I am sorry, Dr. Brown, to hear you speak so ill of
the members of an honourable profession, to which you yourself
belong."

And Dr. Brown found out that he had brushed his hat the wrong way, and
he brushed it right, and said, "Not at all, Madam, not at all! I think
we're a very decent set, for men with large public responsibilities,
almost entirely shielded from the wholesome light of public criticism,
who handle more lives than most Commanders, and are not called upon to
publish our disasters or make returns of our losses. But don't expect
too much of us! I say we are not reformers. They rise up amongst us
now and again; but we don't encourage them, we don't encourage them.
We are a privileged caste of medicine men, whose 'mysteries' are
protected by the faith of those to whom we minister, a faith
fortified by ignorance and fear. I wish you good-morning, Madam."

Margery has often repeated this to me. We call it "Dr. Brown's
Speeches." She is very fond of spouting speeches, much longer ones
than Dr. Brown's. She learns them by heart out of history books, and
then dresses up and spouts them to me in our attic.

Margery says she did not understand at the time what they were
quarrelling about; and when, afterwards, she asked Grandmamma what a
cesspool was, Grandmamma was cross with her too, and said it was a
very coarse and vulgar word, and that Dr. Brown was a very coarse and
vulgar person. We've looked it out since in Johnson's Dictionary, for
we thought it might be one of Dr. Brown's vulgar errors, but it is not
there.

Margery reads a great deal of history; she likes it; she likes all the
sensible books in the attic, and I like the rest, particularly poetry
and fairy tales.

The books are Mother's books, they belonged to her father. She liked
having them all in the parlour, "littering the whole place," Jael
says; but Grandmamma has moved them to the attic now, all but a volume
of Sermons for Sunday, and the Oriental Annual, to amuse visitors if
they are left alone. Only she says you never ought to leave your
visitors alone.

Jael is very glad the books were taken to the attic, because "they
gather dust worse than chimney ornaments;" so she says.

Margery and I are very glad too, for we are sent to play in the attic,
and then we read as much as ever we like; and we move our pet books to
our own corner and pretend they are our very own. We have very cosy
corners; we pile up some of the big books for seats, and