"Of course you will, sir," said the candid agent. "It's very painful," he added, "to hear the complaints the people make."

"No doubt. You must take me to see some of my tenants; but you must not tell them who I am."

"There's a decent house!" he remarked presently, as they came in sight of a comfortable-looking residence, which stood on their left, at the entrance of the village.

"Ah, that's the vicarage," replied the agent, "and the church is a little beyond, and along there, on the other side of the road, is the farm-house which does not belong to you."

They were now entering the village, the long, straggling street of which soon afforded "the Golden Shoemaker" evidence enough of his deceased uncle's parsimonious ideas. Half-ruined cottages and tumbledown houses were dispersed around; here and there along the main street, were two or three melancholy shops; and in the centre of the village stood a disreputable-looking public-house.

"I could wish," said "Cobbler" Horn, as they pa.s.sed the last-mentioned building, "that my village did not contain any place of that kind."

"There's no reason," responded the agent, with a quiet smile, "why you should have a public-house in the place, if you don't want one."

"Couldn't we have a public-house without strong drink?"

"No doubt we could, sir; but it wouldn't pay."

"You mean as a matter of money, of course. But that is nothing to me, and the scheme would pay in other respects. I leave it to you, Mr. Gray, to get rid of the present occupant of the house as soon as it can be done without injustice, and to convert the establishment into a public-house without the drink--a place which will afford suitable accommodation for travellers, and be a pleasant meeting place, of an evening, for the men and boys of the village."

"Thank you, sir," said the agent, with huge delight. "Have I carte blanche?"

"'Carte blanche'?" queried "Cobbler" Horn, with a puzzled air. "Let me see; that's----what? Ah, I know--a free hand, isn't it?"

"Yes, sir," replied the agent gravely.

"Then that's just what I mean."

As they drove on, "Cobbler" Horn observed that most of the gardens attached to the cottages were in good order, and that some of the people had been at great pains to conceal the mouldering walls of their wretched huts with roses, honeysuckle, and various climbing plants. Glowing with honest shame, he became restlessly eager to wave his golden wand over this desolate scene.

"This is my place, sir," said the agent, as they stopped at the gate of a dingy, double-fronted house. "You'll have a bit of dinner with us in our humble way?"

"Thank you," said "the Golden Shoemaker," "I shall be very glad."

CHAPTER XXI.

IN NEED OF REPAIRS.

After dinner, "Cobbler" Horn set out with his agent on a tour of inspection through the village.

"We'll take this row first, sir, if you please," said Mr. Gray. "One of the people has sent for me to call."

So saying he led the way towards a row of decrepit cottages which, with their dingy walls and black thatch, looked like a group of fungi, rather than a row of habitations erected by the hand of man.

At the crazy door of the first cottage they were confronted by a stout, red-faced woman with bare beefy arms, who, on seeing "Cobbler" Horn, dropped a curtsey, and suppressed the angry salutation which she had prepared for Mr. Gray.

"A friend of mine, Mrs. Blobs," said the agent.

"Glad to see you, sir," said the woman to "Cobbler" Horn. "Will you please to walk in, gentlemen."

"Just cast your eye up there, Mr. Gray," she added when they were inside.

"It's come through at last."

Sure enough it had. Above their heads was a vast hole in the ceiling, and above that a huge gap in the thatch; and at their feet lay a heap of bricks, mortar, and fragments of rotten wood.

"Why the chimney has come through!" exclaimed Mr. Gray.

"Little doubt of that," said Mrs. Blobs.

"Was anybody hurt?"

"No, but they might ha' bin. It was this very morning. The master was at his work, and the children away at school; but, if I hadn't just stepped out to have a few words with a neighbour, I might ha' bin just under the very place. Isn't it disgraceful, sir," she added, turning to "Cobbler"

Horn, "that human beings should be made to live in such tumbledown places?

I believe Mr. Gray, here, would have put things right long ago; but he's been kept that tight by the old skin-flint what's just died. They do say as now the property have got into better hands; but----"

"Well, well, Mrs. Blobs" interposed the agent; "we shall soon see a change now I hope."

"Yes," a.s.sented "Cobbler" Horn, "we'll have----that is, I'm sure Mr. Gray will soon make you snug, ma'am."

"We must call at every house, sir," said Mr. Gray, as they pa.s.sed to the next door. "There isn't one of the lot but wants patching up almost every day."

"Cheer up, Mr. Gray," said "the Golden Shoemaker." "There shall be no more patching after this."

In each of the miserable cottages they met with a repet.i.tion of their experience in the first. If the reproaches of the living could bring back the dead, old Jacob Horn should have formed one of the group in those mouldy and rotting cottages, to listen to the reiteration of the shameful story of his criminal neglect. Here the windows were bursting from their setting, like the bulging eyes of suffocating men; and here the door-frame was in a state of collapse. In one cottage the ceiling was depositing itself, by frequent instalments, on the floor; and in another the floor itself was rotting away. In every case, Mr. Gray made bold to promise the speedy rectification of everything that was wrong; and "Cobbler" Horn confirmed his promises in a manner so authoritative that it would have been a wonder if his discontented tenants had not caught some glimmering of the truth as to who he was.

On leaving the cottages, Mr. Gray took his employer to one of the farm-houses which his property comprised. They found the farmer, a burly, red-faced, ultra-choleric man, excited over some recently-consummated dilapidations on his premises. He conducted his visitors over his house and farm-buildings, grumbling like an ungreased wagon. His abuse of "Cobbler" Horn's dead uncle was unstinted, and almost every other word was a rumbling oath. Mr. Gray a.s.sured him that all would be put right now in a very short time; and "Cobbler" Horn said, "Yes, he was sure it would."

The farmer stared in surprise; but his blunter perception proved less penetrative than the keen insight of the women, and he simply wondered what this rather rough looking stranger could know about it, anyhow. He expressed a hope that it might be as Mr. Gray said. For himself he hadn't much faith. But, if there wasn't something done soon, the new landlord had better not show himself there, that was all; and the aggrieved farmer clenched his implied threat with the most emphatic oath he was able to produce.

Their inspection of the remainder of the village revealed, on every side, the same condition of ruin and decay; and it was with a sad and indignant heart that "Cobbler" Horn at length sat down, in Mrs. Gray's front parlour, to a late but welcome cup of tea.

"To-morrow," he said, "we'll have a look at the old hall."

"The Golden Shoemaker" spent the evening in close consultation with his agent. The state of the property was thoroughly discussed, and Mr. Gray was invested with full power to renovate and renew. His employer enjoined him to make complete work. He was to exceed, rather than stop short of, what was necessary, and to do even more than the tenants asked.

"You will understand, Mr. Gray," said "Cobbler" Horn, "that I want all my property in this village to be put into such thorough repair that, as far as the comfort and convenience of my tenants are concerned, nothing shall remain to be desired. So set to work with all your might; and we shall not quarrel about the bill----if you only make it large enough."

Mr. Gray's big heart bounded within him, as he received this generous commission.

"And don't forget your own house," added his employer. "I think you had better build yourself a new one while you are about it; and let it be a house fit to live in."

Mr. Gray warmly expressed his thanks, and they proceeded to the consideration of the numberless matters which it was necessary to discuss.

In the morning, under the guidance of the agent, "Cobbler" Horn paid his promised visit to the old Hall. It was a venerable Elizabethan mansion, and, like everything else in the village that belonged to him, was sadly out of repair. As he entered the ancient pile, and pa.s.sed from room to room, a purpose with regard to the old Hall which already vaguely occupied his mind, took definite shape; and he seemed to hear, in the empty rooms, the glad ring of children's laughter and the patter of children's feet. In memory of his long-lost Marian, and for the glory of the Divine Friend of children, the old Hall should be transformed into a Home for little ones who were homeless and without a friend.

As they drove to the station, a little later, he announced his attention, with regard to the Hall, to Mr. Gray.