The Somerset reporter., 1885-04-29
Selected.
SIR JAMES Id URENNE'S
WARNING.
a Story In TtU0 Chapters.
CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER I.
The Laurennes of Laurenne Place where
an old and wealthy county family, of which
Sir james LaurenDe and his daughter Mar
garet were the sole surviving representa-
tivcs.
The family defect has ever been certain
proud self satlsfac ion, AMI Sir james was
largely imbued with this spirit. He con-
s,dered himself the model of IN English
Christian gentleman in every way. He
went regularly 10 church once every Sun
day. He never gave less than half crown
to the collection. He subscribed to vari.
Gus charitable societies, and felt how good
he was when he saw his name somewhere
near the p of the list when he received
the annual reports. In his own eyes the
master of Laurenne Place was morally per-
feet, and therefore perfectly self satisfied.
Very often there is the strangest differ
ence observable between parent and child,
and in the case of Margaret Laurenne this
difference was very marked. Sir James
lived for self; she lived for others. His
aim was ease and pleasure; hers was to
benefit those around. In a word, while the
one had all his treasures In the world, the
other had hers In aeaven; and we know
that where the treasure is, there the heart
Is also.
Laurenne Place WAS huge rambling
pile, dating from the time of Queen Eliza
beth, its red walls and peaked gables al.
most hiunen by wea tn OF climbing roses,
jessamine, and Virginian creeper that even
covered some OF the great chimney stacks
with bloom. Roses trailed over the quaint
ly carved porch and peeped In At the null
lioned Windows, wing tn-hue ribh tho
stained glass coIoring the family arms and
rnurtorinuo xrhich f1llad M RI IF tho AT
A broad stone terrace ian along the en-
tire front and sides of the house, from
whence three flights of shallow moss grown
steps led into the garden. Here were
stately groves of beech and chestnut, al
leys of quaint clipped box, strawberries of
rhododendron, magnolia, and laurel; bow
ers of woodbine aud clematis, sheaves of
great silver lilies, acres of roses Here
were immense green and hotb ouses, minia-
ture lakes, graceful fountains, rocky fern
cries; while the kitchen gardens were a
study in themselves.
One sunny evening after dinner, Sir
James and his daughter sat on the terrace
enjoying the cool breeze. The gardens, ra-
diant 10 their June loneliness, lay before
them smiling In their sunlight that lit up
the flowers till they looked like teds of
jewels. The trees tossed their crown of
transparent leaves against the blue sky.
The walls of the old house glowed red .ll
warm between their garments of blossom.
Sir James, having eaten a perfectly
sooked and appointed dinner, now lay bIck
in luxurious American chair, laDgnidly
slipping his tea, and surveying his possess
sions with dreamy pride and satisfaction.
Margaret sat ut his feet, her blue eyes fxe d
on the golden western sky.
Both were absorbed In reverie, tending
towards slumber as far as the baronet was
concerned, when footman appeared on
the terrace with the announcement of q
visitor, the young vicar of The parish-the
Rev. Wilfred Staines.
Bring him here, Newton' ordered Sir
James, rousng himself; and the color rose
to Margaret's face as Mr.. Staines shook
hands warmly and took the chair she indi-
Gated.
He was man of middle height, neither
particularly handsome nor particularly
well dressed. but his face was expressive of
Doth strength and gentleness-a rare com
binaton his manners were those of well
bred gentleman.
Il have called to ask you, Sir James, he
began, ito do something for the Dell cot
tages on your estate. l am sure you are
ignorant of the wretched condition in
which they are. The walls and roofs leak,
and the ground wants draining. The trees
are so thickly planted that it Is impossible
Tor the people to have sufficient light and
air, Now, If you would -
'OG, my dear sir, said Sir Jam ., wear
lily closing his eyes, and waving his hand
as if to Danish the subject, this is an oft
told tale of which am tired. The Dell
cottages have existed since my fathers
time, and both he and have been period-
cally assaulted by enthusiasts like yourself
to DO something for them. You clergymen
are 80 easily imposed upon. Auy whining
old woman or idle rascal can get round you
with their long tales. You are-necessari.
ly, suppose, but Observation-Disclosures
of the world. These people never bring
their complaints to me.
Never? was told otherwise
We'll, they may have done so in the past
but put them down, sir! and hear no
more now. But some youn men, sir, in
these days, never let well alone
| But in this case 1t is not WELL said Mr..
| Staines boldly. Have you seen the cot.
tages lately, Sir james?
my dear sir, what a..question to ask.
| As If l went near such places! l have q
steward
And he reports favorably Of themf'
Certainly not unfavorably. Lack, like
myself, knows that the poor are a com
| planning ungrateful set. As for these Dell
people they can leave If they don't like the
place.
Oh, father, put in Margaret, where
could they go, and what could they do In
/ such caser Starve?
Really, my dear, you speak almos,
coarselyl Starve is scarcely the word for a
lady's lips, l saw again. they can leave II
they don't like the place.
| Unless something Is done, there will be
an outbreak of fever there soon,' said Mr.
Staines gravely. In the first cottsge Mat
thew Jones lies III of rheumatic fever, the
wind blowing, the rain falling on him IL
his bed. In the next, Jim Saunders ha.
ague, and his wife is dying Of consump
ton; In the third -
oh, pray, stopl' said Sir James, impa
tientlyi IL there IL anything dislike, il
10 recital Of ailments. Besides, these Ar