“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?”