rey had been capsized in a gale while out
yachting. The reigning Carey, on hearing of the catastrophe, had been
seized with a fit that proved fatal in a few hours. His eldest son's
wife, as an effect of the same shock, had given birth to a still-born
male infant--the sole grandson. One brother had died childless; another
leaving daughters only; the third, Guthrie's father, was also dead.
Thus the unexpected happened, as it has a way of doing in this world,
and the t'penny-ha'penny mate of old Redford days had become the head
of a county family.

His experiences had trained him for the change. He took it soberly,
without losing his head. A bristling array of blood-enemies were
gradually transformed into a circle of respectful friends; some of them
assisted him to settle himself in his unfamiliar seat, to teach him the
duties of his high station. He was teachable, but independent, not
shutting his eyes and opening his mouth to swallow all the old-world
creeds they chose to put into it, but studying every branch of the
science of landlordism in the light of his own intelligence and
beliefs. When he had fairly mastered the situation, he married one of
his cousins.

He was in his robust middle-age, which comes so much later to men than
to women, she was well on in her thirties--a comely, sensible,
well-bred young lady, and a most excellent coadjutor to a squire new to
the business. An eminently wise selection, said his brother squires,
when the engagement was announced. The wedding was a great family
function and county event. It meant that the Careys, instead of being
split up and scattered to the winds, remained together, united in
amity; it meant that the dignity of the old house was to be kept up.
When, a year later, Wellwood rang bells and lit bonfires in honour of a
son and heir, nothing seemed wanting to confirm the general impression
that our Guthrie was not only a wise but a singularly fortunate man.

It was an impression that Guthrie shared. From the point of view that
he had now reached in life, he believed himself favoured beyond the
common lot. He loved Wellwood, full of the memorials of his ancient
race; he enjoyed his settled and comfortable place therein, after the
homeless roving of so many years--the feel of solid land under his feet
and under his life, for which every sailor pines, despite whatever
spell the sea may lay on him. He was proud of his perfect-mannered
wife, who was also his good friend and