He asked. Oh, no, she was English but had travelled extensively
and knew a great deal of New Zealand. And after exhausting this subject
the conversation, which had become general, drifted into others, and
presently we were all comparing notes about our experience of the late
great frost. Here I had my say about what had happened in the village I
had been staying in. The prolonged frost, I said, had killed all or
most of the birds in the open country round us, but in the village
itself a curious thing had happened to save the birds of the place. It
was a change of feeling in the people, who are by nature or training
great persecutors of birds. The sight of them dying of starvation had
aroused a sentiment of compassion, and all the villagers, men, women,
and children, even to the roughest bush-beating boys, started feeding
them, with the result that the birds quickly became tame and spent
their whole day flying from house to house, visiting every yard and
perching on the window-sills. While I was speaking the gentleman
opposite put down his knife and fork and gazed steadily at me with a
smile on his red-apple face, and when I concluded he exploded in a
half-suppressed sniggering laugh.
It annoyed me, and I remarked rather sharply that I didn't see what
there was to laugh at in what I had told them. Then the lady with ready
tact interposed to say she had been deeply interested in my
experiences, and went on to tell what she had done to save the birds in
her own place; and her companion, taking it perhaps as a snub to
himself from her, picked up his knife and fork and went on with his
luncheon, and never opened his mouth to speak again. Or, at all events,
not till he had quite finished his meal.
By-and-by, when I found an opportunity of speaking to our hostess, I
asked her who that charming lady was, and she told me she was a Miss
Somebody - I forget the name - a native of the town, also that she was a
great favourite there and was loved by everyone, rich and poor, and
that she had been a very hard worker ever since the war began, and had
inspired all the women in the place to work.
"And who," I asked, "was the fellow who brought her in to lunch - a
relative or a lover?"
"Oh, no, no relation and certainly not a lover. I doubt if she would
have him if he wanted her, in spite of his position."
"I don't wonder at that - a perfect clown! And who is he?"
"Oh, didn't you know! Sir Ranulph Damarell."
"Good Lord!" I gasped. "That your great man - lord of the manor and what
not! He may bear the name, but I'm certain he's not a descendant of the
Sir Ranulph whose monument is in your church."
"Oh, yes, he is," she replied. "I believe there has never been a break
in the line from father to son since that man's day. They were all
knights in the old time, but for the last two centuries or so have been
baronets."
"Good Lord!" I exclaimed again. "And please tell me what is he - - what
does he do? What is his distinction?"
"His distinction for me," she smilingly replied, "is that he prefers
my house to have his luncheon in after Sunday morning service. He knows
where he can get good cooking. And as a rule he invites some friend in
the town to lunch with him, so that should there be any conversation at
table his guest can speak for both and leave him quite free to enjoy
his food."
"And what part does he take in politics and public affairs - how does he
stand among your leading men?"
Her answer was that he had never taken any part in politics - had never
been or desired to be in Parliament or in the County Council, and was
not even a J.P., nor had he done anything for his country during the
war. Nor was he a sportsman. He was simply a country gentleman, and
every morning he took a ride or walk, mainly she supposed to give him a
better appetite for his luncheon. And he was a good landlord to his
tenants and he was respected by everybody and no one had ever said a
word against him.
There was nothing now for me to say except 'Good Lord!' so I said it
once more, and that made three times.
VI
A SECOND STORY OF TWO BROTHERS
Shortly after writing the story of two brothers in the last part but
one I was reminded of another strange story of two brothers in that
same distant land, which I heard years ago and had forgotten. It now
came back to me in a newspaper from Miami, of all places in the world,
sent me by a correspondent in that town. He - Mr. J. L. Rodger - some
time ago when reading an autobiographical book of mine made the
discovery that we were natives of the same place in the Argentine
pampas - that the homes where we respectively first saw the light stood
but a couple of hours' ride on horseback apart. But we were not born on
the same day and so missed meeting in our youth; then left our homes,
and he, after wide wanderings, found an earthly paradise in Florida to
dwell in. So that now that we have in a sense met we have the Atlantic
between us. He has been contributing some recollections of the pampas
to the Miami paper, and told this story of two brothers among other
strange happenings. I tell it in my own way more briefly.
* * * * *
It begins in the early fifties and ends thirty years later in the early
eighties of last century.
