“Well,” she said, “as Giles is playing with his wooden animals, trotting out the contents of his ark; let us turn out some of the strange creatures that are stuffed in our skulls, and marshal them. I have been opening the window of my ark to-day, and sending forth enquiries, but not a blade of olive has been brought to me.” “As for the ark of my head,” said the tutor with a bitter smile, “it is the reverse of that of Noah. He sent forth raven and dove, and the dove returned, but the raven remained abroad. With me, the dark thoughts fly over the flood and come home to roost; the dove-like ones—never.” “I am rather disposed,” said Arminell, laughing, “to liken my head to a rookery in May. The matured thoughts are a-wing and wheeling, and the just fledged ones stand cawing at the edge of their nests, with fluttering wings, afraid to fly, and afraid to stay and be shot.” “To be shot?—by whom?” “Perhaps, by your wit. Perhaps by my lord’s blunderbuss.” “I will not level any of my poor wit at them. Let your thoughts hop forth boldly that I may have a sight of them.” An exclamation of distress from Giles. “What is the matter?” asked Arminell, turning to her brother. “The giraffe has broken his leg, and I want him to stand because he has such a long neck.” “If you were manly, Giles, you would not say, the giraffe has broken his leg, but—I have broken the giraffe’s leg.” “But I did not, Armie. He had been packed too tightly with the other beasts, and his leg was so bent that it broke.” “Mend it with glue,” she advised. “I can’t—it is wrong to melt glue on Sunday. Mamma would not like it.” The conversation had been broken along with the giraffe’s leg, and neither Arminell nor young Saltren resumed it for some time. Presently the girl said, “Mr Saltren, do you know what sort of men Addison called Fribblers? They are among men what flirts are among women, drawing girls on and then disappointing them. There are plenty of flirts and fribblers in other matters. There are flirts and fribblers with great social and religious questions, who play with them, trifle with them, hover about them, simulate a lively interest in them, and then—when you expect of them a decision and action on that decision, away they fly in another direction, and shake all interest and inquiry out of their thoughts. I have no patience with such flirts or fribblers.” She spoke with a little bitterness. She was thinking of her step-mother. The tutor knew it, but did not allow her to see that he did. “Do you not think,” he said, “that they fribble from a sense of incompetence to grapple with these questions? The problems interest them up to a certain point. Then they see that they are too large for them, or they entail consequences they shrink from accepting, consequences that will cost them too dear, and they withdraw.” “Like the young man in the Gospel who went away sorrowful for he had great possessions. He was a fribbler.”