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that I was Colonial born and bred. For the first time since my arrival in
England the real beauty of the place came home upon me. I felt as if I could
have looked for ever on that quiet and peaceful spot.
When we reached the bottom of the hill, and had turned the corner, a broad,
wellmade stone bridge confronted us. On the other side of this was an
oldfashioned country inn, with its signboard dangling from the house front,
and opposite it again a dilapidated cottage lolling beside two iron gates. The
gates were eight feet or more in height, made of finely wrought iron, and
supported by big stone posts, on the top of which two stone animals, griffins,
I believe they are called, holding shields in their claws, looked down on
passersby in ferocious grandeur. From behind the gates an avenue wound and
disappeared into the wood.
Without consulting me, my old charioteer drove into the inn yard, and, having
thrown the reins to an ostler, descended from the vehicle. I followed his
example, and then enquired the name of the place inside the gates.
My guide, philosopher, and friend looked at me rather queerly for a second or
two, and then recollecting that
I was a stranger to the place, said:
"That be the Hall I was telling 'ee about. That's where Sir William lives!"
"Then that's where my father was born?"
He nodded his head, and as he did so I noticed that the ostler stopped his
work of unharnessing the horse, and looked at me in rather a surprised
fashion.
"Well, that being so," I said, taking my stick from the trap, and preparing to
stroll off, "I'm just going to investigate a bit. You bring yourself to an
anchor in yonder, my friend, and don't stir till I come for you again."
He took himself into the inn without more ado, and I crossed the road towards
the gates. They were locked, but the little entrance by the tumbledown cottage
stood open, and passing through this I started up the drive.
It was a perfect afternoon, the sunshine straggled in through the leafy canopy
overhead and danced upon my path. To the right were the thick fastnesses of
the preserves; while on my left, across the meadows I could discern the
sparkle of water on a weir. I must have proceeded for nearly a mile through
the wood before I
caught sight of the house. Then, what a strange experience was mine.
Leaving the shelter of the trees, I opened on to as beautiful a park as the
mind of man could imagine. A herd of deer were grazing quietly just before me,
a woodman was eating his dinner in the shadow of an oak; but it was not upon
deer or woodman that I looked, but at the house that stared at me across the
undulating sea of grass.
It was a noble building, of grey stone, in shape almost square, with many
curious buttresses and angles. The drive ran up to it with a grand sweep, and
upon the green that fronted it some big trees reared their stately heads. In
my time I'd heard a lot of talk about the stately homes of England, but this
was the first time I had ever set eyes on one. And to think that this was my
father's birthplace, the house where my ancestors had lived for centuries! I
could only stand and stare at it in sheer amazement.
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28
You see, my father had always been a very silent man, and though he used
sometimes to tell us yarns about scrapes he'd got into as a boy, and how his
father was a very stern man, and had sent him to a public school, because his
tutor found him unmanageable, we never thought that he'd been anything very
much in the old days at any rate, not one of such a family as owned this
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house.
To tell the truth, I felt a bit doubtful as to what I'd better do. Somehow I
was rather nervous about going up to the house and introducing myself as a
member of the family without any credentials to back my assertion up;
and yet, on the other hand, I did not want to go away and have it always
rankling in my mind that I'd seen the old place and been afraid to go inside.
My mind once made up, however, off I went, crossed the park, and made towards
the front door. On nearer approach, I discovered that everything showed the
same neglect I had noticed at the lodge. The drive was overgrown with weeds;
no carriage seemed to have passed along it for ages. Shutters enclosed many of
the windows, and where they did not, not one but several of the panes were
broken. Entering the great stone porch, in which it would have been possible
to seat a score of people, I
pulled the antique doorbell, and waited, while the peal reechoed down the
corridors, for the curtain to go up on the next scene in my domestic drama.
Presently I heard footsteps approaching. A key turned in the lock, and the
great door swung open. An old man, whose years could hardly have totalled less
than seventy years, stood before me, dressed in a suit of solemn black; almost
green with age. He enquired my business in a wheezy whisper. In reply I asked
if Sir
William Hatteras were at home. Informing me that he would find out, he left me
to cool my heels where I
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