"No," said Ethel. "He will only laugh, and say it will spare him a great many of Mrs. Hoxton's nervous attacks. He thinks of it nearly as I do, at the bottom, but I cannot get him to stop it, nor even to say he does not wish Flora to sell."

"I did not understand that you really had such strong objections," said Margaret. "I thought it was only as a piece of folly, and--"

"And interference with my Cocksmoor?" said Ethel. "I had better own to what may be wrong personal feeling at first."

"I can hardly call it wrong," said Margaret tenderly, "considering what Cocksmoor is to you, and what the Ladies' Committee is."

"Oh, Margaret, if the lawful authority--if a good clergyman would only come, how willingly would I work under him! But Mrs. Ledwich and--it is like having all the Spaniards and savages spoiling Robinson Crusoe's desert island!"

"It is not come to that yet," said Margaret; "but about the fancy fair.

We all know that the school is very much wanted."

"Yes, but I hoped to wait in patience and perseverance, and do it at last."

"All yourself?"

"Now, Margaret! you know I was glad of Alan's help."

"I should think so!" said Margaret. "You need not make a favour of that!"

"Yes, but, don't you see, that came as almsgiving, in the way which brings a blessing. We want nothing to make us give money and work to Cocksmoor. We do all we can already; and I don't want to get a fine bag or a ridiculous pincushion in exchange!"

"Not you, but--"

"Well, for the rest. If they like to offer their money, well and good, the better for them; but why must they not give it to Cocksmoor--but for that unnatural butterfly of Blanche's, with black pins for horns, that they will go and sell at an extortionate rate."

"The price will be given for Cocksmoor's sake!"

"Pooh! Margaret. Do you think it is for Cocksmoor's sake that Lady Leonora Langdale and her fine daughter come down from London? Would Mrs.

Hoxton spend the time in making frocks for Cocksmoor children that she does in cutting out paper, and stuffing glass bottles with it? Let people be honest--alms, or pleasure, or vanity! let them say which they mean; but don't make charity the excuse for the others; and, above all, don't make my poor Cocksmoor the victim of it."

"This is very severe," said Margaret, pausing, almost confounded. "Do you think no charity worth having but what is given on unmixed motives?

Who, then, could give?"

"Margaret--we see much evil arise in the best-planned institutions; nay, in what are not human. Don't you think we ought to do our utmost to have no flaw in the foundation? Schools are not such perfect places that we can build them without fear, and, if the means are to be raised by a bargain for amusement--if they are to come from frivolity instead of self-denial, I am afraid of them. I do not mean that Cocksmoor has not been the joy of my life, and of Mary's, but that was not because we did it for pleasure."

"No!" said Margaret, sighing, "you found pleasure by the way. But why did you not say all this to Flora?"

"It is of no use to talk to Flora," said Ethel; "she would say it was high-flown and visionary. Oh! she wants it for the bazaar's own sake, and that is one reason why I hate it."

"Now, Ethel!"

"I do believe it was very unfortunate for Flora that the Hoxtons took to patronising her, because Norman would not be patronised. Ever since it began, her mind has been full of visitings, and parties, and county families, and she has left off the home usefulness she used to care about."

"But you are old enough for that," said Margaret. "It would be hard to keep Flora at home, now that you can take her place, and do not care for going out. One of us must be the representative Miss May, you know, and keep up the civilities; and you may think yourself lucky it is not you."

"If it was only that, I should not care, but I may as well tell you, Margaret, for it is a weight to me. It is not the mere pleasure in gaieties--Flora cares for them, in themselves, as little as I do--nor is it neighbourliness, as a duty to others, for, you may observe, she always gets off any engagement to the Wards, or any of the town folk, to whom it would be a gratification to have her--she either eludes them, or sends me. The thing is, that she is always trying to be with the great people, the county set, and I don't think that is the safe way of going on."

Margaret mused sadly. "You frighten me, Ethel! I cannot say it is not so, and these are so like the latent faults that dear mamma's letter spoke of--"

Ethel sat meditating, and at last said, "I wish I had not told you! I don't always believe it myself, and it is so unkind, and you will make yourself unhappy too. I ought not to have thought it of her! Think of her ever-ready kindness and helpfulness; her pretty courteous ways to the very least; her obligingness and tact!"

"Yes," said Margaret, "she is one of the kindest people there is, and I am sure that she thought the gaining funds for Cocksmoor was the best thing to be done, that you would be pleased, and a great deal of pleasant occupation provided for us all."

"That is the bright side, the surface side," said Ethel.

"And not an untrue one," said Margaret; "Meta will not be vain, and will work the more happily for Cocksmoor's sake. Mary and Blanche, poor Mrs.

Boulder, and many good ladies who hitherto have not known how to help Cocksmoor, will do so now with a good will, and though it is not what we should have chosen, I think we had better take it in good part."

"You think so?"

"Yes, indeed I do. If you go about with that dismal face and strong disapproval, it will really seem as if it was the having your dominion muddled with that you dislike. Besides, it is putting yourself forward to censure what is not absolutely wrong in itself, and that cannot be desirable."

"No," said Ethel, "but I cannot help being sorry for Cocksmoor. I thought patience would prepare the way, and the means be granted in good time, without hastiness--only earnestness."

"You had made a picture for yourself," said Margaret gently. "Yes, we all make pictures for ourselves, and we are the foremost figures in them; but they are taken out of our hands, and we see others putting in rude touches, and spoiling our work, as it seems; but, by-and-by, we shall see that it is all guided."

Ethel sighed. "Then having protested to my utmost against this concern, you think I ought to be amiable about it."

"And to let poor Mary enjoy it. She would be so happy, if you would not bewilder her by your gloomy looks, and keep her to the hemming of your endless glazed calico bonnet strings."

"Poor old Mary! I thought that was by her own desire."

"Only her dutiful allegiance to you; and, as making pincushions is nearly her greatest delight, it is cruel to make her think it, in some mysterious way, wrong and displeasing to you."

Ethel laughed, and said, "I did not think Mary was in such awe of me.

I'll set her free, then. But, Margaret, do you really think I ought to give up my time to it?"

"Could you not just let them have a few drawings, or a little bit of your company work--just enough for you not to annoy every one, and seem to be testifying against them? You would not like to vex Meta."

"It will go hard, if I do not tell Meta my mind. I cannot bear to see her deluded."

"I don't think she is," said Margaret; "but she does not set her face against what others wish. As papa says of his dear little humming-bird, she takes the honey, and leaves the poison."

"Yes; amid all that enjoyment, she is always choosing the good, and leaving the evil; always sacrificing something, and then being happy in the sacrifice!"

"No one would guess it was a sacrifice, it is so joyously done--least of all Meta herself."

"Her coming home from London was exactly a specimen of that sacrifice--and no sacrifice," said Ethel.

"What was that?" said Norman, who had come up to the window unobserved, and had been listening to their few last sentences.

"Did not you hear of it? It was a sort of material turning away from vanity that made me respect the little rival Daisy, as much as I always admired her.

"Tell me," said Norman. "When was it?"

"Last spring. You know Mr. Rivers is always ill in London: indeed, papa says it would be the death of him; but Lady Leonora Langdale thinks it dreadful that Meta should not go to all the gaieties; and last year, when Mrs. Larpent was gone, she insisted on her coming to stay with her for the season. Now Meta thought it wrong to leave her father alone, and wanted not to have gone at all, but, to my surprise, Margaret advised her to yield, and go for some short fixed time."

"Yes," said Margaret; "as all her elders thought it right, I did not think we could advise her to refuse absolutely. Besides, it was a promise."