s, wholesale or retail, can sell almost anything
they like if they have a good reputation. History, languages, science,
art, theology, are all so many departments. Politics are always in
demand, and there are many great manufacturers who issue supplies at
a penny, every day, all over the kingdom. There is no branch where the
labourers employed have such stirring times as the makers of politics:
we call them statesmen. They seem, however, rather to enjoy it, and I
suppose they get used to the heat, like stokers. I think that the burden
of the whole scheme really falls most heavily on the children. But you
are tired.'

'Tell me about the children,' said Queen Mab. 'I shall understand that
better.'

'They have to learn facts, facts, for ever facts,' said the Owl
compassionately. 'It makes one's head ache to think of it. I am a pretty
well educated bird myself, though I say it; but if I had spent my time
in acquiring a quarter of the knowledge those children have to acquire,
then I should certainly never have been able to look at things in the
broadly scientific light in which they should be looked at. It does not
seem to matter what the facts are, so long as they are cheap and plenty
of them; it does not even matter whether they are true, or, at least,
that is of very minor importance. But see! see there! That is an example
of what I have been telling you.'

A child was passing below them with a weary step. Queen Mab trembled at
the sight of him, secure as she was among the broad chestnut leaves, and
her fear was justified, for in another moment the professor himself came
into view. The fairy-had seen the child before, and, as Mr. Trollope
used to say, 'she had been to him as a god'--it was the professor's
little boy. But this time the philosopher was without his butterfly-net,
and she found him much less alarming. He was occupied with the pale,
tired child, and telling him charming stories about coral islands, that
sounded to Queen Mab's astonished ears almost like a real fairy tale.
They sat down, while the professor talked. Wonderful things he told, and
said not a word all the time about generalisation or classification.

'It is like a fairy tale,' said the boy, echoing Queen Mab's thought,
when at last they rose to go. 'Oh, father, how I wish we could see Dala
again!'

'Dala, my boy? What, the lepidoptera? Ah, I wish we could! You
will find, as you grow older, Walter, that science is better than a
butterfly.'