shall talk to Master George, however, before he goes to Dingleford again, or he may chance to find it easier some day to miss his footing than to hold it.”
“I wonder Mrs. Rowland is afraid to let George go out with you,” said Sophia, “considering what things he does when you are not with him.”
“She does not know of these pranks, or she would feel as you do; and I hope every one here will be kind enough not to tell her. It would only be making her anxious to no purpose, whenever the boy is out of her sight. It would be a pity to make a coward of him; and I think I can teach him what is mischief and what is not, without disturbing her. Come, ladies, suppose you rest yourselves here; you will find a pleasant seat on this bank: at least, I fell asleep on it just now, as if I had been on a sofa.”
“I wish you would all go to sleep, or else walk off,” said Sydney. “You make so much noise I shall never catch any fish.”
“Suppose you were to go somewhere else,” said Mr. Enderby. “Would not that be rather more civil than sending us all away?”
Sydney thought he would find another place: there were plenty along the bank. He gathered up bait and basket, and trudged off. There was an amusement, however, which he liked better even than fishing; and for which he now surrendered it. He was presently seen cantering round the meadow on Mr. Hope’s horse.
Mr. Enderby hoped the Miss Ibbotsons were able to say “No” with decision. If not, he did not envy them their supper this evening; for Sydney would certainly ask them to eat all the fish he had caught—bream and dace and all. The first pleasure of young anglers is to catch these small fry; and the next is, to make their sisters and cousins eat them. Sophia solemnly assured her cousins that mamma never allowed Sydney’s fish to come to table, at least in the house. If the children liked to get the cook to boil them for their dolls’ feasts in the schoolroom, they might.
“And then Miss Young is favoured with a share, I suppose?” said Margaret.
“Have you made acquaintance with Miss Young yet?” inquired Mr. Enderby.
“Oh, yes! I had the pleasure of knowing Miss Young long before I knew you.”
“Long! how long? I was not aware that you had ever met. Where did you meet?”
“In the schoolroom, before breakfast—full four hours before you called this morning.”
“Oh, that is all you mean! I wondered how you should know her.”
Sophia asked whether Margaret and Miss Young were not going to study together: Margaret assented. Miss Young was kind enough to promise to help her to read German.
“And you?” said Mr. Enderby to Hester.
“Why, no; I am rather afraid of the undertaking.”
“And you, Miss Grey?”
“No. Mamma says, I have enough to do with my history and my music; especially while my cousins are here. I began German once, but mamma thought I was growing awry, and so I left it off. I find Mrs. Rowland means Matilda to learn German.”
“We are all disposed to have my little nieces learn whatever Miss Young will be kind enough to teach them; they will gain nothing but good from her.”
“She is very learned, to be sure,” observed Sophia.
“And something more than learned, I should think,” said Hester; “I fancy she is wise.”
“How can you have discovered that already?” asked Mr. Enderby, whose fingers were busy dissecting a stalk of flowering grass.
“I hardly know; I have nothing to quote for my opinion. Her conversation leaves a general impression of her being very sensible.”
“Sensible, as she is a woman,” observed Margaret; “if she were a man, she would be called philosophical.”
“She is very superior,” observed Sophia. “It was mamma’s doing that she is the children’s governess.”
“Philosophical!” repeated Mr. Enderby. “It is a happy thing that she is philosophical in her circumstances, poor thing!”
“As she happens to be unprosperous,” said Margaret, smiling. “If she were rich, and strong, and admired, her philosophy would be laughed at; it would only be in the way.”
Mr. Enderby sighed, and made no answer. Before any one spoke again, Mr. Hope and his little companions came up.
“How quiet you all are!” exclaimed Sydney. “I’ve a good mind to come and fish here again, if you will only go on to be so drowsy.”
Sophia declared that they had been talking, up to the last minute, about Miss Young, and learning German, and being philosophical.
“And which of the party have you made out to be the most philosophical?” inquired Mr. Hope.
“We have not so much as made out what philosophy is for,” said Hester; “can you tell us?”
As she looked up at Mr. Hope, who was standing behind her, Sydney thought her question was addressed to him. Swinging his fishing-rod round, he replied doubtfully that he thought philosophy was good to know how to do things. What sort of things? Why, to make phosphorus lights, and electrify people, as Dr. Levitt did, when he made Sophia jump off the stool with glass legs. Sophia was sure that any one else would have jumped off the stool as she did. She should take good care never to jump on it again. But she wondered Sydney did not know any better than that what philosophy was for. Her cousins said Miss Young was philosophical, and she had nothing to do with phosphorus or electrical machines.
Mr. Enderby explained to Mr. Hope that he had said what he was ready to maintain; that it was a happy thing for any one who, like Miss Young, was not so prosperous as she had been, to be supported by philosophy.
“And, granting this,” said Margaret, “it was next inquired whether this same philosophy would have been considered equally admirable, equally a matter of congratulation, if Miss Young had not wanted it for solace.”
“A question as old as the brigg at Stirling,” replied Mr. Hope; “older, older than any bridges of man’s making.”
“Why Stirling brigg? What do you mean?”
“I mean—do not you know the story?—that an old woman wanted to cross the Forth, and some ferrymen would have persuaded her to go in their boat when she was confident that a tempest was coming on, which would have made the ferry unsafe. They told her at last that she must trust to Providence. ‘Na, na,’ said she, ‘I will ne’er trust to Providence while there is a brigg at Stirling.’ The common practice is, you know, with the old woman.—We will not trust to the highest support we profess to have, till nothing else is left us. We worship philosophy, but never think of making use of it while we have prosperity as well.”
“The question is whether such practice is wise,” said Margaret: “we all know it is common.”
“For my part,” said Mr. Enderby, “I think the old Scotchwoman was right; Providence helps those that help themselves, and takes care of those who take care of themselves.”
“Just
