in the nook on the stairs, after using it for a trumpet and a telescope.
'Ah! now my goods will have a chance!' said Dr. May, as he took it, and patted Richard's shoulder. 'I have my best right hand, and Margaret will be saved endless sufferings.'
'Papa!'
'Ay! poor dear! don't I see what she undergoes, when nobody will remember that useful proverb, 'A place for everything, and everything in its place.' I believe one use of her brains is to make an inventory of all the things left about the drawing-room; but, beyond it, it is past her power.'
'Yes,' said Flora, rather aggrieved; 'I do the best I can, but, when nobody ever puts anything into its place, what can I do, single- handed? So no one ever goes anywhere without first turning the house upside down for their property; and Aubrey, and now even baby, are always carrying whatever they can lay hands on into the nursery. I can't bear it; and the worst of it is that,' she added, finishing her lamentation, after the others were out at the door, 'papa and Ethel have neither of them the least shame about it.'
'No, no, Flora, that is not fair!' exclaimed Margaret--but Flora was gone.
'I have shame,' sighed Ethel, walking across the room disconsolately, to put a book into a shelf.
'And you don't leave trainants as you used,' said Margaret. 'That is what I meant.'
'I wish I did not,' said Ethel; 'I was thinking whether I had better not make myself pay a forfeit. Suppose you keep a book for me, Margaret, and make a mark against me at everything I leave about, and if I pay a farthing for each, it will be so much away from Cocksmoor, so I must cure myself!'
'And what shall become of the forfeits?' asked Richard.
'Oh, they won't be enough to be worth having, I hope,' said Margaret.
'Give them to the Ladies' Committee,' said Ethel, making a face. 'Oh, Ritchie! they are worse than ever. We are so glad that Flora is going to join it, and see whether she can do any good.'
'We?' said Margaret, hesitating.
'Ah! I know you aren't, but papa said she might--and you know she has so much tact and management--'
'As Norman says,' observed Margaret doubtfully. 'I cannot like the notion of Flora going and squabbling with Mrs. Ledwich and Louisa Anderson!'
'What do you think, Ritchie?' asked Ethel. 'Is it not too bad that they should have it all their own way, and spoil the whole female population? Why, the last thing they did was to leave off reading the Prayer-book prayers morning and evening! And it is much expected that next they will attack all learning by heart.'
'It is too bad,' said Richard, 'but Flora can hardly hinder them.'
'It will be one voice,' said Ethel; 'but oh! if I could only say half what I have in my mind, they must see the error. Why, these, these-- what they call formal--these the ties--links on to the Church--on to what is good--if they don't learn them soundly--rammed down hard--you know what I mean--so that they can't remember the first-- remember when they did not know them--they will never get to learn--know-- understand when they can understand!'
'My dear Ethel, don't frown so horribly, or it will spoil your eloquence,' said Margaret.
'I don't understand either,' said Richard gravely. 'Not understand when they can understand? What do you mean?'
'Why, Ritchie, don't you see? If they don't learn them--hard, firm, by rote when they can't--they won't understand when they can.'
'If they don't learn when they can't, they won't understand when they can?' puzzled Richard, making Margaret laugh; but Ethel was too much in earnest for amusement.
'If they don't learn them by rote when they have strong memories. Yes, that's it!' she continued; 'they will not know them well enough to understand them when they are old enough!'
'Who won't learn and understand what?' said Richard.
'Oh, Ritchie, Ritchie! Why the children--the Psalms--the Gospels-- the things. They ought to know them, love them, grow up to them, before they know the meaning, or they won't care. Memory, association, affection, all those come when one is younger than comprehension!'
'Younger than one's own comprehension?'
'Richard, you are grown more tiresome than ever. Are you laughing at me?'
'Indeed, I beg your pardon--I did not mean it,' said Richard. 'I am very sorry to be so stupid.'
'My dear Ritchie, it was only my blundering-never mind.'
'But what did you mean? I want to know, indeed, Ethel.'
'I mean that memory and association come before comprehension, so that one ought to know all good things-- fa--with familiarity before one can understand, because understanding does not make one love. Oh! one does that before, and, when the first little gleam, little bit of a sparklet of the meaning does come, then it is so valuable and so delightful.'
'I never heard of a little bit of a sparklet before,' said Richard, 'but I think I do see what Ethel means; and it is like what I heard and liked in a university sermon some Sundays ago, saying that these lessons and holy words were to be impressed on us here from infancy on earth, that we might be always unravelling their meaning, and learn it fully at last--where we hope to be.'
'The very same thought!' exclaimed Margaret, delighted; 'but,' after a pause, 'I am afraid the Ladies' Committee might not enter into it in plain English, far less in Ethel's language.'
'Now, Margaret! You know I never meant myself. I never can get the right words for what I mean.'
'And you leave about your faux commencements, as M. Ballompre would call them, for us to stumble over,' said Margaret.
'But Flora would manage!' said Ethel. 'She has power over people, and can influence them. Oh, Ritchie, don't persuade papa out of letting her go.'
'Does Mr. Wilmot wish it?' asked Richard.
'I have not heard him say, but he was very much vexed about the prayers,' said Ethel.
'Will he stay here for the holidays?'
'No, his father has not been well, and he is gone to take his duty. He walked with us to Cocksmoor before he went, and we did so wish for you.'
'How have you been getting on?'
'Pretty well, on the whole,' said Ethel, 'but, oh, dear! oh, dear, Richard, the M'Carthys are gone!'
'Gone, where?'
'Oh, to Wales. I knew nothing of it till they were off. Una and Fergus were missing, and Jane Taylor told me they were all gone. Oh, it is so horrid! Una had really come to be so good and so much in earnest. She behaved so well at school and church, that even Mrs. Ledwich liked her, and she used to read her Testament half the day, and bring her Sunday-school lessons to ask me about! Oh! I was so fond of her, and it really seemed to have done some good with her. And now it is all lost! Oh, I wish I knew what would become of my poor child!'
'The only hope is that it may not be all lost,' said Margaret.
'With such a woman for a mother!' said Ethel; 'and going to some heathenish place again! If I could only have seen her first, and begged her to go to church and say her prayers. If I only knew where she is gone! but I don't. I did think Una would have come to wish me good-bye!'
'I am very sorry to lose her,' said Richard.
'Mr. Wilmot says it is bread cast on the waters,' said Margaret--'he was very kind in consoling Ethel, who came home quite in despair.'
'Yes, he said it was one of the trials,' said Ethel, 'and that it might be better for Una as well as for me. And I am trying to care for the rest still, but I cannot yet as I did for her. There are none of the eyes that look as if they were eating up one's words before they come, and that smile of comprehension! Oh, they all are such stupid little dolts, and so indifferent!'
'Why, Ethel!'
'Fancy last Friday--Mary and I found only eight there--'
'Do you remember what a broiling day Friday was?' interrupted Margaret. 'Miss Winter and Norman both told me I ought not to let them go, and I began to think so when they came home. Mary was the colour of a peony!'
'Oh! it would not have signified if the children had been good for anything, but all their mothers were out at work, and, of those that did come, hardly one had learned their lessons--Willy Blake had lost his spelling-card; Anne
