Cold Pastoral by Margaret Duley Page A

theory that the best blood in this country is in the Bays. Many old families came out in the early days, and there’s that odd tale of the line from the Irish Princess.”
    Philip laughed. “I don’t know about that, Mater. Her people are simple fisherfolk, but I hope Mary will have a better chance with this endowment. I couldn’t bear to think of her going back to that narrow life.”
    â€œIt’s the crock of gold, my son.” Lady Fitz Henry’s voice was ordinary, but she was regarding her son with a mother’s scrutiny. “Is she quite recovered?” she asked gently.
    â€œAlmost, and I feel so pleased about her feet. I had to fight the surgeon against a mputation. We had many a wrangle, and he washed his hands of it and said I could take the consequence if gangrene set in.”
    â€œYou put your foot down,” said his mother, smiling.
    â€œThis time it was a good foot,” he said, smiling back.
    â€œPhilip, are you planning to pay yourself out of that money?”
    Philip put down his knife and fork in frank surprise. “Certainly not, Mater. The little thing is poor. I’ll pay the hospital, which is considerable, and the rest I’ll save for education if the parents consent. They’re not to touch it so the agreement runs.”
    His mother regarded him with smiling approval, but she touched his most vulnerable point when she said: “You’ll never paint the house if you’re so prodigal with visits.”
    He went on eating, unperturbed. “A doctor loves a fight,Mater, and I did some research on frostbite. I feel personally responsible for her….”
    â€œM’mm, did you hear from the mother?”
    â€œYes, I did.”
    Putting his hand in his pocket he produced a letter in a cheap envelope.
    â€œIt’s a curious letter, Mater. I’ll read it to you.”
    Dear Sir,
    It was a Christian act on your part to write me. I’ve said a prayer for your house. To think that my child is getting better, and I made up my mind she was dead. When they took her away I felt she was gone forever. It’s like the dreams of the dead. Between waking, you think it’s not so that they’re gone, then you come to and you know that they are. Her living seems as likely as that—
    â€œAn understanding woman,” interrupted his mother thoughtfully. “I dream of your father that way.”
    I’m glad about the money. It seems a wonderful lot, but the poor can’t think past a dollar or two. I don’t know all that it means, but it might lift her out of the life I don’t want for her. It comforts me to think of her looked after by one of your name. Your father, and your father before you, bought the fish from our men and always treated them right. I’d be a grateful woman to hear again, and to get advice about my child. Lovely she was and she dazzled my eyes.
    Respectfully yours,
      JOSEPHINE KEILLY .
    Philip folded up his letter, finishing his breakfast without comment.
    There was a pause, during which Lady Fitz Henry gazed out unseeingly.
    â€œStrange,” she said after a while, “the mother speaks of her in the past tense.”
    â€œYes,” he agreed; “it looks that way.”
    Rising from the table, he bent over her, putting his arm round her shoulders. “Will you meet me at twelve-thirty, Mater? I’ll be busy until then.”
    â€œVery well, my son. I’ll be at the hospital.”
    When Philip saw his patient her bed was pulled by the window. The radiant day had gone into her face.
    â€œLook,” she said. “Miss New has fancied me up.”
    A hair-ribbon made a jaunty bow on her head, and her shoulders were covered in pale pink silk.
    Then she saw Lady Fitz Henry.
    At once the child acclaimed a quality she did not know. The lady seemed impressive, grand, with a grandeur that was not dependent upon externals. Her imaginative mind