“Oh no, European children know every thing, but I am little better than a negro; I find what your mamma said was very true—I know nothing at all.”
“Dear Matilda, how can you say so?” said Edmund; “though you have not read as much as we have, yet you have seen a great deal more than any of us, and you are the youngest of the company, you know. Consider, you have crossed the Atlantic Ocean, seen groves of orange-trees and spices grow, and the whole process of sugar-making. You know the inside of a ship as well as a house, and we never saw any thing better than a sloop, or sailed any where but on the Thames.”
“Besides,” said Charles, “you have seen monkeys and parrots, and many other creatures, in their own country, and many curious fish on your voyage. Oh, you understand natural history much better than we do.”
“And if you understand nothing at all,” added Ellen, kindly pressing her hand, “mamma says it is only wilful ignorance that is blameable.”
Matilda wept still more while the children thus tried to comfort her. This distressed them all; but they rejoiced to see their parents enter the room, persuaded that they would be able to comfort her better, and Ellen instantly besought their attention to the subject by relating as much of the foregoing conversation as was necessary.
“No, no, it is not exactly that I am crying for,” said Matilda, interrupting her; “it is because I have been so very naughty, and you are all so—so—so——”
“So what, my dear?” said Mr. Harewood, drawing her towards him, and placing her by his side, in the same manner he was accustomed to let Ellen stand, when she was much in his favour.
The action, however kindly meant, for a time redoubled her tears; and the children, understanding their mamma’s look, withdrew to the room where they usually breakfasted, without the least symptom of discontent, although they perceived their mamma fill a cup of tea for Matilda at her own table.
When they were gone, and the little girl had somewhat recovered, Mr. Harewood whispered her—“Did you mean to say, my dear, that my children were so clever, or so proud, or so what?”
“Oh, sir, they are so good! that was what I wanted to say; for there was Edmund who always looked so grave, and was poring over his books, he talked to me quite kindly, and never made the least game of me, for all I must look like a fool in his eyes, who has seen the snow all his life. And then Charles, who is so full of fun and nonsense, and who I always thought could not abide me, he spoke to me as if he was sorry for me, and made it out that we were both ignorant alike; and when I remembered how I had looked at them, and behaved to them, I felt as if my heart would break. Ellen is always so good, that I did not think so much of her kindness, but nobody knows——”