It was very clever, so clever that Valetta and Kitty Varley both listened as in sober earnest, never discovering, or only in flashes like Mysie, that it was really a satire on all the social state of the different European nations, under the denomination of schools.  One being depicted as highly orthodox, but much given to sentence insubordination to dark cold closets; another as given to severe drill, but neglecting manners; a third as repudiating religious teaching, and now and then preparing explosions for the masters-—no, teachers.  The various conversations were exceedingly bright and comical; and there were brilliant hits at existing circumstances, all a little in a socialistic spirit, which made Anna pause as she read.  She really had not perceived till she heard it in her own voice and with other ears how audacious it was, especially for a school bazaar.

Dolores applauded with her whole heart, but owned that it might be too good for the Mouse-trap, it would be too like catching a monkey!  Gillian, more doubtfully, questioned whether it would “quite do”; and Mysie, when she understood the allusions, thought it would not.  Emma Norton was more decided, and it ended by deciding that the paper should be read to the elders at Clipstone, and their decision taken before sending it to Uncle Lance.

The spirits of the Muscipula party rose as they discussed the remaining MSS., but these were not of the highest order of merit; and Anna thought that the really good would be sufficient; and all the Underwood kith and kin had sufficient knowledge of the Press through their connection with the ‘Pursuivant’ to be authorities on the subject.

“Fergus has some splendid duplicate ammonites for me and bits of crystal,” said Mysie.

“Oh, do let Fergus alone,” entreated Gillian.  “He is almost a petrifaction already, and you know what depends on it.”

“My sister is coming next week for a few days,” said Anna.  “She is very clever, and may help us.”

Emilia was accordingly introduced to the Mice, but she was not very tolerant of them.  Essay societies, she said, were out of date, and she thought the Rockquay young ladies a very country-town set.

“You don’t know them, Emmie,” said Anna.  “Gillian and Dolores are very remarkable girls, only-—”

“Only they are kept down by their mothers, I suppose.  Is that the reason they don’t do anything but potter after essay societies and Sunday-schools like our little girls at Vale Leston?  Why, I asked Gillian, as you call her, what they were doing about the Penitents’ Home, and she said her mother and Aunt Jane went to look after it, but never talked about it.”

“You know they are all very young.”

“Young indeed!  How is one ever to be of any use if mothers and people are always fussing about one’s being young?”

“One won’t always be so-—”

“They would think so, like the woman of a hundred years old, who said on her daughter’s death at eighty, ’Ah, poor girl, I knew I never should rear her!’ How shall I get to see the Infirmary here?”