Sarah’s rounds again brought her in sight; Violet crossed the grass, and the next moment was under the verandah with the little long-robed chrysalis shape in her arms, declaring he was growing quite good, and getting fat already; and though to John’s eyes the face was as much as ever like a very wizened old man, he could not but feel heartfelt pleasure in seeing her for once enjoying a young mother’s exultation.
‘Poor thing!’ said he to himself, as she carried the babe upstairs, ‘she has done too much, thought too much, felt too much for her years. Life has begun before she has strength for the heat and burthen of the day. The only hope is in keeping those overtasked spirits at rest, guarding her from care, and letting her return to childhood. And should this work fall on me, broken down in spirits and energy, with these long-standing habits of solitude and silence? If Helen was but here!’
He was relieved by Violet’s reappearance at dinner-time, full of smiles, proud of Johnnie’s having slept half the morning, and delighted with “Mary Barton”, which, on his system of diversion for her mind, he had placed in her way. She was amazed and charmed at finding that he could discuss the tale with interest and admiration.
‘Arthur calls such books trash,’ said she.
‘He reads them, though.’
‘Yes, he always reads the third volume while I read the first.’
‘The best way. I always begin at the end to judge whether a book is worth reading.’
‘I saw a French book on the table; are you reading it?’
‘Consulting it. You are welcome to it.’
‘I think,’ she said, timidly, ‘I ought to read some history and French, or I shall never be fit to teach my little boy.’