A funny fancy came into my head at this moment. I could not help recollecting what the Thimble had told me about gold—how that metal, which is so weighty and precious, yet can be spread into leaves so thin as to brighten the paper on the wall and adorn the leaves of the book. I wondered if there were anything like this to be found in human life; if the precious thing called virtue, which my companion had likened to gold, could also be found to extend to trifles, and in the smaller occurrences of life show its power to brighten and adorn. It was an odd idea, but it arose from what I heard Lily say that morning of her brother; and when I had an opportunity of watching George myself, it recurred to me again and again.
So the young ladies sat there chatting and diverting themselves for an hour or more, playing at cat’s-cradle, comparing their dolls, telling stories of the past, and building castles in the air for the future. Eddy more than once broke in on their tête-à-tête, but was told to go away, and not disturb them. Driven to his own resources, the child rode round the room on a footstool; but this amusement was stopped, as being too noisy. He then kicked his heels for some time on the sofa, till, finding the occupation tiresome, he made the discovery of a little hole in a cushion, from which he managed to abstract several tiny feathers, which amused him for a quarter of an hour. Then I watched him—for no eye seemed to watch him but mine—when he wearily sauntered to the other side of the room, and fixed his round eyes upon an instrument which, as I have since learned, is called a thermometer. He stared up at this, till his curiosity grew strong. He dragged, with some labour, a chair to the spot, and scrambling up upon the seat, brought his face to a level with the glass. He put out his hand and touched the round ball at the bottom of the instrument, examining it like any little philosopher; he then pressed it a little harder, I suppose, for I saw the child give a slight start, as if some mischief had been done, and then scramble from the chair faster than he had got up, and throw himself down on the floor.
Glancing up at the thermometer, I could see that the little silver ball had disappeared; but I was at a loss to account for Eddy’s movements now, as, half-stretched on the carpet, leaning on one elbow, he seemed to be attempting to pick up something which eluded his grasp, pouncing down his hand now here, now there, and laughing to himself merrily all the while.
“I think it’s alive,” he said softly; “how funnily it runs about when I try to get hold of it!” and opening his mouth, he stooped closer to the ground, as though to draw up with his lips the something which always slipped from his fingers. He was startled by a frightened exclamation from his mother, who at this moment entered the room.
“Eddy, my child! oh, don’t touch that! it’s quicksilver—poison—it might kill you! Oh, what a mercy that I came just in time!” and weary, agitated, and alarmed, the poor lady drew him close to her bosom and wept.
“Mamma!” exclaimed the child, frightened at her tears, “I didn’t mean—I didn’t know—it looked so funny; I never will do so any more!”
“Oh, Lily, Lily!” cried Mrs. Ellerslie, with something of bitterness in her tone, as both the little girls hurried to her side, “could you not have looked a little after your brother? If I had returned but one minute later your carelessness might have cost the life of my child!”
CHAPTER VII.
THE LIVELY METAL.
