 observed Margaret; “if she were a man, she would be called philosophical.”

“She is very superior,” observed Sophia. “It was mamma’s doing that she is the children’s governess.”

“Philosophical!” repeated Mr Enderby. “It is a happy thing that she is philosophical in her circumstances, poor thing!”

“As she happens to be unprosperous,” said Margaret, smiling. “If she were rich, and strong, and admired, her philosophy would be laughed at; it would only be in the way.”

Mr Enderby sighed, and made no answer. Before any one spoke again, Mr Hope and his little companions came up.

“How quiet you all are!” exclaimed Sydney. “I’ve a good mind to come and fish here again, if you will only go on to be so drowsy.”

Sophia declared that they had been talking, up to the last minute, about Miss Young, and learning German, and being philosophical.

“And which of the party have you made out to be the most philosophical?” inquired Mr Hope.

“We have not so much as made out what philosophy is for,” said Hester; “can you tell us?”

As she looked up at Mr Hope, who was standing behind her, Sydney thought her question was addressed to him. Swinging his fishing-rod round, he replied doubtfully that he thought philosophy was good to know how to do things. What sort of things? Why, to make phosphorus lights, and electrify people, as Dr Levitt did, when he made Sophia jump off the stool with glass legs. Sophia was sure that any one else would have jumped off the stool as she did. She should take good care never to jump on it again. But she wondered Sydney did not know any better than that what philosophy was for. Her cousins said Miss Young was philosophical, and she had nothing to do with phosphorus or electrical machines.

Mr Enderby explained to Mr Hope that he had said what he was ready to maintain; that it was a happy thing for any one who, like Miss Young, was not so prosperous as she had been, to be supported by philosophy.

“And, granting this,” said Margaret, “it was next inquired whether this same philosophy would have been considered equally admirable, equally a matter of congratulation, if Miss Young had not wanted it for solace.”

“A question as old as the brigg at Stirling,” replied Mr Hope; “older, older than any bridges of man’s making.”

“Why Stirling brigg? What do you mean?”

“I mean—do not you know
