“Good lack, that could never be!” crieth she. “Why, do but think the trouble all men should have.”
“Somebody must have it,” quoth he. “I take it, what so were the tongue, all nations but one should have to learn it.”
“I’ll not credit it, Sir Aubrey,” crieth Bess, as she trotteth off to the kitchen. “It is like to be English that shall become the common tongue of the earth: it can’t be no elsewise!”
Mynheer seemed wonderful taken with this fantasy of Cousin Bess.
“How strange a thought that!” saith Aunt Joyce.
“Bess is in good company,” answereth Father. “’Tis right the reasoning of Saint Cyril, when he maketh argument that the Temple of God, wherein the Man of Sin shall sit (as Paul saith), cannot signify the Christian Church. But wherefore, good Sir? say you. Oh, saith he, because ‘God forbid it should be this temple wherein we now are!’”
“Well, it is a marvel to me,” quoth Aunt Joyce, “that some folks seem to have no brains!”
“Is it so great a marvel?” saith Father.
“But they have no wit!” saith she. “Why, here yestereven was Caitlin, telling me the sun had put the fire out—she’d let it go out, the lazy tyke as she is!—Then said I, ‘But how so, Caitlin, when there hath been no sun?’ (You wist how hard it rained all day.) ‘Ha!’ saith she—and gazed into the black grate, as though it should have helped her to an other excuse. Which to all appearance it did, for in a minute quoth my wiseacre,—‘Then an’ it like you, Mistress, it was the light.’”
“A lack of power to perceive the relation betwixt cause and effect,” saith Father, drily, “A lack of common sense!” saith Aunt Joyce.