“She thinks I will never be like Hilda,” said Fanny, dolefully, to Graeme.
Rose shook her head.
“There are not many like Hilda; but I don’t see any reason why you should not be as good a mother as she is, and have as obedient children. You have as good a teacher. No, don’t look at Graeme. I know what you mean. She has taught you all the good that is in you. There are more of us who could say the same—except for making her vain. It is this young gentleman, I mean, who is to teach you.”
And she began her extraordinary confidences to the child, till Graeme and Fanny were both laughing heartily at her nonsense.
“I’ll tell you what, Fanny,” said she, looking up in a little. “It is the mother-love that makes one wise, and Solomon has something to do with it. You must take him into your confidence. But, dear me! Think of my venturing to give you good advice, I might be Janet herself.”
“But, Rosie, dear,” said Graeme, still laughing, “Solomon has nothing to say about such infants as this one.”
“Has he not? Well, that is Hilda’s mistake, then. She is responsible for my opinions. I know nothing. The wisdom I am dispensing so freely is entirely hers. You must go and see Hilda and her babies, and you will understand all about it.”
“I mean to go and see her, not entirely for the sake of her wisdom, however, though it must be wonderful to have impressed you so deeply.”
“Yes, it is wonderful. But you will be in no hurry about going, will you? Two or three years hence will be time enough, I should think. I mean to content myself here for that time, and you are not going there, or anywhere, without me. That is quite decided, whatever arrangements Norman may have made.”
“I don’t think he will object to your going with me, if Arthur doesn’t, and Fanny,” said Graeme, smiling.