ands on her eyes.

"Poor Jacky, ma'am, p'raps 'e's lyin' hall in a mangled 'eap at the foot
of a--"

"Leave me!" cried Mrs Sudberry, with an amount of sudden energy that
quite amazed Mrs Brown, who left the room feeling that she was an
injured woman.

"Darling mamma, they will come back!" said Tilly, throwing her arms
round her mother's neck, and bursting into tears on her bosom. "You
know that the sheep--the lost sheep--was found last week, and brought
home quite safe. Dan is _so_ kind, though he does not speak much, and
Hugh too. They will be sure to find them, darling mamma!"

The sweet voice and the hopeful heart of the child did what philosophy
had failed to accomplish--Mrs Sudberry was comforted. Thus we see, not
that philosophy is a vain thing, but that philosophy and feeling are
distinct, and that each is utterly powerless in the domain of the other.

When Peter was left alone by his master, as recorded in a former
chapter, he sat himself down in a cheerful frame of mind on the sunny
side of a large rock, and gave himself up to the enjoyment of thorough
repose, as well mental as physical. The poor lad was in that state of
extreme lassitude which renders absolute and motionless rest delightful.
Extended at full length on a springy couch of heath, with his eyes
peeping dreamily through the half-closed lids at the magnificent
prospect of mountains and glens that lay before him, and below him too,
so that he felt like a bird in mid-air, looking down upon the world,
with his right arm under his meek head, and both pillowed on the plaid,
with his countenance exposed to the full blaze of the sun, and with his
recent lunch commencing to operate on the system, so as to render
exhaustion no longer a pain, but a pleasure, Peter lay on that knoll,
high up the mountain-side, in close proximity to the clouds, dreaming
and thinking about nothing; that is to say, about everything or anything
in an imbecile sort of way: in other words, wandering in his mind
disjointedly over the varied regions of memory and imagination; too
tired to originate an idea; too indifferent to resist one when it arose;
too weak to follow it out; and utterly indifferent as to whether his
mind did follow it out, or cut it short off in the middle.

We speak of Peter's mind as a totally distinct and separate thing from
himself. It had taken the bit in its teeth and run away. He cared no
more for it than he did for the nose on his face, which w