“I wish I could retire,” said her father. “But, Mat, you must not forget that the wretched creatures, as you call them, have a right to live which equals your own.” “Is there another labour dispute on?” asked the eldest son, a lad of sixteen. “Yes, the usual thing. These labour strikes are constantly occurring with us, Fred. I suppose you know a little about them at Scourby?” “Oh, yes; we have had our troubles there, and the victories have usually gone with the men.” “The men are often very unreasonable. They ought not to expect to be paid in bad times the wages which they receive when trade is at its best; but they do.” “And they seldom save anything for a rainy day,” remarked Mrs. Stapleton, “but live up to their income every week, whatever it may be.” “And they are awfully extravagant,” said Matilda. “I had the curiosity to ascertain how many of the girls in my Sunday-school class were learning to play the piano, and found that eight out of fourteen are taking lessons. And their parents are buying pianos on the hire system—so much a week for three years. Eight girls! And I believe that, without exception, their parents are artisans. Is it not absurd? I laughed at the idea, and this so offended one child that she left the class. I told her it would be more to her credit if she learned to scrub floors and mend stockings. She became saucy, and said she knew already how to do those things, and should not ask my leave to learn the piano or anything else her parents pleased.” “You are most partial to the violin yourself, Mat, are you not?” asked the Doctor. “Oh yes,” said her brother, answering for her. “Mat is wild on the violin, and she has a little beauty.” “I heard you playing it this morning, I think?” “Yes; I am as lazy as any of my set, but my dear violin can draw me out of bed in the dead of the night, we are such great friends.” “Do you think it right to keep that pleasure to yourself?” “To myself? Why, Uncle Fred, I am willing to play for any one. I will play to you all day if you like.” “Thank you very much. But what I mean to suggest is, that your Sunday-scholars may be musically inclined, too, and can get as much real pleasure out of a cheap harmonium or piano as you out of your harp and violin. Why, then, should they not?” Matilda coloured partly with vexation. “I think the cases are different,” she said. “Yes, they are. You get your instruments without trouble, and pay for them with a ‘thank you’ or a kiss; they have to practise self-denial, and part from the weekly payments with difficulty; but if they are willing to do this, why in the world should they not? A working man has as much right to a piano in his home, if he can pay for it, as you have. Surely it is better to spend money on pianos than on beer.” “Why, uncle, I declare you are a rabid socialist. I had no idea you were such a dangerous character!”