erness. With such
a book in his grasp he saw something ever beckoning him on, a dimly
precious discovery, a wonderful fact just the shape of some missing
fragment in the mosaic of one of his pictures of the past. To tell the
truth, however, his discoveries seldom rounded themselves into pictures,
though many fragments of the minutely dissected map would find
their places, whereupon he rejoiced like a mild giant refreshed with
soda-water. But I have already said more about him than his place
justifies; therefore, although I could gladly linger over the portrait,
I will leave it. He had taught his daughter next to nothing. Being his
child, he had the vague feeling that she inherited his wisdom, and that
what he knew she knew. So she sat reading novels, generally trashy ones,
while he knew no more of what was passing in her mind than of what the
Admirable Crichton might, at the moment, be disputing with the angels.

I would not have my reader suppose that Mysie's mind was corrupted. It
was so simple and childlike, leaning to what was pure, and looking up
to what was noble, that anything directly bad in the books she
happened--for it was all haphazard--to read, glided over her as a black
cloud may glide over a landscape, leaving it sunny as before.

I cannot therefore say, however, that she was nothing the worse. If
the darkening of the sun keep the fruits of the earth from growing,
the earth is surely the worse, though it be blackened by no deposit of
smoke. And where good things do not grow, the wild and possibly noxious
will grow more freely. There may be no harm in the yellow tanzie--there
is much beauty in the red poppy; but they are not good for food. The
result in Mysie's case would be this--not that she would call evil good
and good evil, but that she would take the beautiful for the true and
the outer shows of goodness for goodness itself--not the worst result,
but bad enough, and involving an awful amount of suffering and possibly
of defilement. He who thinks to climb the hill of happiness thus, will
find himself floundering in the blackest bog that lies at the foot of
its precipices. I say he, not she, advisedly. All will acknowledge it of
the woman: it is as true of the man, though he may get out easier. Will
he? I say, checking myself. I doubt it much. In the world's eye, yes;
but in God's? Let the question remain unanswered.

When he had eaten his toast, and drunk his tea, apparently without any
enjoyment, M