Arminell, a social romance. Baring-Gould Sabine

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СКАЧАТЬ each man may have a different pole. South of the equator, the needle points reversedly to what it pointed north of it. An anchor, an iron link, a nail even may divert the needle, but to something it must turn."

      "Miss Inglett—had Moses any personal hope to reach and establish himself in the land flowing with milk and honey, when he led Israel from the brick-kilns? He was to die within sight of the land, and not to set foot thereon."

      "But, Mr. Saltren; who are your Israel? Where are the brick-kilns? Who are the oppressors?"

      "Can you ask?" The tutor paused and looked at the girl. "But I suppose you fail to see that the whole of the civilised world is an Egypt, in which some are taskmasters and others slaves; some enjoy and others surfer. Miss Inglett—you have somehow invited my confidence, and I cannot withhold it. It is quite impossible that the world can go on as it has been, with one class drawing to itself all that life has to offer of happiness, and another class doomed to toil and hunger and sweat, and have nothing of the light and laughter of life."

      Arminell seated herself.

      "Well," she said, "as Giles is playing with his wooden animals, trotting out the contents of his ark; let us turn out some of the strange creatures that are stuffed in our skulls, and marshal them. I have been opening the window of my ark to-day, and sending forth enquiries, but not a blade of olive has been brought to me."

      "As for the ark of my head," said the tutor, with a bitter smile, "it is the reverse of that of Noah. He sent forth raven and dove, and the dove returned, but the raven remained abroad. With me, the dark thoughts fly over the flood and come home to roost; the dove-like ones—never."

      "I am rather disposed," said Arminell, laughing, "to liken my head to a rookery in May. The matured thoughts ​are a-wing and wheeling, and the just fledged ones stand cawing at the edge of their nests, with fluttering wings, afraid to fly, and afraid to stay and be shot."

      "To be shot?—by whom?"

      "Perhaps, by your wit. Perhaps by my lord's blunderbuss."

      "I will not level any of my poor wit at them. Let your thoughts hop forth boldly that I may have a sight of them."

      An exclamation of distress from Giles.

      "What is the matter?" asked Arminell, turning to her brother.

      "The giraffe has broken his leg, and I want him to stand because he has such a long neck."

      "If you were manly, Giles, you would not say, the giraffe has broken his leg, but—I have broken the giraffe's leg."

      "But I did not, Armie. He had been packed too tightly with the other beasts, and his leg was so bent that it broke."

      "Mend it with glue," she advised.

      "I can't—it is wrong to melt glue on Sunday. Mamma would not like it."

      The conversation had been broken along with the giraffe's leg, and neither Arminell nor young Saltren resumed it for some time. Presently the girl said, "Mr. Saltren, do you know what sort of men Addison called Fribblers? They are among men what flirts are among women, drawing girls on and then disappointing them. There are plenty of flirts and fribblers in other matters. There are flirts and fribblers with great social and religious questions, who play with them, trifle with them, hover about them, simulate a lively interest in them, and then—when you expect of them a decision and action on that decision, away they fly in another direction, and shake all interest and inquiry out of their thoughts. I have no patience with such flirts or fribblers." She spoke with a little bitterness. She was thinking of her step-mother. The tutor knew it, but did not allow her to see that he did.

      ​"Do you not think," he said, "that they fribble from a sense of incompetence to grapple with these questions? The problems interest them up to a certain point. Then they see that they are too large for them, or they entail consequences they shrink from accepting, consequences that will cost them too dear, and they withdraw."

      "Like the young man in the Gospel who went away sorrowful for he had great possessions. He was a fribbler."

      "Exactly. He was a fribbler. He was insincere and unheroic."

      "I could not fribble," said Arminell, vehemently. "If I see that a cause is right, I must pursue it at whatsoever consequence to myself. It is of the essence of humdrum to fribble. Do you know, Mr. Saltren, I have had a puzzling problem set before me to-day, and I shall have no rest till I have worked it out? Why is there so much wretchedness, so much inequality in the world?"

      "Why was Giles' giraffe's leg broken?"

      Arminell looked at him with surprise, suspecting that instead of answering her, he was about to turn off the subject with a joke.

      "The world," said Saltren, "is like Giles' Noah's Ark, packed full—over full—of creatures of all kinds, and packed so badly that they impinge on, bruise, and break each other. Not only is the giraffe's leg broken, but so are the rim of Noah's hat, and the ear of the sheep, and the tusk of the elephant. It is a congeries of cripples. We may change their order, and we only make fresh abrasions. The proboscis of the elephant runs into the side of the lamb, and Noah's hat has been knocked off by the tail of the raven. However you may assort the beasts, however carefully you may pack them, you cannot prevent their doing each other damage."

      Mr. Saltren turned to little Giles and said:—

      "Bring us your box of bricks, my boy."

      ​"It is Sunday," answered the child. "Mamma would not wish me to play with them."

      "I do not wish to make a Sabbath-breaker of you," answered the tutor, "nor are your sister and I going to do other than build Babel with them—which is permissible of a Sunday."

      The little boy slid off his seat, went to his cupboard, and speedily produced the required box, which he gave to Mr. Saltren.

      The tutor drew forth the lid. The bricks were all in place compacted in perfect order.

      Then he said, with half-sneer, half-laugh, "There are no gaps between them. The whole assemblage firm as it were one block. Not a breakage anywhere, not room for a breakage."

      "No," said Arminell, "of course not. They all fit exactly because they are all cubes. The bricks," she laughed, "have no long necks like the giraffe, or legs or horns, or proboscis, or broad-brimmed hats, liable to be broken. Of course they fit together."

      "If you shake the ark—the least concussion produces a breakage, one or two beasts suffer. You may toss the box of bricks about; and nothing is hurt. Why?"

      Arminell was impatient. "Of course the reason is plain."

      "The reason is plain. The bricks are all equal. If it were so in the world of men, there would be no jars, no fractures, no abrasions, but concord, compactness, peace."

      Arminell said nothing. She closed her eyes and sat looking at the bricks, then at the animals Giles had arranged.

      The tutor said no more, but his eyes, bright and eager, were on the girl's face.

      Presently Arminell had gathered her thoughts together sufficiently to speak.

      "That, then, is the solution you offer to my problem. ​But to me it does СКАЧАТЬ