“About what, my dear?” “What Papa said about when he was in the Black Sea. I never knew Mamma cared so much.” “I dare say not, my dear; you were much younger then.” “And I didn’t know all about it,” said Bessie, “or else I’ve forgotten. I have been trying to remember whether we ever thought about Mamma; and oh, Christabel! do you know—I believe we only thought she was cross! Oh dear! it was so naughty and bad of us!” “I can guess how it happened, my dear. You were not old enough to be made her friends, and you could not understand quiet sorrow.” “To think we should have said she was cross!” “That was wrong, because it was disrespectful. You see, my dear, when grown people are in trouble, you young ones can’t enter into their feelings, nor always even find out that anything is amiss; and you get vexed at there being a cloud over the house, and call it crossness.” “Grown-up people are sometimes cross, aren’t they?” said Bessie. “Nurse is; and I heard Papa say Aunt Alice was.” “We have tempers, certainly,” said Miss Fosbrook; “and unless we have conquered them as children, there will be signs of them afterwards; but very few people, and certainly no children, can tell when grave looks, or words sharper than usual, come from illness or anxiety or sorrow; and it is the only way to save great grief and self-reproach to give one’s own faults the blame, and try to be as unobtrusive and obliging as possible.” “And I am older now, and can understand,” said Bessie; “but then, it is Susie that is right hand, and does everything.” “There’s plenty in your own line, Bessie—plenty of little kindly services that are very cheering; and above all—” “What?” “Attending to your Mamma’s troubles will drive away your own grievances. Only I will not talk to you any more now, for I want you to go to sleep; if you lie awake, you will be tired to-morrow, and that will incline you to be fretful.” “Fretful to-morrow!” Bessie could not believe it possible; and indeed Miss Fosbrook did not think the chance great, as long as there was amusement and excitement. The danger would be in the waitings and disappointments that will often occur, even in the height of enjoyable schemes. It would take too long to tell of all the good-byes. The children old enough to enter into the parting were setting off too; and Miss Fosbrook felt more for the little ones than they did for themselves, as they watched their father and uncle and two sisters into the gig, and the boys into the cart, with Purday to drive them and the boxes, Sam sitting on his father’s old midshipman’s chest, trying, as well as the jolting would let him, to con over that troublesome Thirty-fifth Proposition, which nine times repetition to Miss Fosbrook had failed to put into his head.