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I hope he is desperately ill 'tis his only excuse! Heigh ho! I must jump out to warm my feet soon! There, there's a drop of rain! Well, there's no end to it! I wonder what Ethel is doing about Cocksmoor! It is setting in for a wet afternoon!" and Norman disconsolately put up his umbrella. At last Dr.
Meta asked ravenously for more details, and when she had pretty well exhausted Ethel's stock, she said, "How nice it must be! Ethel, did you ever read the 'Faithful Little Girl?" "Yes; it was one of Margaret's old Sunday books. I often recollected it before I was allowed to begin Cocksmoor." "I'm afraid I am very like Lucilla!" said Meta. "What?
What floods of Cocksmoor histories were poured upon him; and what comparing of notes about his present school-children!
"No thank you." "But I am going to Cocksmoor." "Will you allow me to be your companion?" "I shall be very glad of the pleasure of your company, but I am not in the least afraid of going alone," said she, smiling, however, so as to show she was glad of such pleasant company. "I forewarn you though that I have business there." "I will find occupation." "And you must promise not to turn against me.
And Mary, having been voted into the seat of honour and comfort by his side in the carriage, told her version of Cocksmoor and the Committee; while Ethel sat up in the little narrow seat behind, severely reproaching herself for her want of consideration towards one so good and patient as Mary, who proved to have been suffering far more on Harry's account than they had guessed, and who was so simple and thorough-going in doing her duty.
She had her vocation, in her father, Margaret, the children, home, and Cocksmoor; her mind and affections were occupied, and she never thought of wishing herself elsewhere. The new church and the expected return of her sisters engrossed many more of her thoughts than did anything relating to Glenbracken.
"I wonder you don't wear spectacles," was the result of his meditation, and it made her laugh by being so inapposite to her own reflections: but the laugh ended in a melancholy look. "Dear mamma did not like me to use them," she said, in a low voice. Thus they talked till they arrived at Cocksmoor, where poor Mrs.
They were great friends; in fact, on terms of some mutual sauciness, though Meta was, as yet, far less at home with his daughters, and came in, looking somewhat shy. "Ah, your congeners are gone out!" was the doctor's reception. "You must put up with our sober selves." "Is Flora gone far?" asked Meta. "To Cocksmoor," said Margaret. "I am very sorry she has missed you."
'This path always reminds me of this very matter, he said; 'I talked it over with Meta here, on the way to lay the foundation-stone at Cocksmoor, till Norman overtook us and monopolized her for good, poor little thing. She was all in the high romantic strain, making a sort of knight hospitaller of my father. I wonder what she is like by this time, and how much of that she has left.
"It is miserable," said Ethel; and all her thoughts during her last walk thither began to rush over her again, not effaced, but rather burned in, by all that had subsequently happened. She had said it should be her aim and effort to make Cocksmoor a Christian place. Such a resolve must not pass away lightly; she knew it must be acted on, but how? What would her present means one sovereign effect?
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