“At the thame time,” said Sleary, “I muth put in my word, Thquire, tho that both thides of the banner may be equally theen.  If you like, Thethillia, to be prentitht, you know the natur’ of the work, and you know your companionth.  Emma Gordon, in whothe lap you’re a lying at prethent, would be a mother to you, and Joth’phine would be a thithther to you.  I don’t pretend to be of the angel breed myself, and I don’t thay but what, when you mith’d your tip, you’d find me cut up rough, and thwear a oath or two at you.  But what I thay, Thquire, ith, that good tempered or bad tempered, I never did a horthe a injury yet, no more than thwearing at him went, and that I don’t expect I thall begin otherwithe at my time of life, with a rider.  I never wath much of a cackler, Thquire, and I have thed my thay.”

The latter part of this speech was addressed to Mr. Gradgrind, who received it with a grave inclination of his head, and then remarked: 

“The only observation I will make to you, Jupe, in the way of influencing your decision, is, that it is highly desirable to have a sound practical education, and that even your father himself (from what I understand) appears, on your behalf, to have known and felt that much.”

The last words had a visible effect upon her.  She stopped in her wild crying, and turned her face full upon her patron.  The whole company perceived the force of the change, and drew a long breath, together, that plainly said, “She will go!”

“Be sure you know your own mind, Jupe,” Mr. Gradgrind cautioned her; “I say no more.  Be sure you know your own mind!”

“When father comes back,” cried the girl, bursting into tears again after a minute’s silence, “how will he ever find me if I go away!”

“You may be quite at ease,” said Mr. Gradgrind calmly; he worked out the whole matter like a sum; “you may be quite at ease, Jupe, on that score.  In such a case, your father, I apprehend, must find out Mr. Sleary, who would then let him know where you went.  I should have no power of keeping you against his wish.”

There was another silence; and then Sissy exclaimed sobbing, “Oh, give me my clothes, give me my clothes, and let me go away before I break my heart!”

The women sadly bestirred themselves to get the clothes together, and to pack them.  They then brought Sissy’s bonnet to her and put it on.  Then they pressed about her, kissing and embracing her:  and brought the children to take leave of her; and were a tender-hearted, simple, foolish, set of women altogether.  Then she had to take her farewell of the male part of the company, and last of all of Mr. Sleary.

“Farewell, Thethilia!” he said, “my latht wordth to you ith thith:  Thtick to the termth of your engagement, be obedient to the Thquire, and forget uth.  But if, when you’re grown up and married and well off, you come upon any horthe-riding ever, don’t be hard upon it, don’t be croth with it, give it a Bethpeak if you can, and think you might do worth.  People must be amuthed, Thquire, thomehow,” continued Sleary, “they can’t be alwayth a working, nor yet they can’t be alwayth a learning.  Make the betht of uth; not the wurtht.  I’ve got my living out of horthe-riding all my life, I know, but I conthider that I lay down the philothophy of the thubject when I thay to you, Thquire, make the betht of uth; not the wurtht!”