your work." 
 
 "Nothing! nothing! labor ipse . . . you remember?" 
 
 'Kirk had long forgotten. He did not reply. 
 
 ". . . When passing the greenhouses, I want you to exer- 
 cise care in going beneath the hot water pipes. I put them 
 down a year ago that is their line, they are some three feet 
 deep, enshrined in a timber trough and saw-dust. They come 
 right across from the kitchen. My last under-gardener let 
 the fire go out, upon a frosty night and I lost many precious 
 orchids . . . hence this more stable means of heating . . . 
 Do you like flowers ? . . . Then come in !" 
 
 Kirk, bending over a large pot of heliotrope, exclaimed 
 
 "Oh ! How delicious !" 
 
 The tall ecclesiastic took a pair of rusty scissors and sev- 
 ered him a spray; while Kirk thought with happiness, "I'll 
 send this to Marian." 
 
 "Of course you are a Churchman ?" 
 
 "... I go to Church of England, sometimes, but my 
 people are what I suppose you . . . you would call Irving- 
 ites. I am not anything very decidedly. ... I am unable to 
 believe in many things. I am agnostic." 
 
 "You are troubled by science of to-day ? A phase ! it will 
 pass ! I myself was not ordained until forty years of age. 
 I too had doubts. You must come and hear me next Sunday 
 evening, I may be able to help you. I preach that evening 
 upon the Flood. Do you know any one here? No? . . . 
 Yes, there are few people here who, I think, would be har- 
 monious with you, . . . few that one cares . . . ah, to be 
 intimate with. Perhaps you will come in to supper Sunday ? 
 and meet my wife ?" 
 
 "Thank you. I shall come with pleasure." 
 
 They went outside into the cold-seeming air, and there met 
 an old thick-bodied man, the verger. Among many duties he 
 transcribed music for the organist, and also he firmly con- 
 trolled the under-gardener at the vicarage. He had listened
 
 412 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 to many vicars, and to some peculiar extent he had acquired 
 their vocabularies, but not their accent. 
 
 "Good-morning, Mesther Clenton, arv joost been lukeing 
 ower t'warl meself !" 
 
 They all three looked over, to where Kirk's men were 
 wheeling earth up a very inclined plank-way. 
 
 "Me hey!" exclaimed the verger, impressively. "Yon's a 
 steep graduate ye've got yon, Mesther Clenton !" 
 
 Kirk and the archdeacon laughed and withdrew. 
 
 "I would not correct him for the world. He is a source of 
 infinite joy to my wife, who employs him multifariously, 
 graduate indeed ! a steep graduate !" 
 
 On the Sunday evening Kirk was received graciously by 
 Mrs. Rokeby. He enjoyed himself in the large dark room, 
 lighted only by an old seven-branch silver candlestick, one 
 like those in pictures of the temple at Jerusalem. Kirk had 
 been introduced to a curate, and to the Rokebys' niece and 
 nephew who were on a visit. The very small boy was rosy- 
 cheeked and had blue eyes full of mischief. His sister was 
 the daintiest dark-eyed little creature, in very short skirts. 
 Kirk quickly made friends with these children, and they 
 were talking both at once to him when supper was announced. 
 It seemed they stayed up to supper on Sundays. Kirk 
 stooped slightly and offered his arm to the little girl, and 
 she took it with a great air, then danced two or three steps 
 and shook her dark curls, as they advanced. Then she was 
 staid again, looked up in his face and said with extreme 
 gravity, 
 
 "Don't you think the archdeacon is a dear?" 
 Kirk laughed very much, and she laughed as well. She 
 sat upon his right, and the small boy took position on his 
 left. 
 
 "Oh !" said Mrs. Rokeby, "this is your place, Mr. Clinton !" 
 
 "But Mr. Clinton brought me in, Auntie." 
 
 "May I please stay here ?" asked Kirk, much amused ; and
 
 THE BORN" FOOL 413 
 
 he remained between the children. He perceived they had 
 power over these childless ones. 
 
 The old silver and the flowers pleased the eyes of Kirk. 
 The silver candlesticks, seven-armed, provided light. 
 
 Presently the two children laughed so much that Mrs. 
 Rokeby gently reproved them, and smiled at Kirk. 
 
 The little girl heaved a sigh, made an adult despairing ges- 
 ture, very funny, and panted, 
 
 "What can I do, Auntie! when he will say it's a 'goly 
 stingle-tack !' " And the curate almost choked himself, cough- 
 ing till red in the face. 
 
 "I am afraid I am somewhat to blame," said Kirk, grin- 
 ning whimsically. 
 
 After supper the children went to bed and the elders sat 
 round the drawing-room fire, for even in July Holmroyd is a 
 chilly place at night. 
 
 Kirk evaded skilfully his own history, nor was he more 
 than lightly questioned. He told Mrs. Rokeby of Cirenhamp- 
 ton and the Lucys, and they talked much of books. On this 
 latter subject she drew him out. The archdeacon conversed 
 ostensibly with his curate, but listened mostly to his wife 
 and Kirk. 
 
 Kirk had the good sense at ten o'clock to bring the conversa- 
 tion to an end, while at its best; and Mrs. Rokeby told him 
 at parting, 
 
 "You must come again, Mr. Clinton ; we are so pleased to 
 have made your acquaintance ; it will be the only nice thing 
 resulting from the dreadful mess you intend making in our 
 poor garden!" 
 
 "My dear," said she, when Kirk and the curate had gone, 
 "he will be quite an acquisition, quite a different tempera- 
 ment from Mr. Loreburn's, so reserved and shy, but not a 
 bit gauche. I am quite sure he is the son of some very nice 
 woman ; he will tell us all about himself later, and, did I tell 
 you ? I did draw him out a little ! he is the youngest Fellow 
 of the Geological Institute, and is writing a thesis !"
 
 414 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 "Emma! How you do chatter! No wonder the young 
 man felt shy, as you say, but yes; I did think, dear, you 
 would like him. He is modest, very well-read for his years, 
 and is fond of flowers, and these are real accomplishments in 
 this day of small things . . . and the children liked him a 
 good sign, too. . . ." 
 
 Something had made the archdeacon feel a little sad. He 
 was wishing that he too could have been with the children, as 
 Kirk had been. He felt that he must be growing very elderly. 
 He rang the bell to summon the servants for family prayers.
 
 CHAPTER LII 
 
 MARIAN progressed but slowly. She had been away 
 for three months. Living at Scarborough cost far 
 more than they had anticipated. It left Kirk but eighteen 
 shillings a week for himself. He found increasing difficulty 
 in making ends meet. But he sent Marian no word of his 
 position. He was in need of new boots, and the wet weather 
 was arriving, but he bought shoes for they cost him only half 
 the price of boots. For his prospective examination he re- 
 quired many expensive books. It seemed almost impossible 
 to buy them, just at present. Rigid economy in living seemed 
 the only course. He left his rather comfortable rooms be- 
 cause they were dearer than he could now afford. The whole 
 population at Holmroyd was of the operative class. Cheaper 
 rooms had been most difficult to find, but Kirk had found 
 them, and he now lived in a street of workmen's cottages, 
 in the poorest and most squalid circumstances he had ever 
 known. He had a small bedroom to himself, but shared the 
 dirty little front room downstairs with a young man who 
 touted from door to door for a tea-merchant. This Jewish 
 young man ate noisily, was grossly content, and persistently 
 tried to patronise and be familiar with the austere new- 
 comer. Kirk's temperament could only present to this per- 
 son the same civil, reserved, but irritating front, day by day. 
 Their meals were brought in separately upon trays. They 
 received solely and specifically what they paid for. The house 
 was managed by two old maids, one fat and the other lean, 
 both dirty and slatternly. Kirk soon discovered that they 
 drank, and hence they were in poverty. The silver-plating 
 had almost disappeared from the brassy spoons and forks, 
 
 415
 
 416 THE BOBN FOOL 
 
 the knives had worn to half their length, the yellow handles 
 were always greasy or sticky. Kirk several times shewed the 
 lean woman the dirt between the fork-prongs ; before her eyes 
 he held his bread, soiled by cutting with a filthy knife ; and 
 he pointed out other offensive facts. But his complaints were 
 without avail. Very soon she lost her temper and spoke 
 violently before the tea-man 
 
 "If it ain't good enough for you why don't you leave? 
 Mr. Samuels never grumbles." 
 
 Kirk's pale cheeks flushed hotly, but he held his peace. 
 Things nevertheless were cleaner for a few days, and then 
 became as bad as ever. Kirk arranged different times for his 
 meals in order to avoid the noisy eater, and to escape the 
 feeling of contamination and disgust that this young man 
 invincibly gave him. The two old unfortunates refused to 
 serve his meals upstairs unless they received considerable 
 extra payment. This he could not give. Breakfast consisted 
 of one theoretically fresh egg, always boiled either too hard 
 or too little, or it would be execrably scrambled with stale 
 butter. In addition, a certain allowance of bread and but- 
 ter was supplied. He found tea the better of the two inferior 
 English breakfast liquids they supplied. On Sundays a few 
 square inches of bacon were added. His daily dinner of two 
 courses was at one o'clock, and its composition was a scrap 
 of "steak" three-fifths of an inch thick, or one three-quarter- 
 inch slice of codfish, sometimes boiled, sometimes dried to a 
 ridiculous diameter, or it might be a "chop" from one of 
 those attenuated blackened moorland sheep. The potatoes 
 were seldom entirely eatable ; and when good, Kirk theorised 
 there must have been no bad ones for sale. The second 
 course, of pudding, usually came in the smallest size of 
 pie-dish, and Kirk had compared the contents with the har- 
 dened floor of lava at bottom of a crater, surrounded by black- 
 ened walls of burnt milk. Only those who have lived poorly 
 after living well know how utterly distasteful food can be 
 made, and how all leavings of the markets are daily bought
 
 THE BORN FOOL 417 
 
 and eaten by the indigent. "Tea" included four unvarying 
 items, tea, jam, bread and butter. Kirk felt positive it was 
 not butter ; and "the preserve" was known to himself as "jam- 
 trifle," for somehow there seemed always dead flies and bits 
 of string to be discovered and rejected. It is but fair to men- 
 tion that the flies were not native to the jam, for the vicinity 
 of a large mews kept the rooms thickly supplied with black 
 and festive flies. At nine o'clock or so the supper entered, 
 often rather unsteadily. It comprised a jug of water, some 
 bread, the supposed butter, and a little very little hard 
 inferior cheese. Kirk always wiped the tumbler with care; 
 and always it was needful to clean the black dirt out of the 
 fork-prongs; and, by the end of the week, there was some 
 difficulty to find a fresh unsoiled corner on the pocket-hand- 
 kerchief-like serviette. 
 
 At first was felt by Kirk a most genuine hunger, for since 
 his illness his body had demanded a full supply of food. But 
 after some weeks habit prevailed and he grew used to a 
 small amount of food. 
 
 He had spent hours in seeking some abode less wretched, 
 but in vain. !No one took in lodgers, every one worked at the 
 mill. He found other rooms but all were too dear. He was 
 forced to hold himself much in reserve with the fellow-mem- 
 bers of Mr. Gifford's staff, for he could not return their hos- 
 pitalities. Once or twice under observation when going home 
 he had turned off in a wrong direction, for he was ashamed 
 of the locality of the house. He had been obliged also to give 
 up smoking, but the staff believed Kirk desisted of his own 
 choice. The occasional dinings out at the Rokebys and the 
 Giffords were veritable feasts for Kirk, both physical and 
 mental. The Rokebys sent their notes to the office. Kirk 
 had asked them to do this, "Then I shall be sure to receive 
 any note quickly." But these miserable subterfuges were 
 depressing. 
 
 In the evenings since his illness he had worked a little at 
 the geological paper, and now at last it was complete. Pro-
 
 418 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 fessor Rally had gone through the proofs correcting, advis- 
 ing, discussing, searching for references and now the pre- 
 cious thing had gone to the Secretary, who passed the English 
 and gave the thesis to the Referees; they, in turn, reported 
 to the Council that the matter was original, and suitable for 
 reading. The day was fixed. Kirk was glad that he had 
 paid the annual subscription early in the year: until next 
 April he need pay no more. He waited now, until the date 
 for reading was very near and then he wrote a careful let- 
 ter telling the Professor that he regretted deeply he could 
 not possibly be in London on that date; and, under the un- 
 fortunate circumstances, he asked the Professor to read the 
 paper in his stead. 
 
 Professor Rally wrote back in haste. He thought it a 
 great pity, a very great pity, a great opportunity would be 
 lost, but if it were absolutely unavoidable though he could 
 not really understand why, why, then, of course, he would 
 be glad to present Kirk's work to the Institute. It was an im- 
 portant contribution to come from one so young ; it was most 
 lamentable that Clinton could not re-arrange his work, and 
 take such an excellent chance of becoming more known in 
 scientific circles, it was become impossible now to alter the 
 date, no time was left, he had been to see the Secretary but 
 he hoped earnestly that Kirk could come. 
 
 Rally delivered the paper and Kirk's feelings were very 
 mingled as he read the old man's letter written the day after 
 the event, in which he told Kirk of the high praise given, and 
 of kind words said by Lapworth, Geikie, Prestwich, and other 
 great men. 
 
 But this deprivation was all for Marian's sake, thought 
 Kirk, and there was no real sacrifice in these hardships. It 
 could not possibly be helped. Thank goodness it was past 
 and gone ! even postage had cost him far too much. 
 
 But not yet was the affair closed. A week passed and then 
 Kirk received word that the Council considered his work of
 
 THE BOEN EOOL 419 
 
 sufficient import to be included in the Journal. This de- 
 lighted him ; he sat and thought a moment, for he knew that 
 a large percentage of papers read before the Fellows were 
 not considered worthy of this honour. Eagerly he read on. 
 The Secretary asked how many spare copies Kirk wished to 
 have bound and printed, adding that, as usual, twelve copies 
 would be given gratis. Would he please reply by return of 
 post and give his order as the litho-stones were required at 
 once for other plates ? It was usual to send the money with 
 the order direct to the publishers. He enclosed the address. 
 The Institute took no responsibility for private copies. They 
 would cost in this case only two shillings each, for fifty copies 
 and upwards. 
 
 Kirk reluctantly was compelled to write that he required 
 no spare copies. He felt hard hit by this deprivation. It 
 did not occur to him to tell some friend of his position, and 
 obtain a small loan. In a few days, he received a second and 
 very different letter from Professor Rally : 
 
 "I am astonished and grieved to hear from Blackdales that 
 you have ordered no copies of your work! and that he has 
 actually cleaned the stones ! We all want extra copies. You 
 really seem to have no appreciation of your own work. Con- 
 sidering the great pains I have taken for you, Clinton, I feel 
 that I am extremely ill-used. / cannot understand your ac- 
 tion, and now it is too late. It will fully repay you to have the 
 whole thing done again by the publishers, and I have told 
 them to keep the originals and all your drawings pending 
 your reply, which I fervently hope will be in the affirmative. 
 You are clever, Clinton, but you must avoid all eccentricities 
 such as this. I am exceedingly surprised. I really shall not 
 know what excuse to make for you to people, for the paper 
 will be asked for all round, and, of course, you should have 
 presented the copies yourself to all the other men who specu- 
 late in your field." And much more followed. A few days
 
 420 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 iater arrived the twelve copies supplied gratis by the Geo- 
 logical Institute. 
 
 Kirk replied to Rally by sending six of his twelve precious 
 copies. With them he sent a short note, telling Rally how 
 sorry and grieved he was, and that the real reason of his ac- 
 tion was extreme hard-upness. He had, unexpectedly, been 
 compelled to save and spend every penny of late to help a 
 sister. He sent one copy of his thesis to Marian, one to Mr. 
 Lucy, and one to Mrs. Athorpe. On the first he wrote the 
 words magical to a young man "With the Author's com- 
 pliments," and those sent to Marian and to his aunt he in- 
 scribed "With the Author's love." But he knew he had 
 missed- a good step towards the Geological Survey, and he 
 feared he had lost the Professor as a friend. Kirk told 
 Marian not a word of this humiliation. It could do no good, 
 and would be most unkind. . . . "Indeed it might force her 
 to forego her cure," thought he. 
 
 It was at this time she wrote asking him to go to Bruside ; 
 for her step-mother had written to her, and was very troubled. 
 Mrs. Gisburn wanted her to return at once, for folk said that 
 Kirk had gone off, and would never come back, and Mr. 
 Vosper had even asked if Kirk and she were married. 
 Marian, rather home-sick, was inclined to obey. Kirk wrote 
 a letter to stiffen her against returning, but promised to go 
 himself to Bruside. On the following Saturday, carrying a 
 small handbag, he walked there over the moors. He had little 
 recollection of that walk, except that he was anxious and 
 sorrowful and felt very tired towards the end, and he remem- 
 bered how saffron had been the sky reflected in the lonely 
 peaty pools, as he descended the high moorland above Bru- 
 side. 
 
 Unexpectedly he enjoyed this visit. He was glad to eat 
 the good food at Mrs. Gisburn's, thankful for the cleanli- 
 ness .and quietude, and for the clean soft bed in which he 
 slept. On the Sunday he wrote Marian a long letter, sending 
 her by request Mrs. Gisburn's love, and pointing out to her
 
 THE BORN FOOL 421 
 
 on his own account that those at Bruside were by now quite 
 used to her absence. There was no need for her return. He 
 had made a point of going to church morning and evening 
 with Ruth and Mrs. Gisburn, who seemed content. He en- 
 closed a pretty wedding-card of rough artistic paper and a 
 letter, both from Ted, who announced his approaching wed- 
 ding. Ted apologised for short notice to the best man, but 
 wrote that Kirk ought to feel specially complimented, for 
 both Jeannie and himself had long selected him as best man. 
 Ted further gave full particulars of trains ; he wrote that the 
 house would be so full of Jeannie's relatives that Kirk would 
 have to sleep next door, but they knew old Kikkie would 
 not mind that under the circumstances. Admiral Molyneux. 
 was at home and was coming to the wedding, the two Moly- 
 neux children would be bridesmaids. Kirk must write by 
 return and acknowledge this letter. It was a fearful busi- 
 ness getting married ! Their father had written unexpectedly 
 from Severnly, he accepted the invitation and enclosed a 
 cheque for a hundred pounds! ! I Wonders never ceased! 
 
 Kirk told Marian he had not yet replied, but that he must 
 at once do so. He did not say what reply he intended. 
 Marian perhaps had not considered thought he how very 
 hard up must be her lover. 
 
 Kirk arose very early on Monday and walked back to 
 Holmroyd. Mrs. Gisburn had no trouble to make him pack 
 in his bag six fine eggs and a sultana cake. 
 
 On the evening of this day Kirk wrote Ted an affectionate 
 and very difficult letter; in fact, he wrote three, tearing up 
 the first two. At last, with great compunction, he wrote Ted 
 what was not true: that he, Kirk, could not possibly be 
 away from his work for two days in the middle of the week, 
 for he was still a newcomer, and Mr. Gifford a strict dis- 
 ciplinarian. He could only say how very very sorry he was, 
 but he gave Ted his word that it was really impossible for 
 him to come : and he added, "I am also very hard up indeed, 
 after my illness, and now I am engaged I feel I have no
 
 422 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 right to spend a single penny I can help, so I hope you will 
 excuse and forgive my absence, and the breaking of an old 
 promise. I do so hope it will not inconvenience you. I send 
 my love to Jeannie, for she will soon be my sister. I wish 
 you both the greatest of happiness and blessing. Ever your 
 affectionate brother, Kirk." 
 
 He was surprised on Wednesday morning to find that the 
 usual letter from Marian had not arrived, and when by 
 Thursday morning no letter came he wondered if she had 
 after all foolishly returned to Bruside and feared to write 
 him. Outside, as he closed the house-door, the postman ap- 
 proaching held up his hand, 
 
 "Half-a-minute, sir !" 
 
 Kirk with relief received Marian's letter. He put the 
 sealed envelope in his pocket and hurried to the office. He 
 would read her letter when he had dealt with a few urgent 
 things, for he was rather late. 
 
 Mr. Gifford had fine offices, and Kirk's table was of oak, 
 and richly carved. The young engineer undoubtedly had 
 position although he had not yet begun to make the money. 
 In his large room were two pupils under his care, and, at 
 this particular moment, as he opened Marian's thick letter, 
 two tracers were also working in the far corner, finishing 
 copies of some new plans. The room was quite silent. Kirk' a 
 back was turned to his assistants. He had just looked over 
 their work, and had also seen his foreman. 
 
 He now opened Marian's letter. His eyes received the 
 strange words, 
 
 "A Briton knows when she is insulted. . . ." 
 
 What? a copy of what? . . . She had written this to 
 Jeannie ? 
 
 As he read on, a sick faintness overcame him. He sat mo- 
 tionless, clutching the letter, his face disfigured, deathly. A 
 bitterness unspeakable was being born in him. The absolute 
 death of the ideal is always an atrocious torture. After a
 
 THE BORN FOOL 423 
 
 time he drew to himself a piece of paper and wrote in 
 pencil : 
 
 "DEAR MR. GIFFORD, 
 
 "I feel very unwell to-day and am obliged to go home, and I beg 
 you will excuse my attendance. I have instructed Edwards. 
 
 "K. CLINTON." 
 
 What in her dark ignorance had Marian done to her lover ? 
 while he spent his body and his soul for her ? 
 
 For two days she had brooded on the fact that she was 
 left out of the invitation. She had secretly believed all along 
 that she would go to this wedding. How dare he, Kirk, think 
 she was not good enough ! This was her first interpretation. 
 Mortally hurt was her pride. They had very likely written 
 privately to Kirk ! A fierce jealousy and resentment worked 
 in her blood. "Ah !" thought she, in tears, "I'm not even 
 good enough to be asked to the wedding with Kirk and it's 
 my right. . . ." 
 
 But she would stick up for herself! They should know 
 what she thought of them ! And Kirk, it was cruel that he 
 had not written back and told them how they had insulted 
 her! If he thought she was not good enough for him, she 
 could not marry him. She felt crushed by utter despair. 
 
 An evil impulse, a mad resentment, a possession of the 
 devil, filled her. She seized the pen and sat down. She wrote 
 a fierce note to Miss Mackenzie How dare she invite the 
 man she was engaged to without asking his fiancee ? "But a 
 Briton knows when she is insulted, and you can think what 
 you like of me, but you're no lady or you wouldn't do such a 
 cruel thing to me. But you shan't play your cruel tricks 
 without people letting you know they know what you are," 
 etc., for two pages. 
 
 While the evil mood lasted she wrote sadly and resent- 
 fully to her lover, and accused him of being ashamed of her, 
 of not loving her, and she wrote that if he went to the wed- 
 ding, then she would know he did not truly love her, and that
 
 424 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 she could not marry him. She would rather die. At this 
 point she paused. But the faint movement of good sense 
 failed. She wrote on "I seem fated to unhappiness." And 
 to herself she thought, "I wish I'd drowned meself long ago. 
 I feel that ill and that miserable." 
 
 Her next few days were most acutely unhappy. Many 
 times she thrust away the wish to write again and say she 
 had done, what she had done, in a bad temper. On Sunday 
 an envelope came from Kirk. All it contained were postal 
 orders for twenty-four shillings. But her pride and igno- 
 rance were stronger in the balance than her love, and they 
 conquered her. In painfully offended vanity, in sullen 
 despair, in great depression of mind she began to gather her 
 few belongings into the trunk he had bought and given her. 
 When she got home she would send back everything to him, 
 and work herself to the grave but first she would repay him 
 every penny he had spent upon her. 
 
 Kirk did not know that there are two kinds of jealousy; 
 one, the meanest, rises from a gross clawing selfishness, but 
 the other is a fear of loss of love. This fear especially tor- 
 ments uneducated men and women, who have been starved 
 and lacking in their lives. Marian suffered from this de- 
 fect of growth, and her hard life largely was responsible, but 
 Kirk knew only of the green-eyed, mean-souled jealousy.
 
 CHAPTER LIII 
 
 UPON the moors, mentally and emotionally distraught, 
 unhinged, Kirk spent the first day and the night and 
 the second day walking, leaning on walls, sitting in old de- 
 serted quarries, lying and thinking, thinking by himself in 
 remote hollows in the ling. At evening on the first day he 
 went to an inn, "The Moorcock," the solitary house, in miles 
 of waste slopes, that were blackened with sooted heather, or 
 dirty-yellow where the rain of winter had exposed the dingy 
 clays, shales and grits. Mechanically he made a meal of 
 bread and cheese, and drank some beer. The sole visitor, he 
 sat by himself until nine o'clock, and then went out again and 
 walked or stood, or sat, aimlessly; and late in the night he 
 dozed like an animal in a place he had been to in the day, 
 and that he had found again by a blind instinct of his body. 
 Fortunately, perhaps, the weather was unusually warm. He 
 had been oblivious to all physical sensation, except that of 
 hunger when he had seen and gone to the inn. 
 
 Differing only in degrees, there have been many temptings 
 in the wilderness. Temptation is that desire to act against 
 our innate sense of spiritual law. This knowledge of law, 
 which is the "conscience," may be distorted, wrong, diseased ; 
 but inevitably, infallibly, we are "tempted" whenever we de- 
 sire to act against that which our higher emotional, or men- 
 tal, or spiritual nature, tells us is right. 
 
 That sense of honour, of chivalry, of the immutability of a 
 promise, strongly nurtured in her children so long ago by 
 Kirk's mother ; that love-ability, gentleness and pity, that de- 
 sire of self-sacrifice, developed in Kirk for good or ill 
 assuredly built into and integral of his character these as it 
 
 425
 
 426 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 were clung to him by the arm as he dragged them hither and 
 thither. But the He, the Himself, what did He desire ? He 
 desired freedom from his promise, at the mortal hurt of 
 Marian. 
 
 On the early autumn evening of the second day Kirk 
 looked down on Bruside, and beheld the scene of his painful 
 courtship. His physical vehicle, that body, in which resides 
 closest those powerful materialities, those passions that grow 
 fainter in our slow upward way "from species to beyond 
 species," that vehicle, his body, was temporarily much 
 weakened. 
 
 "I forgive you, poor Marian, because you are not a man, 
 because I cannot take advantage of your weakness. You 
 have bitten me, and returned me evil for good, but I can- 
 not watch you drown. Nor ... if I were free, have I any 
 wish to live. 7 am not ... in all my future ... 7 am not. 
 . . . The desire of life is dead in me. It is less painful to go 
 on than to desert her. One of these two will then be happy 
 . . . the other could not be more unhappy, do what he might 
 . . . and what she has done has not released me." 
 
 He slowly tore up her letter, and with his heel scraped a 
 hole. He put in those bits of paper covered with their black 
 marks, drew the rocky soil over them, and replaced the heavy 
 stone he had raised. 
 
 Numbed in mind and body he sought the inn. To take 
 food was the first act in the new etiolated life : and, revived 
 a little, he slowly made his way back to Holmroyd. He had 
 ten-pence left in his pocket. He took a penny fare on the 
 steam tram and reached the General Post Office in time to 
 telegraph Marian: 
 
 "Remain where you are. I have done what you wish." 
 
 He had not yet done this, but in his dejection and resent- 
 ment of his fate it was not so difficult. He slept till late on 
 Sunday morning, and in his bedroom tore open Mrs.
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 427 
 
 Athorpe's letter and his brother's three-day-old letter. 
 Folded with Ted's handwriting, he drew from the envelope 
 Marian's frightful letter to his brother's sweetheart. He read 
 what they said, but it did not affect him at the moment as 
 might be thought. Cynically he smiled in his isolation. 
 
 "Ah, how little you two know of life and misery ! you have 
 never been put to the torture." 
 
 Ted wrote in anger. Jeannie had been most wantonly 
 insulted, most abominably slandered. He presumed Kirk 
 knew his fiancee had written to Jeannie, and he returned her 
 letter. He and Miss Mackenzie had never thought, nor even 
 imagined, that of which Miss Butterworth accused them. 
 They had clearly understood that Kirk and she were econo- 
 mising. Hence they had asked only Kirk. If he could not 
 come, he, Ted, could not easily forgive it, all their plans were 
 quite upset; he must telegraph his reply. He hoped Kirk 
 would have no more to do with such a girl as Miss Butter- 
 worth. The whole affair was utterly beyond his compre- 
 hension. 
 
 Thought Kirk, "This is best. As I am to look after 
 Marian, it is best to be cut off from people who could not 
 understand our fate." 
 
 Bitterness and misanthropy is a common refuge of men 
 sorely wounded in love. Like animals, they desire to be 
 solitary in their anguish, and to hide themselves. 
 
 Kirk now deliberately put forth the knife to sever that life- 
 long affection between himself and brother. He wrote : 
 
 "DEAR TED, 
 
 "I am aware of the action of the girl whom I intend to marry. 
 You will hear no more from me. I regret you are so inconvenienced. 
 Good-bye. 
 
 "K. CLINTON." 
 
 He sent a copy of this note to Marian, with a few words, 
 excusing himself for not writing more to her; he was much 
 occupied, he hoped that she was now satisfied. The letter
 
 428 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 she had written to Miss Mackenzie he enclosed. It had been 
 returned to him. He hoped she, Marian, saw the importance 
 of her action, and was satisfied with the results: they would 
 be lasting. 
 
 Marian replied affectionately, she wrote that she had 
 never meant for a moment to cause a break between him and 
 his brother, because she had always believed they were fond 
 of each other. Who she blamed was Miss Mackenzie. She 
 had had a queer dream about her, in which she saw the girl 
 was being married, and when herself was arriving with the 
 other guests, Miss Mackenzie held her arms up and seemed to 
 push her right back ; she had to go, until they came to a well, 
 and the girl made her look down it, "and in my dream-book 
 a well means knowledge. I know she's got a spite against me. 
 She'd have liked to have taken you away from me, Kirk." 
 
 . . . "Curse everything ! What matters anything ? except 
 duty ... I suppose," thought Kirk, as he read this. 
 
 By December Marian was so much recovered that she 
 was able to come home. Kirk before allowing this made 
 strict conditions with Mrs. Gisburn and the sisters. Marian 
 was not to go to the mill ; she was to help keep house with her 
 stepmother. He would pay fourteen shillings a week towards 
 her expenses. This latter was demurred to, but Kirk insisted 
 as it gave him a strong hold. The girl came home looking 
 wonderfully well, fresh, and young. 
 
 Kirk was to come over once a fortnight. She had not seen 
 him for three months and was surprised and much disturbed 
 by some extraordinary change in him. She observed it si- 
 lently. His good looks had largely gone. He was extremely 
 thin and pale, his eyes seemed deeper in his head, he had a 
 set and fixed expression, especially about the mouth. He 
 seemed very much older, and was taciturn, dull, and he sel- 
 dom looked at her, very seldom kissed her, yet treated her the 
 same in his attentions. But he never spoke of love, or read
 
 THE BORN FOOL 429 
 
 to her. He rarely smiled, and when he did so it was cynically. 
 Yet he was invariably gentle with her. She felt anxious about 
 ais health. Standing with her broad shoulders turned to Mrs. 
 Gisburn her hands upon her small and round waist she 
 spoke one day of Kirk's looks. 
 
 "It's Kirk that ought to be at the seaside, mother." 
 
 "That's what we think, Marian, my lass. But we're all 
 afeart t'oppen our mouths now, you're both that tetchy and 
 brabble. There's a change come i' this house!" 
 
 "He's gone so different, mother." 
 
 "Why don't ye do some work, my gurl ! and help your man 
 to get things you want ? He's getten' too much on his shoul- 
 ders. He's nobbut young. Younger than thee, an' gentle- 
 bred. Yon does naught but brood and brood, and wark and 
 wark. He's fair neshed and dull. . . . Times, Marian, o' 
 late, ar've wished off en t'lad had never seen thee. ..." 
 
 "I wanted to go to mill, but you know he'd not hear of it." 
 
 "Thee mun go wi'out letting him know, and do thi fair 
 share !" 
 
 "If I do I should have what I earn ? if you have what he 
 pays ?" 
 
 "Ay, ye can take it and welcome, my lass, we shall be glad 
 to see ye married, Marian, we thinks better to ye than ye 
 seem to believe, though we're your own kith." 
 
 And so, without Kirk knowing, Marian went once more 
 to the mill. He remained a month longer in his miserable 
 lodgings, saved a little money, and began to suffer from ex- 
 cessive insomnia. Drunken yellings and quarrellings often 
 awoke him and prevented sleep, and nearly every "operative" 
 in the town possessed a flea-bitten unhappy dog. Poor dogs 
 were they that knew not of trottings in clean roads, pushings 
 through dewy hedge-bottoms or scamperings over delicious 
 grass. Long's excellent rabies order was in full force, but the 
 poor dogs suffered much, temporarily ; for unless chained up, 
 or led in leash, every dog was muzzled. The noise at night
 
 430 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 became an agony to the jaded nerves of Kirk ; and each morn- 
 ing he awoke unref reshed after a few broken hours of sleep ; 
 but his youth and recuperative powers were yet to stand 
 much buffeting. In his heart he considered all this physical 
 misery a part of the eternal unhappiness of life. By such 
 as himself it was a condition unescapable. He saw that near- 
 ly all men's faces were stoic, resigned, sullen, calloused, 
 dulled ; and who was he that he should be excepted ? 
 
 In January Mr. Gifford increased Kirk's salary to 130; 
 and Kirk, no longer able to endure life with the tea-man, re- 
 turned to his old rooms, for happily they were vacant.
 
 CHAPTEE LIV 
 
 IN late February when at Bruside, walking with Marian in 
 his customary pretended cheerfulness, his habitual simu- 
 lated locking-forwardness, Kirk was questioned by her. 
 
 "Kirk, does your aunt write just the same ?" 
 
 "Yes, dear." 
 
 "Does she know why you didn't go to Cheltenham ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "But you didn't tell her ?" 
 
 "No. Why talk of that, Marian?" 
 
 "... Only this once, Kirk, I'll not ask you agen . . . but 
 I've wanted to know so ... was it Ted told her ?" 
 
 "My brother ? . . . I presume it was. Let us drop the 
 subject." 
 
 "Told her about what I wrote?" 
 
 The girl asked this very anxiously, but Kirk did not reply. 
 
 Recently she had told Jim about her grievance, and was 
 astounded, frightened, and even conscience-stricken by his 
 extreme astonishment, vexation, regret, hurt pride, and 
 prophecy of the result. Jim had been more disturbed than 
 Marian ever before had seen him, and his feelings were com- 
 municated. After a silence of stupefaction, he had ex- 
 claimed 
 
 "Ay! ye fool! ye utter selfish fool! what think they'll 
 think o' thee now ? and of all of us ! Ay, you'll never see any 
 of them at your wedding, my fine lass ! Yes, and if it had 
 not been him, he'd have brokken off with thee ! It's a miracle 
 to me, Marian, that you're still engaged ! By God ! Yon lad's 
 onselfish if ever a man wur ! ... It meks me feel that sad- 
 like. . . . Eh, Marian, Marian, how could thee do it ? Ar'm 
 that ashamed of thee. It meks me fair cringe, to think of 
 
 431
 
 432 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 what thee wrote ! . . . Why, t' lad must be a fool ! or a saint, 
 to keep on with thee. Tha't none worthy o' yon lad. Nay. 
 I'm ash-ermed of us all. Ay, he thinks he will! but he'll 
 never forgive thee this. I know yon better than thee; be 
 careful, be careful, my wench . . . and after all that he's 
 done for thee. ... So tha's coot him off from them he 
 looves ! Ar doubt or he'll never come back one of these fane 
 ders . . . and who could blerme him ? Not me !" 
 
 Jim left Marian gone pallid with fear, her ignorant pride 
 greatly shaken, but with her fear increased. She was ashy 
 pale, for she could not bear even the thought of losing Kirk, 
 for by now he was built into her very heart and soul. A 
 fierce hatred and great unreasoned fear of Jeannie lived on in 
 her. That girl wanted to take Kirk from her, to persuade him 
 not to marry her, that was what it was. That was what that 
 dream meant. 
 
 Kirk and Marian walked on a hundred yards in silence; 
 there was no one about, they were among rough pastures. Her 
 arm was in his. Then in a low apprehensive voice she asked 
 again, nervously unable to keep from the subject, 
 
 "Kirk . . . Did Mrs. Athorpe say anything about me ?" 
 
 "Why do you ask ?" Kirk said it vexedly and nervously ; 
 he feared greatly to arouse the feelings of that time. 
 
 "Of course she wrote, a good deal ; she does not understand 
 you, or me. . . . And when you think of the terrible mis- 
 take you . . . we . . . " 
 
 The mere reference agitated him. He had not meant to 
 utter his last words, but the words of his aunt were before 
 his eyes, he saw the sentence : "We all think it dreadful for 
 an engaged girl to make a quarrel between two brothers who 
 love each other." 
 
 Marian withdrew her arm, though he tried to retain it. 
 
 He looked at her ; she was very pale. 
 
 "You do think I'm not good enough for you." 
 
 A strong pallor overspread her hard, suffering face, as she 
 looked at her speechless lover. She turned, and then walked
 
 THE BOKN FOOL 433 
 
 away. He stood still, his back remaining towards her. It 
 was near dusk, and the ground iron-bound with black frost. 
 He stood still with his hands clenched before him. So it had 
 come to this after all ! 
 
 He was forced round to take a last look at her. 
 
 She had stopped, and he saw she was kneeling and crouch- 
 ing down as she had done on the day in the meadow, nearly 
 two years ago. The strongest of all his feelings, the absolute 
 unbearableness of seeing a woman, a girl, suffer through him- 
 self like that re-triumphed. 
 
 He ran towards her. 
 
 The great anguish of the girl had quenched even her pride. 
 He raised her silently and wiped her tears with his own 
 handkerchief yet knowing fatally that he loved her not. 
 She was a child, a suffering girl put into his care, and he 
 could never desert her. 
 
 Soon after this, Marian's physical weakness again declared 
 itself. Kirk discovered she had been at the mill. But when 
 he accused her she put into his hands twelve pounds. He 
 was touched by this, but he flushed, for it is still the man's 
 part solely, between lovers, to earn the money. He forth- 
 with sent her to Scarborough, where again she began to re- 
 cover slowly. 
 
 In May he visited her. She was so obviously and deeply 
 in love with him that he had a keen paroxysm of the first 
 fear and horror of deceiving her. 
 
 This return of fear came over him at the very moment he 
 entered her room. Unexpectedly he had arrived by an earlier 
 train. Marian jumped up and threw her arms round him 
 and they kissed each other. 
 
 "Sit down, dear, you look ever so tired," said she, and he 
 sat on the fore part of a low and long chair. 
 
 A minute later she seated herself on his knee, then pushed 
 him gently till he lay well back, and she reclined upon him
 
 434 THE BORN FOOL 
 
 and beside him, and lay with her eyes shut, her head on his 
 breast. 
 
 Kiss her again at this moment he could not; it was too 
 damnably false ; but he stroked her hair ; no, no, he no longer 
 loved her, though he strove fiercely to shut the knowledge out. 
 For dear life he held the door against the violent foe. Dur- 
 ing the next ten minutes his brain ached and his heart dried, 
 in this last and worst conflict. He who pretended so cleverly 
 he who deceived a woman, even a dull woman, in her 
 greatest knowledge he fenced as it were with rigid mus- 
 cles, his lightning strokes never ceasing parrying his tre- 
 mendous desire to confess, to give way. Not once did one. 
 faint suspicion reach Marian of this last terrible struggle. 
 Never had his subtle brain shewed more skill but what of 
 exhaustion ? 
 
 He made laughter, gave her caresses while his heart 
 stifled, and she gazed into his eyes and serene face. What 
 he truly feared was the powerful telepathic vibration of his 
 feelings ; these indeed had sometimes faintly reached Marian 
 as in the field that day while he deceived her mind ; and 
 at one time she had wondered extraordinarily why she often 
 liked him away better even than when he visited her. That 
 had been so strange. 
 
 By any woman of but very little finer penetration, by any 
 woman of less selfish, sensual, unconscious love, by any 
 girl only a slight shade more sensitive, he would have been 
 beaten and discovered long ago. She would have stood up in 
 agony, wordless, have parted from him, and gone away to 
 break her heart but such a girl . . . would never have hurt 
 him as did Marian. With a girl of his own caste such things 
 from the earliest days would have been impossible. 
 
 But Marian reclined on her lover, and the warmth of her 
 limbs penetrated through his clothes. 
 
 Driven to the last limit by the self -outrage upon his natural 
 sincerity his nerves in tumult and losing their control he 
 suddenly in despair released the passions of his sex. They
 
 THE BORN FOOL 435 
 
 were very powerful, but well in hand. He had never before 
 had such close contact with a woman's form. She demanded 
 this passion, he saw it now, and he gave it quickly; he al- 
 lowed himself to think of her semi-sensually, but with re- 
 luctance and super-self-loathing. He held her to himself. . 
 Now indeed was he abased. 
 
 But one second or two later! and ah! he must have 
 groaned! cried out! pushed her heavily from himself! have 
 told her, and said, "Let us both die." 
 
 With his left arm and hand he took her round the waist, 
 and he kissed her on her mouth. His right hand was be- 
 tween her upper arm and her breast ; she eagerly responded. 
 She turned her head and kissed his neck many times. She 
 pressed her warm limbs and form on him from head to feet. 
 She locked her hand in his own and it sank in her bosom. 
 Her face flushed, she smiled, and her eyes closed. 
 
 She lay still, fully satisfied that he loved her, and she mur- 
 mured 
 
 "You've never been so sweet and dear, Kirk ... do you 
 remember ... I once said I wanted a man who'd kiss me 
 and that . . . that's my idea of love . . . I've always felt 
 miserable that after we're dead . . . we've no bodies . . . 
 there'd be nothing sweet." 
 
 They remained in this attitude until the door suddenly 
 opened, and Marian jumped up laughing and shook her 
 clothes, and exclaimed, 
 
 "We were having a spoon ! Mrs. Gillay." 
 
 "Ay, you young folks ! You will have your fun !" Mrs. 
 Gillay bustled about at a tremendous rate, setting the tea 
 table like lightning. "Well, I say! have your fun! while 
 you're young ! but don't be foolish with it. Later on you'll 
 have enough to do and think about, with a house, and babies, 
 and what not !" 
 
 Marian laughed a good deal, but Kirk could not smile. He 
 felt cheap and humbled. Yet he imagined he was doing 
 right and honourably. He had kept his troth to Marian. All
 
 436 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 they Lad now to do was to be married, and then it was over 
 and finished. She was looking very well again. They would 
 be married this summer. Then it would finish all this intol- 
 erable struggle. 
 
 From this day, when troubled terribly by his lost love and 
 by his forced insincerity, Kirk allowed himself to think less 
 vaguely of Marian's body, but always he reverted from this 
 with distress. For he knew what true love was. These very 
 thoughts revealed to him the strongly physical side of 
 Marian's regard. He remembered again and again her 
 words, once said laughingly but sincerely, "It was your legs 
 that took my fancy first, Kirk." 
 
 "But she does love me with her being as well. Yes, she 
 loves me unfortunately, unhappily, and I cannot desert 
 her."
 
 CHAPTER LV 
 
 IT was the day before the wedding of Kirk and Marian. 
 The house at Bruside was filled with bustle. The chairs 
 and tables of the large parlour were covered with new hats 
 and dresses. In the smaller room was the village seamstress, 
 and one could hear the sewing-machine, starting and stopping. 
 All the doors stood open for the June air to flow through. 
 Much cooking proceeded in the large living room and kitchen 
 of the old house. Rustlings and quick footsteps constantly 
 sounded overhead. Ruth and Dinah had found substitutes 
 for the mill, and Jane, the daughter of Mrs. Gisburn, would 
 arrive in the afternoon, from Thirsk. 
 
 An old woman, very talkative and active, who always gave 
 a hand with local wedding work, could be heard clacking in 
 the kitchen. 
 
 To Kirk, his nerves at high tension, all this upset was 
 offensive. Nor took he the least interest in these preparations 
 of conventionality. His own arrangements for the honey- 
 moon were complete. He found the present suspense very 
 trying. 
 
 During the past two months, time had taken its effect. He 
 had reconquered himself; he felt some genuine affection 
 towards Marian and he preserved the feeling preciously. Her 
 unexpected delight and lightness at the approaching cer- 
 tainty of marriage penetrated him; but this made him feel 
 again that he was unworthy. For obviously she loved truly 
 and sincerely, within her narrow limits. But he ... was 
 merely a curious species. All he possessed was strength 
 of honour. Over his own inconstancy he grieved silently 
 and often : but he resolved more than ever that he would make 
 
 437
 
 438 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Marian happy, and for ever conceal his hopeless change of 
 feeling. His health was better, and he threw off those vague 
 besetting fears of the dark future, into which he had never 
 seen. Of late he had lived carefully in the objective, kept a 
 close watch on the expression of his own face, and become 
 much more practised in the art of seeming cheerful. He 
 felt strongly in his darker hours that all this human life was 
 utterly trivial, that nothing we did really mattered, except 
 the duty just before us. One must go to bed and get up each 
 day and live that day without outlook, and be philosophical, 
 and in due course all would come to a blessed finality and 
 oblivion if one did one's duty. 
 
 But time dragged painfully this bright and sunny morn- 
 ing. Kirk had that uncomfortable sense of being in the way, 
 the unpleasant feeling that men have in hat-and-corset shops, 
 or during birth of their children a vague sense of one led 
 captive in the train of some woman-conqueror. It has been 
 known to men when their partner in the dance was very 
 lovely, well aware of it, and radiantly arrayed. 
 
 Nevertheless, Kirk was patient. 
 
 He rose next day in better spirits, feeling more balanced, 
 calmer, and very determined. His sense of humour, long 
 silent, unexercised, now came oddly to his help and the ef- 
 fect was immediate. A mood of calm recklessness, a reaction 
 of youth, visited him, and he made semi-cynical fun with 
 Jane quite the liveliest member of the family, he found, and 
 the house once more heard laughter in its rooms. 
 
 Marian had slept well. This morning she looked younger, 
 rosy, and by Jane her heavy, pale, beautiful hair had been 
 admirably coiffured. 
 
 "It's not lucky!" laughingly declared Jim, "for t' bride- 
 groom to see bride before he's getten to church." But Marian 
 came to Kirk in her wedding dress, her veil thrown back, and 
 before every one he twice warmly kissed her. 
 
 The morning was one of the most delicious of early sum-
 
 <* 
 
 THE BOEK FOOL 439 
 
 mer. A slight warm rain had fallen in the night, but the 
 clouds had dispersed again before dawn and now all was fresh 
 and sweet. As Kirk drove down the long main street, he no- 
 ticed the clean flags and setts, and through gaps in the rows 
 of stone houses, he saw the distant moors all blue and brown, 
 and the green pastures rising towards them. He caught 
 glimpses of the sun sparkling in the short wet mowing grass 
 of the sloping fields, and a lark was singing far away. Youth 
 re-asserted the powers of hope and some stray fleeting bird 
 of love flew into his heart to settle there awhile. 
 
 His best man was beside him. He was a young Irishman 
 and had known Kirk for but a few months. He had come 
 to Yorkshire to manage a new experimental mill for poplin : 
 Kirk and he had met at the Martineaus', and had talked of 
 music, and of work for young De Courcy played the violin, 
 and, also, he had invented an improved "Jacquard" loom. 
 
 Nearly every house-door had sight-seers. People were 
 smiling at each other and then at Kirk as he passed down the 
 road. 
 
 A romance moves us nearly all, whether we will or no. It 
 is deeply interesting to the mass of men, and especially to all 
 women. We all wish it happy fulfilment, we all wish the two 
 adventurers good luck. We know nothing, as a rule, of their 
 secret life and feelings. 
 
 We hope, we imagine, we believe, that we behold the verit- 
 able fulfilment of that pure and joyous love we all have heard 
 of and desired, but so few of us have found ; and if young, our 
 hearts infallibly go out to them with warmth, and we say 
 fervently within ourselves, "Good luck to them !" "God bless 
 them!" 
 
 Marian drove down resplendent in her open carriage, drawn 
 by a pair of really spanking greys. Jim accompanied her. 
 Marian never had looked better, and the good in her heart 
 to-day was at the surface. Men and women waved their 
 hands as she went past ; she sat erect, and she smiled all the 
 time; but most folk were in church. It was packed.
 
 440 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Kirk remembered making the responses, loudly and 
 mechanically, defiantly perhaps, and then it seemed they 
 were driving back together. 
 
 In the vestry Marian had signed "of full age." Mr. Vos- 
 per had demurred slightly, it was a novelty to him, but Kirk 
 had laughed gently and said, "You will find it quite in 
 order." The old clergyman would take no fees, and to Kirk 
 he had whispered, "She is a most devout girl, Mr. Clinton, 
 she has been in my school-class since she was a child. Marian 
 is fit to enter any gentleman's family." 
 
 This momentarily hurt Kirk, but he had gratefully pressed 
 Mr. Vesper's hand, and his old love seemed to strengthen 
 again and comfort him and exalt him. 
 
 He had accomplished his will. He had done his duty. This 
 thought exalted him.
 
 CHAPTER LVI 
 
 MARIAN somewhere had read of Guernsey and Sark, 
 and from then had wished to spend her honeymoon 
 in those distant islands. Besides, it sounded so grand. 
 Every one in Bruside went to Scarborough, or Bridlington, 
 or to more distant Blackpool or the Isle of Man, but no 
 one at Bruside had ever been to Guernsey. Then, too, a place 
 where Kirk had never been was attractive to him. There 
 would be relief in the complete change and the sense of great 
 distance from the North. Expense when counted up tended 
 to alter Marian's first desires ; but Kirk had said, "A honey- 
 moon comes once only, and you might as well have your wish, 
 Marian. I propose we do go. It means merely that we will 
 live in rooms a month or two longer." 
 
 Their luggage was labelled to Guernsey, via Derby and 
 Weymouth. They left Bruside soon after two o'clock. The 
 guard locked them in before they left the crowded little sta- 
 tion. It seemed that half Bruside was assembled on the 
 platform, and Kirk was touched, for as the train drew out 
 all these northern folk cheered. In the carriage Kirk was 
 very gentle and affectionate to his wife. They carefully re- 
 moved all confetti and rice from each other's clothes and 
 hair. He changed her seat, reminding her that she felt best 
 when facing the engine. To-day his heart was lighter, his 
 mind satisfied, he had done his duty, he forgot the past, and 
 smiled affectionately at Marian, who was all rosy. He kissed 
 her twice, and a few happy tears ran down her face. She 
 took his hand and held it on her lap, and looked out of the 
 window, thinking how good God had been to her. 
 
 When the train entered the cotton areas of Lancashire 
 they passed the newly whitewashed roofs of weaving-sheds. 
 
 441
 
 442 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 Marian pressed her husband's hand and said, "It was you 
 got the whitewashing, Kirk. There's never been any one like 
 you, Kirk, at my home." 
 
 At Birmingham they changed trains. Evening had come, 
 and a fine sunset was promised in the west. 
 
 "Fancy, Marian, I had forgotten to tell you fancy! we 
 shall go through Severnly ! I'll point everything out to you ! 
 But we shall go at an awful pace and not stop there. This 
 very same train has run at the very same time, ever since I 
 was a boy. It is the express I used to tell you of, that goes 
 so fast, and is marvellously smooth-running, and will be very 
 much better for your back than any other train that you have 
 ever been in." 
 
 Kirk had tipped the guard and they were by themselves. 
 Few passengers were travelling on the Tuesday. 
 
 The train ran faster and faster and rocked a little; Kirk 
 began to know the country, and he stood up, looking out. 
 Strange feelings and yearnings went through him. He 
 turned to Marian but saw she was not really interested 
 
 "Is your back hurting, dear ?" 
 
 "It is a bit, Kirk, it's not much " 
 
 He made her lie down ; purposely for this he had hired a 
 pillow, and with the rug he now made her very comfort- 
 able. 
 
 "You don't mind me looking out? These places I know 
 them so 
 
 "No, Kirk, dear, you look out ! I'll shut my eyes a bit." 
 
 The train swept along at very great speed, and Kirk boy- 
 ishly timed a few miles. 
 
 "Fancy, Marian ! isn't it an awful pace ! I make it seventy 
 an hour ! these last three miles." 
 
 Now they approached Severnly he saw far ahead and 
 recognised the great trees, he knew each by shape, he knew 
 what lay beyond those broad darkening lammas-lands. The 
 warm air they rushed through was scented with hay, and the
 
 THE BOEK FOOL 443 
 
 fanners' men and girls in the rich fields, hopyards and 
 orchards, stood up to see the boat-express rock past. Some 
 waved hands to him. Kirk waved back to them. 
 
 "Ah they are tny dear people!" 
 
 Far in that great woodland lay the Ravine! With his 
 mother he had walked that very field-path. His eyes dimmed 
 and he tightly held the door-ledge. Here he had spent his 
 boyhood. The sweet memory choked him, What was- it he 
 remembered that was so unreturnable in his life? 
 
 Lying on the edge of the plain of rich mowing grass but 
 far above it from that spinney of graceful larches on the 
 rounded hill the boy Kirk had often looked down upon and 
 beyond the shimmering sea of grass, over many miles of 
 deeply wooded country. The distant white-tented camp be- 
 low sent up faint bugle-calls, the subdued r-r-up! of volley- 
 firing would come regularly to his ears, mingled with the 
 ceaseless undisturbed singing of the larks. Or more haply, 
 one of the military bands would be at practise, playing low 
 and sweet on a hot fair summer day, and like the listening 
 boy, the players felt the inspiring beauteous land and sky, 
 the richness of morning. To them also came an ecstasy 
 floating from the far limits of the endless seas of flowers and 
 grass in which they were and they played rapturously, 
 so that the boy's eyes and soul had filled with trembling and 
 intoxication of the spirit, that overcame him with sweet emo- 
 tions inarticulate and uncontrollable. 
 
 Unexpectedly the train drew up at Severnly. The sta-> 
 tion, rather busy, looked just the same to Kirk. They had 
 only altered the position of the bookstall. 
 
 He helped Marian to rise. 
 
 "Yes, I feel better now it's stopped." She moved her hat 
 further on to the seat and smoothed her hair. They stood 
 together, Kirk looking out above her head. 
 
 "Are you Mr. Clinton, Sir ?" asked the guard. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "One minute ! there's a gentleman been looking for you."
 
 444 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 He went away quickly. Kirk saw his father coming, and for 
 the first time it occurred to him that his father was very 
 handsome. The guard unlocked the door and stood aside. 
 His father stepped up lightly into the carriage. 
 
 "Is this your wife, Kirkpatrick ?" 
 
 "Yes, father." 
 
 The elder man smiled courteously, took her by her upper 
 arms and gallantly kissed her; he then gave her a choice 
 rose. 
 
 Kirk shook hands with his father. He was puzzled and 
 amused. Mary must have asked him to come and see them. 
 . . . She must have said Marian was rather good-looking 
 ... he knew his father. 
 
 "Train going on now, Sir !" 
 
 Outside, Mr. Clinton said, "You wrote me nothing of your 
 wedding, Kirk or I should have sent a present I have just 
 bought a very good painting that you shall have. God bless 
 you both." 
 
 "Isn't he an extraordinary man?" said Kirk, smilingly. 
 "We may never see the present, Marian, he will very likely 
 forget all about it, or put it off and off till he forgets." 
 
 "But wasn't it nice of him to kiss me like that?" And 
 she smelt the rose. 
 
 "Yes, he can be a great man with the ladies, if he likes to 
 be ... he seems to have altered again." 
 
 At Bath they stayed ten minutes. Here many passengers 
 awaited the boat-train for Weymouth. The new guard 
 walked along, scanning the passengers, and he stopped when 
 he saw Kirk, who had taken his seat. 
 
 "Are you through to Guernsey, Sir?" 
 
 "Yes," said Kirk, promptly producing the tickets. 
 
 "Would you mind having a young lady in with you, Sir ? 
 She's by herself, I said I'd put her in with someone going 
 right through."
 
 THE BOEN FOOL 445 
 
 "Oh yes! all right!" Kirk smiled at Marian, who as- 
 sented. 
 
 A pretty girl of sixteen, very shy, who told them she was a 
 Channel Islander, journeyed with them the rest of the way. 
 She and Marian soon became friendly and at ease. 
 
 Kirk felt happy in looking after these two, seeing to the 
 luggage, escorting them on board, finding seats for them, 
 and booking sleeping berths. The future was a blank. He 
 had made rapid progress in the art of living, minute by 
 minute, in a narrowed consciousness. 
 
 They sat in deck chairs, for the night was still and per- 
 fect. Over the motionless dusky sea rose the full moon, 
 enormous and golden. "The honeymoon," whispered Marian 
 to Kirk. No one suspected they were on their wedding trip. 
 Through looking after Marian for so long Kirk had ac- 
 quired a husbandly manner that deceived. 
 
 The huge cliff-like peninsula of Portland, on their right, 
 seemed to glide by them silently mile by mile. About one 
 hour after the winking lights had died away upon the dark 
 English shore, Kirk carried the young girl's rugs and things 
 below, and committed her to the stewardess : whom he tipped, 
 telling' her to- see the young lady was quite comfortable ; but 
 Marian greatly feared sea-sickness, and dare not go below, nor 
 darelshe eat. So Kirk wrapped her well up in the rug, in the 
 deck chair. He put his overcoat on, and all night they re- 
 mained on deck. For some hours they both slept. 
 
 Very early Kirk awakened. Glorious with sunrise was the 
 sky. A homeward ship with every white sail set and full 
 towered close at hand : she looked swanlike, serene, beautiful ; 
 she rocked very slowly and the gently parted water rippled 
 from beneath her graceful bows. Nowhere showed another 
 ripple for the broad and tranquil bosom of the sea lay 
 spread with slowly undulating changing sheens of silver, 
 rose, and golden light reflected from the splendours and the 
 dazzling face of youthful Helios.
 
 446 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 But Marian slept on, and Kirk, looking upon her, ob- 
 served her pallor and fatigue, and felt a deep protectiveness. 
 Presently she awoke and he persuaded her to eat dry bis- 
 cuits and drink the hot coffee he had brought. 
 
 By half past eight they were being taken to their bed- 
 room, in a most delightful and old-fashioned boarding-house, 
 yisitors at this time of year were few in number. The wife 
 of the proprietor, who, it was plain to Kirk, was a lady, 
 opened a door that led from their large and pretty room into 
 a little chamber. 
 
 "We use this as a dressing-room when we are not full. We 
 thought you would like it." 
 
 "Thank you," said Kirk, and bowed slightly. 
 
 Mrs. Maigny left the room and closed the door. 
 
 Marian, never having had a dressing-room, made no use 
 of this. Her husband knelt and unlocked the trunks and 
 took things out and was about to stand up. After a moment 
 of embarrassment Marian brushed aside her feelings with a 
 kind of contempt. She was far too done up to trouble, and 
 now dear Kirk was her husband. 
 
 Of the honeymoon only one more day remained. 
 
 The heavens were brilliant azure. Burning in the zenith 
 stood the sun. The rocks in the sea, hundreds of isolate 
 conical points, strangely pink of hue, showed stern and fixed ; 
 some were miles from land bright pink rocks in a sea of 
 pure deepest azure that slowly moved and dreamed, at lowest 
 ebb gorgeous and tropic as the proud Persian bird spread- 
 ing in the noonday sun. Never before had these two looked 
 on or imagined such a sea of colour. Near them the water 
 changed to emerald, and then to amber, edged by the glowing 
 whiteness of the curving sand. 
 
 But the multitude of sharply-pointed rocks, that stood far 
 out amid the azure, were watchful, dreadful, warlike as spikes 
 of brass on the burnished helms of motionless cavalry. They 
 were menacing as fangs.
 
 THE BORN FOOL 447 
 
 Kirk and Marian gazed silently upon this wonderful siesta 
 of these countless tigers of the torridian sea. 
 
 Far out among those pale-pink fangs of rock where they 
 received the long oceanic swell where the splendid azure 
 water burst into a seldom and vanishing snowy foam, lay 
 chained a sentinel of hoary iron that even in this blazing, 
 still, breathless noon moved with unrest. 
 
 At long and slow unceasing measured intervals it rose, 
 and as it sank again it breathed across the blue a deep and 
 far-heard, most sorrowful "Ah. ..." "Ah. ..." 
 
 Here had come to Eoquaine the newly married, and Kirk 
 had brought a luncheon basket, with wine; and towels for 
 bathing. He had come here in a calm mind the deathly 
 calmness that precedes typhoons all his thoughts banished 
 for the time living from hour to hour in the present ; drift- 
 ing, living for once unconscious, in the sun's glorious light 
 and heat. 
 
 He had disturbed the crabs gently with his stick, for it 
 pleased Marian so much to see them run, striking with their 
 raised claws. 
 
 Now they were seated by each other, gazing out from be- 
 neath the shadow of a gnarled old tamarisk, that spread 
 feathery boughs over the topmost granite pebbles of Roquaine 
 and that crying came from the sea, and came, and came, 
 and Kirk began to think. 
 
 And all against her trembling will to Marian came the 
 memory of those dread moments she had felt, when she had 
 verged by dullest intuition on the meaning of his strange- 
 ness. 
 
 These two human beings fell motionless and silent, and 
 listened, each in their separate hearts. The young man's 
 hand crept to his heart and nerves, unknowingly he held his 
 hand pressed against his heart. 
 
 Each foreboded, for each beheld in spirit the distant
 
 448 THE BOKN FOOL 
 
 shadow of the inevitable that approached them from beyond 
 
 this lovely place and day. 
 
 A whole week had passed in which Kirk and Marian had 
 remained at tension -unchanged in their relations. 
 
 But Nature-frowning upon their disobedience-tran- 
 scended their disharmonies, their spiritual and mental oppo! 
 
 tions, and was obeyed. 
 
 Marian far more than he experienced the brief, novel, 
 but tremendous passion-pleasure of the physical union- 
 Ms was darkly intershot and stressed by the intermingled 
 lacking of those sweetest-in-life, wonderfully intimate emo- 
 tiona-of the soul and the spirit-so present and essential 
 in the first, blest triple-consummation of a pair 
 refined true-lovers. 
 
 The Mother-goddess, Nature who is She but pure 
 Divinest Law?-She for a brief spell had eased the mys- 
 terious polar tensions of the physical; but on these racially 
 perverted ones-children -of centuries and centuries of 
 obedience to Law-on these she could in nowise bestow her 
 exquisite counter-joys of spiritual and mental consumma- 
 tion: and so, ceasing interest in her one-time worshipper 
 we see her smile, Deafly but pitifully, at the sad and in- 
 durated falsities and bondages of human thought a 
 
 She passes on, eternal, punishing or blessing, see 
 ever for humans unclouded, balanced, c ear-thoughted and 
 heroic _ WO rthy not in body only but in mind and spirit 
 wTse!7o fulfil her perfect beauty, loves, and heavenly 
 inspiration. 
 
 THE END
 
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