The residue of the estate, the larger half of all the dead man’s possessions, was to be employed in the establishment of a Home for parentless, unprotected, or destitute female children.  The trustees of this institution were to find a suitable site somewhere within five miles of the Abbey House, and if possible on the Barradine property, being guided in their selection of the exact spot by expert advice as to the character of the soil, the qualities of the air, and the facilities for obtaining a supply of pure water.  When they had found the site they were immediately to build thereon, and provide accommodation at the earliest date for fifty small inmates, each of whom was to be reared, educated, and finally launched in life with a small dowry.  The funds available would be more than sufficient for the number of children named; and Mr. Barradine expressed the wish that the number should not be increased if, as he hoped, the income of the Trust grew bigger with the passage of time.  He desired that extension of revenue should be devoted to improving the comfort and amenities of the fifty occupants, to increasing their dowries, and to assisting them after they had gone out into the world.

Not only the Rodhaven District Courier, but great London journals also, experienced difficulty in marshaling enough adjectives to convey their sense of admiration for such a perfect scheme.  Ever since his death the local praise of Mr. Barradine’s amiable qualities had been taking richer colors, and now the will seemed so to sanctify his memory that one felt he must be henceforth classed with the traditional philanthropic heroes of England—­those whose names grow brighter through the centuries.

When on Sunday Mr. Norton took for his text those beautiful words, “Suffer little children to come unto Me,” all instantaneously guessed what he was getting at, and by the time he finished there was scarcely a dry eye that had not been wet at some point or other of an unusually long sermon.  “We have had,” he said in conclusion, “a striking instance of that noblest of all the feelings of the human breast, tenderness and care for the weak and helpless; and without abrogating the practise of our church which forbids us to pray for the souls of those who have been summoned away from us, I will ask you all before dispersing to-day to join with me in a few moments’ silent meditation on the lesson to be derived from a kindness that has proved undying—­a pity that has the attribute of things eternal, and, speaking to us from the other side of the grave, may in all reverence be described as Angelic.”

The talk about the vast sums to be expended in charity produced a curious effect on Mavis Dale.  It seemed that her own two thousand pounds was a steadily diminishing quantity; she was still greatly excited whenever she thought about it, but she could not feel again the respectful rapture caused by her first thought of its lavishly generous extent.  Perhaps just at first, doing what the solicitor advised her not to do, she had not altogether discriminated between capital and interest.  Dazzled by the abstract notion of wealth, she had over-estimated concrete potentialities.