'I don't think,' said Effie, 'that poor Mr Varden makes knowledge his
_god_ exactly, because he does it all for good; but it would be very
wicked for Harry or me to do so, because we know how wrong it is. I wish
everybody that praised people for studying too hard could know it is
wicked.'

'But remember,' said Mr Maurice, 'that where one person's cheek is
paled by hard study, fifty make themselves utterly useless by neglecting
the bodily exercise which _moderate_ mental effort demands. It is
aversion to active employment, and not the love of knowledge, that has
slain its hundreds and crippled its thousands.'




CHAPTER IX.

THE FUNERAL.


It was a bright and sunshiny day, and so warm as to make the snow moist
and yielding beneath the foot--such a day as children love and choose
for their happiest sports; but to at least two children it was anything
but a day of pleasure. Poor Mrs Gilman's little James had lingered on
beyond all expectation, and finally died, calmly and quietly, as if he
had been composing himself for sleep. And so it was--a long sleep.

This was the day on which the little one was to be buried, and Harry
and Effie were sincere mourners. Not like the poor mother--oh no, no one
could feel like her--but they wept as one child of adversity weeps for