Magnum Bonum; Or, Mother Carey's Brood Part 33

"What search, my boy?"

"For the source of everything," said Armine, lowering his voice and looking into his muddy hole.

"But that is above, not below," said Mary.

"Yes," said Armine reverently; "but I think G.o.d put life and the beginning of growing into the earth, and I want to find it."

"Isn't it Truth?" said Babie. "Mr. Acton said Truth was at the bottom of a well. I won't look at the kobolds if they keep one from seeing Truth."

"But I must get my ring and all my jewels from them," put in Elfie.

"Should you know Truth?" asked Mr. Ogilvie. "What do you think she is like?"

"So beautiful!" said Babie, clasping her fingers with earnestness. "All white and clear like crystal, with such blue, sweet, open eyes. And she has an anchor."

"That's Hope?" said Armine.

"Oh! Hope and Truth go hand in hand," said Babie; "and Hope will be all robed in green like the young corn-fields in the spring."

"Ah, Babie, that emerald Hope and crystal Truth are not down in the earth, earthy," said Mary again.

"Nay, perhaps Armine has got hold of a reality," said Mr. Ogilvie. "They are to be found above by working below."

"Talking paradox to Armine?" said the cheerful voice of the young mother. "My dear sprites, do you know that it is past eight! How wet you are! Good night, and mind you don't go upstairs in those boots."

"It is quite comfortable to hear anything so commonplace," said Mary, when the children had run away, to the sound of its reiteration after full interchange of good nights. "Those imps make one feel quite eerie."

"Has Armine been talking in that curious fas.h.i.+on of his," said Carey, as they began to pace the walks. "I am afraid his thinker is too big--as the child says in Miss Tytler's book. This morning over his parsing he asked me--'Mother, which is _realest_, what we touch or what we feel?'

knitting his brows fearfully when I did not catch his meaning, and going on--'I mean is that fly as real as King David?' and then as I was more puzzled he went on--'You see we only need just see that fly now with our outermost senses, and he will only live a little while, and n.o.body cares or will think of him any more, but everybody always does think, and feel, and care a great deal about King David.' I told him, as the best answer I could make on the spur of the moment, that David was alive in Heaven, but he pondered in and broke out--'No, that's not it! David was a real man, but it is just the same about Perseus and Siegfried, and lots of people that never were men, only just thoughts. Ain't thoughts _realer_ than things, mother?'"

"But much worse for him, I should say," exclaimed Mary.

"I thought of Pisistratus Caxton, and wrote to Mr. Ogilvie. It is a great pity, but I am afraid he ought not to dwell on such things till his body is grown up to his mind."

"Yes, school is the approved remedy for being too clever," said Mr.

Ogilvie. "You are wise. It is a pity, but it will be all the better for him by-and-by."

"And the elder ones will take care the seasoning is not too severe,"

said Caroline, with a resolution she could hardly have shown if this had been her first launch of a son. "But it was about Bobus that I wanted to consult you. His uncle thinks him headstrong and conceited, if not lazy."

"Lazy he is certainly not."

"I knew you would say so, but the Colonel cannot enter into his wish to have more physical science and less cla.s.sics, and will not hear of his going to Germany, which is what he wishes, though I am sure he is too young."

"He ought not to go there till his character is much more formed."

"What do you think of his going on here?"

"That's a temptation I ought to resist. He will soon have outstripped the other boys so that I could not give him the attention he needs, and besides the being with other boys, more his equals, would be invaluable to him."

"Well, he is rather b.u.mptious."

"Nothing is worse for a lad of that sort than being c.o.c.k of the walk. It spoils him often for life."

"I know exactly the sort of man you mean, always liking to lay down the law and talking to women instead of men, because they don't argue with him. No, Bobus must not come to that, and he is too young to begin special training. Will you talk to him, Mr. Ogilvie? You know if my horse is not convinced I may bring him to the water, but it will be all in vain."

They had reached the outside of the window of the dining-room, where the school-boys were learning their lessons for the morrow. Bobus was sitting at the table with a small lamp so shaded as to concentrate the light on him and to afford it to no one else. On the floor was a servant's flat candlestick, mounted on a pile of books, between one John sprawling at full length preparing his Virgil, the other cross-legged, working a sum with ink from a doll's tea-cup placed in the candlestick, and all the time there was a wonderful mumbling accompaniment, as there always was between those two.

"I say, what does pulsum come from?"

"What a brute this is of a fraction! Skipjack, what will go in 639 and 852?"

"Pulsum, a pulse--volat, flies. Eh! Three'll do it. Or common measure it at once."

"Bother common measure. The threes in--"

"Fama, fame; volat, flies; pulsum, the pulse; cecisse, to have ceased; paternis regnis, in the paternal kingdom. I say wouldn't that rile Perkins like fun?"

"The threes in seven--two--in eighteen--"

"I say, Johnny, is pulsum from pulco?"

"Never heard of it."

"Bobus, is it pulco, pulxi, pulsum?"

"Pulco--I make an a.s.s of myself," muttered Bobus.

"O murder," groaned Johnny, "it has come out 213."

"Not half so much murder as this pulsum. Why it will go in them both. I can see with half an eye."

"Isn't it pello--pulsum?"

"Pello, to drive out. Hurrah! That fits it."

"Look out, Skipjack, there's a moth."

"Anything worth having?" demanded Bobus.

"Only a gra.s.s eggar. Fama, fame; volat, flies; Idomoeea ducem, that Idomaeeus the leader; pulsum, expelled. Get out, I say, you foolish beggar" (to the moth).

"Never mind catching him," said Bobus, "we've got dozens."

"Yes, but I don't want him frizzling alive in my candle."

"Don't kick up such a s.h.i.+ndy," broke out Johnny, as a much stained handkerchief came flapping about.

"You've blotted my sum. Thunder and ages!" as the candlestick toppled over, ink and all. "That is a go!"