“We are getting on,” said Mary, with that flush of generous pride and courage; “oh, I am not afraid we shall get on! There may be a struggle at the beginning, everybody has a struggle, but we have only got to stand firm, and not to give in. Mamma gets frightened, but I am not a bit frightened; besides, she is not strong, and when people are not strong everything tells upon them. Of course we shall have a struggle--how could it be otherwise--there are so many poor people in the world; but in the end all will come right; and, Miss Trevor,” she added, with a little flush of excitement, “if you don’t think our house is good enough, never mind. We should like to know, but I don’t wish to urge you, if you are not satisfied. We don’t want any to come who is not satisfied; all the same we shall get on.” Lucy looked at her almost with envy. “Yes,” she said, shaking her head, following out her own thoughts. “I suppose it is true that there are a great many poor people in the world.” “Oh, so many!” Mary said; “poor women struggling and struggling to live. Though we are struggling ourselves, it makes my heart sore; there are so many worse off than we are. But we must get on, whatever happens. I tell mamma so. What is the use of fretting, I say, all will come right in the end; but she can not keep her heart up. It is because she is not strong,” Mary said, a tear coming furtively to her eyes. “I know what papa meant now,” said Lucy. “I had never thought of it. It is a sin for one to have so much, and others nothing. If it could only be taken and divided, and everybody made comfortable--so much to you, and so much to me, and every one the same--how much better, how much happier! but how am I to do it?” she said, clasping her hands. Mary stood opening her blue eyes, then laughed, with youthful and frankness, though far from free of tears. “How strange that you should say that! I thought it was only poor people and Radicals that said that. You can’t be a Radical, Miss Trevor? But it would be no good,” said the sensible girl, shaking her head; “even I have seen enough to be sure of that. If we had all the same one day, there would be rich and poor again the next. It is in people’s nature. But this is a long way off from what I came to ask you,” she said, dropping her voice, with a little sigh. Jock had been in the room all the time. He was one of the children whom no one ever notices, who hear everything, and bide their time. He came forward all at once, startling Mary, who turned to him in alarm, with a little cry. “Are you fond of the ‘Arabian Nights’?” he said. “I am not so very fond of them now--they are for when you are quite little, when you don’t know anything. When I come, I will tell you quantities of things, if you like. I can tell you all Shakespeare. I told Lucy; she does not know much,” Jock said, with genial contempt.