“I can’t tell,” said Ethel, “but it is the being triumphed over that I cannot bear.”
“Perhaps this is all a lesson in humility for us,” said Margaret “It is teaching us, ‘Whosoever exalteth himself shall be abased, and he that humbleth himself shall be exalted.’”
Ethel was silent for some little space, then suddenly exclaimed, “And you think he will really be put down?”
Margaret seemed to have been talking with little effect, but she kept her patience, and answered, “I cannot guess, Ethel, but I’ll tell you one thing—I think there’s much more chance if he comes to his work fresh and vigorous after a rest, than if he went on dulling himself with it all this time.”
With which Ethel was so far appeased that she promised to think as little as she could of the Andersons, and a walk with Richard to Cocksmoor turned the current of her thoughts. They had caught some more Sunday-school children by the help of Margaret’s broth, but it was uphill work; the servants did not like such guests in the kitchen, and they were still less welcome at school.
“What do you think I heard, Ethel?” said Flora, the next Sunday, as they joined each other in the walk from school to church; “I heard Miss Graves say to Miss Boulder, ‘I declare I must remonstrate. I undertook to instruct a national, not a ragged school;’ and then Miss Boulder shook out her fine watered silk and said, ‘It positively is improper to place ladies in contact with such squalid objects.’”
“Ladies!” cried Ethel. “A stationer’s daughter and a banker’s clerk’s! Why do they come to teach at school at all?”
“Because our example makes it genteel,” said Flora.
“I hope you did something more in hopes of making it genteel.”
“I caught one of your ragged regiment with her frock gaping behind, and pinned it up. Such rags as there were under it! Oh, Ethel!”