"There are not many strings in us, Sally, but, Lord! the number o' tunes that Nature plays on us! And we go through life dancing to 'em, or hobbling to 'em, as the case may be. As this little picture'll do, according to the kind of music that comes to her. As for what takes place when Nature's played her last tune on us, that's beyond you and me, Sally." "Yes, Mr. Dumbrick," assented Sally, feeling it incumbent upon her to say something, but groping now in such dark depths that she saw no way out of them. Seth's next utterances, however, brought a little light to her. "In all that, there are certain things--not many--that we may fairly take credit for. You've got a big heart in a little body. I'd wager my cobbler's stall that I'm going to sit on in the clouds when your dream comes true--I'd wager that to a brass thimble that if you had only one bit o' bread, and you was hungry as you could be, you'd give it to baby, if she cried for it." Two or three bright tears glistened in Sally's eyes, which Seth accepted as confirmation. "Take credit for that, Sally." "Thank you, Mr. Dumbrick," said Sally gratefully, satisfied with this reward of good words for good intentions. "I'm going to take credit, too, Sally. I'm going to teach you and baby to read and write." "O! Mr. Dumbrick!" "That's as much as a real father could do. Reading's a grand thing, Sally. We've much to be thankful for. Be thankful, Sally." "I am, Mr. Dumbrick, I am, oh, so much!" "I don't like that mister, Sally." "No?" questioned Sally, for ever on the alert to discover her guardian's likes or dislikes. "It's too much like company manners. Now that we're comfortably settled we ought to be more sociable. Call me Dad, or Daddy, or Daddy Dumbrick. Your tongue'll soon get used to it." "Yes, Mr.--Dad-dy Dumbrick." Sally's tongue tripped so comically over the new terms that she laughed, and Seth grimly joined in the merriment. "We soon get used to things, Sally. Once on a time we usedn't to live in houses." "In what, then, Daddy Dumbrick?" "In tents and forests and fields and that like." "As the gipsies do," cried Sally. "I've seed 'em. Mother took me to a fair once." "Now we live in garrets and cellars, and sweet-smelling habitations." Sally looked dubious. Many of the houses round about Rosemary Lane were far from sweet-smelling, and she could not realise the advantage of the present over the past of which Seth was evidently boasting. To live in a tent in forest or field was a dream of Elysium to her, with flowers growing around her home and green grass waving. Too good for earth. "Once on a time," continued Seth, "we couldn't read; now we can. Once on a time we weren't civilised; now we are. We've much more to be thankful for than we know of. This is the age of enlightenment, Sally, and the best thing I can do is to give you your first lesson."