All greeted the new-comer warmly, and Maurice exclaimed, ‘Mamma, I may have a holiday now!’ ‘Not till you have learnt your spelling.’ There was some sharpness in the tone, and Maurice’s shoulder-blades looked sulky. ‘In consideration of his uncle,’ began Mr. Kendal, but she put her hand on the boy, saying, ‘You know we agreed there were to be no holidays for a week, because we did not use the last properly.’ He moved off disconsolately, and his father said, ‘I hope you are come to arrange the journey to London. Is Winifred coming with you?’ ‘No; a hurry and confusion, and the good aunts would be too much for her, you will be the only one for inspection.’ ‘Yes, take him with you, Maurice,’ said Albinia, ‘he must see William.’ ‘You must be the exhibitor, then,’ her brother replied. ‘Now, Maurice, I know what you are come for, but you ought to know better than to persuade me, when you know there are six good reasons against my going.’ ‘I know of one worth all the six.’ ‘Yes,’ said Mr. Kendal; ‘I have been telling her that she is convincing me that I did wrong in allowing her to burthen herself with this charge.’ ‘That’s nothing to the purpose,’ said Albinia; ‘having undertaken it, when you all saw the necessity, I cannot forsake it now--’ ‘If Mrs. Meadows were in the same condition as she was in two months ago, there might be a doubt,’ said Mr. Kendal; but she is less dependent on your attention, and Lucy and Gilbert are most anxious to devote themselves to her in your absence.’ ‘I know they all wish to be kind, but if anything went wrong, I should never forgive myself!’ ‘Not if you went out for pleasure alone,’ said her brother; ‘but relationship has demands.’ ‘Of course,’ she said, petulantly, ‘if Edmund is resolved, I must go, but that does not convince me that it is right to leave everything to run riot here.’ Mr. Kendal looked serious, and Mr. Ferrars feared that the winter cares had so far told on her temper, that perplexity made her wilful in self-sacrifice. There was a pause, but just as she began to perceive she had said something wrong, the lesser Maurice burst out in exultation, ‘There, it is not indestructible!’ ‘What mischief have you been about?’ The question was needless, for the table was strewn with snips of calico. ‘This nasty spelling-book! Lucy said it was called indestructible, because nobody could destroy it, but I’ve taken my new knife to it. And see there!’ ‘And now can you make another?’ said his uncle. ‘I don’t want _to_.’ ‘Nor _one_ either, sir,’ said Mr. Kendal. ‘What shall we have to tell Uncle William about you! I’m afraid you are one of the chief causes of mamma not knowing how to go to London.’ Maurice did not appear on the way to penitence, but his mother said, ‘Bring me your knife.’ He hung down his head, and obeyed without a word. She closed it, and laid it on the mantel-shelf, which served as a sort of pound for properties in sequestration.