The Miller press. [volume] (Miller, S.D.) 190?-current, 1914-10-22
CHAPTER vi.
Southlcok

Sara Wrandall's house in the coun.
try stood on a wooded knoll overlook.
ing the sound. 1t was rather remotely
located, SO far as neighbors were con
cerned. Her father, Sebastian Gooch,
shrewdly foresaw the day when land
in this particular section of the sub
urban world would return dollars for
pennies, and wisely bought thousands
Of acres: woodland, meadowland,
beachland and hills, inserted between
the environs OF New York city and
the rich towns up the coast. Years
afterward he built a commodious sum
mer home on the choicest point that
his property afforded, named it South
look, and transformed that particular
part of his wilderness into a million.
aires paradise, where he could dawdle
and putter to his hearts content,
where he could spend his time and his
money with a pr~odigality that came so
late in life to him that he made waste
Of both in his haste to live down a
rather parsimonious past.
Two miles and a half away, in the
heart of a scattered colony of purse
proud New Workers, was the country
home of the Wrandalls, an imposing
place and older by far than South
look. 1t had descended from we'll
worn and time-stained ancestors to
Redmond Wrandall, and, with others
Of its kind, looked with n % little scorn
upon the modern, mushroom struc.
lures that sprouted from the seeds OF
trade. There was no friendship be-
tween the old and the new. Each had
to a bitter contempt for the
other, though consolation was small
in comparison.
1t was in the wooded by-ways Of this
despised domain that Challis Wran.
dali and Sara, the earthly daughter OF
Midas, met and loved and defied all
things %supernal, for matches are
made in heaven. Their marriage did
not open the gates of Nineveh. Sebas'
tian Gooch's paradise was more com.
pletely ~ostracised than it was before
the disaster. The Wrandalls spoke OF
it as a disaster.
Clearly the old merchant was not
over-pleased with his daughters
choice, a conclusion permanently es
tablished by the alteration he made
in his will a year or two after the mar.
riage. True, he left the vast estate to
his beloved daughter Sara, but he fast.
ened a stout string to 1t, and with
this string her hands were tied. II
must have occurred to him that Chal.
lis vas a profligate in more ways than
his will that Sara was not to sell q
foot of the ground until a period OF
twenty years had elapsed. A very
polite way, it would seem. of making
his investment safe in the face of con.
siderable odds.
He lived long enough after the max.
ing of his will, l am happy to relate
to find that he had made no mistake
AS he preceded his s~on-in-law into tn
great beyond by a scant three year,
1t readily may be seen that he wrough
too well by far. Seventeen
sary years of prescription remained,
and he had not Intended them for
odId dlOHe. Ilc Wab HUI Glldlu u
Sara, but for her.
When the will was read and the con-
dition revealed, Challis Wrandall took
it in perfect good humor. He had the
grace to proclaim in the bosom of his
fathers family that the old gentleman
was a father-in-law to be proud Of. "A
canny old boy" he had announced
with his most engaging smile. quite
free from rancor or resentment. Chal.
lis was we'll acquainted with himself.
And so the acres were strapped to-
gether snugly and firmly, without 30
much as a town lot p%rotruding.
So impressed was Challis by the far
sightedness of his father-in.law that
he forthwith sat him down and made
n will of his own. He would not have
it said that Sara's father did a whit
better by her than he would do. He
left everything he possessed to his
wife. but put no string to 1t, blandly
implying that all danger would Be
past when she came into possession.
There vas a sort OF grim humor In
the way he managed to present HIN
self to view as the real and roaAy
eofrrco NJ poril