Mary.  It is wonderful!  But is that going on still?  Are the mountains being torn and sewn together again at this moment?

L. Yes, certainly, my dear:  but I think, just as certainly (though geologists differ on this matter), not with the violence, or on the scale, of their ancient ruin and renewal.  All things seem to be tending towards a condition of at least temporary rest; and that groaning and travailing of the creation, as, assuredly, not wholly in pain, is not, in the full sense, “until now.”

Mary.  I want so much to ask you about that!

Sibyl.  Yes; and we all want to ask you about a great many other things besides.

L. It seems to me that you have got quite as many new ideas as are good for any of you at present:  and I should not like to burden you with more; but I must see that those you have are clear, if I can make them so; so we will have one more talk, for answer of questions, mainly.  Think over all the ground, and make your difficulties thoroughly presentable.  Then we’ll see what we can make of them.

Dora.  They shall all be dressed in their very best; and curtsey as they come in.

L. No, no, Dora; no curtseys, if you please.  I had enough of them the day you all took a fit of reverence, and curtsied me out of the room.

Dora.  But, you know, we cured ourselves of the fault, at once, by that fit.  We have never been the least respectful since.  And the difficulties will only curtsey themselves out of the room, I hope;—­come in at one door—­vanish at the other.

L. What a pleasant world it would be, if all its difficulties were taught to behave so!  However, one can generally make something, or (better still) nothing, or at least less of them, if they thoroughly know their own minds; and your difficulties—­I must say that for you, children,—­generally do know their own minds, as you do yourselves.

Dora.  That is very kindly said for us.  Some people would not allow so much as that girls had any minds to know.

L. They will at least admit that you have minds to change, Dora.

Mary.  You might have left us the last speech, without a retouch.  But we’ll put our little minds, such as they are, in the best trim we can, for to-morrow.

LECTURE 10.

THE CRYSTAL REST

Evening.  The fireside.  L’s arm-chair in the comfortablest corner.

L. (perceiving various arrangements being made of footstool, cushion, screen, and the like.) Yes, yes, it’s all very fine! and I am to sit here to be asked questions till supper-time, am I?

Dora.  I don’t think you can have any supper to-night:—­we’ve got so much to ask.

Lily.  Oh, Miss Dora!  We can fetch it him here, you know, so nicely!

L. Yes, Lily, that will be pleasant, with competitive examination going on over one’s plate:  the competition being among the examiners.  Really, now that I know what teasing things girls are, I don’t so much wonder that people used to put up patiently with the dragons who took them for supper.  But I can’t help myself, I suppose;—­no thanks to St. George.  Ask away, children, and I’ll answer as civilly as may be.