“Let us not speak of dukes and marquises, my Marie,” her grandfather has answered, “lest our good friends shall conclude that we are of that class of people who, not being of perceptible merit themselves, endeavor to make up for the deficiency by boasting of their ancestors. Whereas,” with a twinkle of the eye, “if we only trace back far enough, we shall find that we all have the honor of descending from the same illustrious tribe—the monkeys.”
“Oh, you wicked grandpa, to tell such fibs!”
“But, no, Mademoiselle, it is even true what I say. At least so we are informed by the celebrated Mr. Darwin.”
“Well, then, I don’t think much of that Mr. Darwin!”
“Nor I!” cries Kate. “Nor I!” “Nor I!” “Nor I!” echo several voices. And here, in the midst of an American forest, Darwin and his theories, after a heated discussion, are, by vote of the majority, consigned to oblivion.
But during this discussion, Harry, happening to glance that way, discovers Kate, who has just left the group, kneeling on the brink of a deep ravine a few yards distant, and looking down with a very pale face. Catching his eye, she beckons. He is beside her in an instant. “What is it, Katy?” he questions, wonderingly. She motions to be silent, and to look down. On this side, for a space, the wall of the ravine is almost perpendicular. At its base, fifty feet below, a stream gurgles along over broken ledges of rock. Peering over, he sees bashful Bessie Barton working her way up this wall by aid of the shrubbery rooted in the crevices, which latter serve for foothold; and as she climbs she shifts from one arm to the other the little bundle of innocence which answers to the name of Maggie, the dimpled hands clasped about her neck. In the flash of an eye he comprehends it all. While the grown-up people were disputing, the child must have slipped away, and only Bessie noticing her absence, has come to search. How little three-year-old ever crept down there, cannot be explained. These tiny creatures will worm themselves into the most astonishing places! Harry’s coat is off directly. He is going to the rescue. But “No,” Kate whispers, “she doesn’t see there’s any one looking on. The least sound or motion may startle her, and she will lose her hold, and—and there are the rocks below!”
What agony, to watch some one in peril when you may not lift a finger to save! Harry never knew such torture as at this moment.
Slowly the little heroine works her way up. Will her strength give out?
Oh, you Aunt Sophias, take care how you deride the bashful people! And did you ever hear what the wag said to the philosopher? “Why don’t you hold your head up, as I do?” And this is what the philosopher said to the wag: “If you will examine the heads of wheat in yonder field you will find that only those which are erect are empty.”