“Well, it will run something after this line: ‘Thou shalt not step upon thy neighbour’s boots, nor his toes, nor his corns. Thou shalt not take to thyself thy neighbour’s likeness, nor his voice, nor his mannerisms, nor anything that is his. Thou shalt not take the words any more than the bread out of thy neighbour’s mouth.’” “Thank you,” said I, “that will do. Your eleventh commandment seems rather comprehensive and one long hit against me.” “I’m glad you see it at last,” she went on. “You were trying to pluck the mote out of your brother’s eye without perceiving the beam in your own.” “Well, it’s a common enough failing. But what about your advice? Am I still to maintain that I was in the right?” She put her head very gravely on one side. “Well, no. You must never stick to a hard-and-fast line. If I were you I should go to my brother and I should say, ‘Look here. The beam has clean gone out of my eye, let me proceed to gently eradicate the mote from yours.’” “He would be very pliable, I don’t doubt.” “Yes. But if he seemed unconvinced I should continue thus: ‘Brother, the beam which filled my eye was composed chiefly of ignorance and selfishness, though, being blind, I could not see it, and the mote in yours is composed chiefly of vanity and conceit, though, being blind, you cannot see it either.’” I opened my eyes. “Did you say I was to call him ‘Brother’?” I asked. “Undoubtedly.” “The result of that speech would be anything but brotherly.” “Why not? Is he then so irreproachable that he is above criticism?” “I know nothing about him,” I replied. “I can only apologise for coming in his way and promise the offence shall never be repeated.” “But how do you know you ever did come in his way?” “I do not know. I imagined it for the most part. That needs another apology.” “And once you said that no apology was needed.” “I believe I did. But I was speaking on the side of prejudice.” For some minutes she was silent, then moved along. “Perhaps you are wisest,” she said. “We will let the matter be.” We rejoined the others. Sunbeam was now engaged on hemming a handkerchief. “It’s for someone who is suffering,” she explained to me as supper was being prepared. “Father will take it with him when he goes and wipes the tears from their eyes. Every stitch is made of Love, and the fabric is of Peace.” CHAPTER IV The next morning I was up with the light. I went downstairs and through the open door into the cheerful gardens. Freshness and beauty reigned on all things. The early morning scent of flowers, the bright singing of the birds, the glorious sunlight responded like youth’s freshest friends to my clear spirits.