"
This seems too shocking to be true, and I fancy the whole tale was
hatched in the City. Certainly Mr. Cassall was scandalously unjust to
the missionaries--an injustice which would have vanished had he
personally known the glorious results for God and humanity achieved by
self-denying missionaries and their devoted wives who carry the gospel
of Christ to far-off heathen lands--but then where is the man who has
not his whims and oddities?
This man, according to his lights, spread his benefactions lavishly and
wisely on public charities and private cases of need. He liked above
all things to pick out clever young men and set them up in retail
businesses with money lent at four per cent. Not once did he make a
blunder, and so very lucky was he that he used to tell his niece that
with all his enormous expenditure he had not touched the fringe of his
colossal capital. If he assisted any advertised charity he did so in the
most princely way, but only after he had personally held an audit of the
books. If the committee wanted to have the chance of drawing ten
thousand pounds, let them satisfy him with their books; if they did not
want ten thousand pounds, or thought they did not deserve it, let them
leave it alone.
This was Robert Cassall, who was Marion Dearsley's uncle. His grim,
grizzled head was stooping a little as he bent towards his niece on this
soft winter day, and he himself looked almost like the human type of a
hard, wholesome, not unkindly Winter.
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