In return for such services she loved him better than anybody in the world except William—her heart was divided between the two.

Chapter III

The first event of any importance in the family was the death of Mr. Norris—some suggested it was due to a dire and unfortunate infection resulting from a wild animal bite—which happened when Fanny was about fifteen, and necessarily introduced changes. Mrs. Norris, on quitting the Parsonage, removed first to the Park, and afterwards to a small house of Sir Thomas’s in the village. She consoled herself for the loss of her husband by deciding she could do very well without him; and for her reduction of income by the evident necessity of stricter economy.

The living was hereafter for Edmund. Had his uncle died a few years sooner, it would have been duly given to some friend to hold till he were old enough for orders. But Tom’s extravagance and folly had been so great as to render a different disposal of the next presentation necessary, and the younger brother must help to pay for the pleasures of the elder.

There was another family living actually held for Edmund. But though it eased Sir Thomas’s conscience, he could not but feel it to be an act of injustice, and he earnestly tried to impress his eldest son with the same conviction, in the hope of its producing a better effect.

“I blush for you, Tom,” said he, in his most dignified manner; “I trust you pity you brother. You have robbed Edmund for ten, twenty, thirty years, perhaps for life, of more than half the income which ought to be his, by wagering to raise miniature ponies. After they grew to be full size horses, you sold them back for half their initial price and purchased a large mechanical object for which I have no name, that is at present sitting behind the stables and being used by hens as a roost. Next, there were the ostrich-versus-man jumping wagers, the rare duck supposedly from Peking but really from Brighton—ah, how you loved that duck, until it flew in your mother’s face with murderous intent. . . . The expedition to the Welsh moors in search of spotted banshees! You kept a mermaid secreted away in a tub and she turned out to be a large rotted log dressed in petticoats. Need I go on? It may hereafter be in my power, or in yours, to procure Edmund better preferment. But it must not be forgotten that nothing can be adequate recompense for the advantage which he is now obliged to forego through the urgency of your moronic debts.”