me, and I
hear the poor faint voice whispering, "You've got the papers, Buller?
Arkwright will be kind about it, I'm sure." And, "It's all dark now."
And with tears I wonder if he--with whom it is all light now--knows how
well his true friends have dealt by me, and how happy I am.

To be busy is certainly half-way to being happy. And yet it is not so
with every kind of labour. Some occupations, however, do seem of
themselves to be peace-bringing; I mean, to be so independent of the
great good of being occupied at all. Gardening, sketching, and natural
history pursuits, for instance. Is it partly because one follows them in
the open air, in great measure?--fresh air, that mysteriously mighty
power for good! Anodyne, as well as tonic; dispeller of fever when other
remedies are powerless; and the best accredited recipe for long life.
Only partly, I think.

One secret of the happiness of some occupations is, perhaps, that they
lift one away from petty cares and petty spites, without trying the
brain or strength unduly, as some other kinds of mental labour must do.
And how delightful is fellowship in such interests! What rivalries
without bitterness; what gossip without scandal; what gifts and
exchanges; what common interests and mutual sympathy!

In such happy business the holidays went by. Then the question arose,
Were we to go back to school? Very earnestly we hoped not; and I think
the Arkwrights soon resolved not to send Eleanor away again. As to me,
the case was different. Mr. Arkwright felt that he must do what was best
for my education: and he wrote to consult with Major Buller.

Fortunately for Eleanor and me, the Major was now as much prejudiced
against girls' schools as he had been against governesses; and as
masters were to be had at the nearest town, a home education was
decided upon. It met with the approval of such of my relatives as were
consulted--my great-grandmother especially--and it certainly met with
mine.

Eleanor and I were very anxious to show that idleness was not our object
in avoiding Bush House. The one of my diaries that escaped burning has,
on the fly-leaf, one of the many "lesson plans" we made for ourselves.

We used to get up at six o'clock, and work before breakfast. Certain
morning headaches, to which at this time I became subject, led to a
serious difference of opinion between me and Mrs. Arkwright; she
forbidding me to get up, and I holding myself to be much aggrieved, and
imputin