"True!"
"And such a very poor, helpless thing!" said she in lofty scorn. "Oh, you may be able to teach me how t' speak an' how t' behave, but 'tis me as could teach ye how to live without friends or money! You may know how to use words but ye can't use your hands! You can talk but ye can't 'do'—you don't know how to help yourself nor nobody else! You're a poor creature as would creep into a wet ditch an' perish o' want an' misery—an' all because you're so full o' Greek an' Latin an' fine airs that you can't even tell how many beans make five!" Having said which, all in a breath, she turned and, mounting the ladder, left me staring vacantly at the crumbling wall and greatly humbled since all these indictments I knew for very truth. Sitting thus, I heard her descend the ladder, felt her hand upon my bowed shoulder and glancing up, saw her eyes big and soft and tender.
"Come, Peregrine," said she in her gentle voice, "let us go, and while we walk you shall give me my first lesson how to talk—and behave, if you will."
"No," said I, rising, "first you shall teach me how to be a little less of a fool. Pray—how many beans do make five?"
"Why, four an' a little one, o' course," she answered, with a tremulous laugh.
"Diana," said I, clasping her hands in mine, "you were exactly right; considering all my advantages, I am indeed a poor, helpless sort of thing! You shall teach me how to become a little wiser, if possible. So let us try to help each other like friends, Diana, like true friends."
"Yes," said she, "like true friends, Peregrine."
Then, having hidden the ladder among the hay, we went forth from the barn into the sunshine together.