The Last Chronicle of Barset [109]
was by no means one of those who construe literally that passage of scripture which tells of the camel and the needle's eye. Our Henry Grantly, our major, knew himself to be his mother's favourite child--knew himself to have become so since something of a coolness had grown up between her and her daughter. The augustness of the daughter had done much to reproduce the old freshness of which I spoke of in the mother's heart, and had specially endeared to her the son, who, of all her children, was the least subject to the family's failing. The clergyman, Charles Grantly--he who had married the Lady Anne--was his father's darling in these days. The old archdeacon would go up to London and be quite happy in his son's house. He met there the men whom he loved to meet, and heard the talk which he loved to hear. It was very fine, having the Marquis of Hartletop for his son-in-law, but he had never cared to be much at Lady Hartletop's house. Indeed, the archdeacon cared to be in no house in which those around him were supposed to be bigger than himself. Such was the little family fleet from which Henry Grantly was now proposing to sail alone with his little boat--taking Grace Crawley with him at the helm. 'My father is a just man at the bottom,' he said to himself, 'and though he may not forgive me, he will not punish Edith.'
But there was still left one of the family--not a Grantly, indeed, but one so nearly allied to them as to have his boat moored in the same harbour--who, as the major well knew, would thoroughly sympathise with him. This was old Mr Harding, his mother's father--the father of his mother and of his aunt Mrs Arabin--whose home was now at the deanery. He was also to be at Plumstead during this Christmas, and he at any rate would give a ready assent to such a marriage as that which the major was proposing to himself. But then poor old Mr Harding had been thoroughly deficient in that ambition which had served to aggrandize the family into which his daughter had married. He was a poor old man who, in spite of good friends--for the late bishop of the diocese had been his dearest friend--had never risen high in his profession, and had fallen even from the moderate altitude which he had attained. But he was a man whom all loved who knew him; and it was much to the credit of his son-in-law the archdeacon, that, with all his tendencies to love rising suns, he had ever been true to Mr Harding.
Major Grantly took his daughter with him, and on his arrival at Plumstead she of course was the first object of attention. Mrs Grantly declared that she had grown immensely. The archdeacon complimented her red cheeks, and said that Cosby Lodge was as healthy a place as any in the county, while Mr Harding, Edith's great-grandfather, drew slowly from his pocket sundry treasures with which he had come prepared for the delight of the little girl. Charles Grantly and Lady Anne had no children, and the heir of all the Hartletops was too august to have been trusted to the embraces of her mother's grandfather. Edith, therefore, was all that he had in that generation, and of Edith he was prepared to be as indulgent as he had been, in their time, of his grandchildren, the Grantlys, and still was of his grandchildren the Arabins, and before that of his own daughters. 'She's more like Eleanor than anyone else,' said the old man in a plaintive tone. Now Eleanor was Mrs Arabin, the dean's wife, and was at this time--if I were to say over forty I do not think I should be uncharitable. No one else saw the special likeness, but no one else remembered, as Mr Harding did, what Eleanor had been when she was three years old.
'Aunt Nelly is in France,' said the child.
'Yes, my darling, aunt Nelly is in France, and I wish she were at home. Aunt Nelly has been away a long time.'
'I suppose she'll stay till the dean picks her up on his way home?'
'So she says in her letters. I heard from her yesterday, and I brought the letter, as I thought you'd like to see it.' Mrs Grantly took the letter and read it, while her father still played with
But there was still left one of the family--not a Grantly, indeed, but one so nearly allied to them as to have his boat moored in the same harbour--who, as the major well knew, would thoroughly sympathise with him. This was old Mr Harding, his mother's father--the father of his mother and of his aunt Mrs Arabin--whose home was now at the deanery. He was also to be at Plumstead during this Christmas, and he at any rate would give a ready assent to such a marriage as that which the major was proposing to himself. But then poor old Mr Harding had been thoroughly deficient in that ambition which had served to aggrandize the family into which his daughter had married. He was a poor old man who, in spite of good friends--for the late bishop of the diocese had been his dearest friend--had never risen high in his profession, and had fallen even from the moderate altitude which he had attained. But he was a man whom all loved who knew him; and it was much to the credit of his son-in-law the archdeacon, that, with all his tendencies to love rising suns, he had ever been true to Mr Harding.
Major Grantly took his daughter with him, and on his arrival at Plumstead she of course was the first object of attention. Mrs Grantly declared that she had grown immensely. The archdeacon complimented her red cheeks, and said that Cosby Lodge was as healthy a place as any in the county, while Mr Harding, Edith's great-grandfather, drew slowly from his pocket sundry treasures with which he had come prepared for the delight of the little girl. Charles Grantly and Lady Anne had no children, and the heir of all the Hartletops was too august to have been trusted to the embraces of her mother's grandfather. Edith, therefore, was all that he had in that generation, and of Edith he was prepared to be as indulgent as he had been, in their time, of his grandchildren, the Grantlys, and still was of his grandchildren the Arabins, and before that of his own daughters. 'She's more like Eleanor than anyone else,' said the old man in a plaintive tone. Now Eleanor was Mrs Arabin, the dean's wife, and was at this time--if I were to say over forty I do not think I should be uncharitable. No one else saw the special likeness, but no one else remembered, as Mr Harding did, what Eleanor had been when she was three years old.
'Aunt Nelly is in France,' said the child.
'Yes, my darling, aunt Nelly is in France, and I wish she were at home. Aunt Nelly has been away a long time.'
'I suppose she'll stay till the dean picks her up on his way home?'
'So she says in her letters. I heard from her yesterday, and I brought the letter, as I thought you'd like to see it.' Mrs Grantly took the letter and read it, while her father still played with