gone. Mr.
Armstrong continued--

"The next thing you have to bear in mind is that the planets move about
amongst the stars. Just think! They go round the sun, and so do we.
The times of their revolution are not coincident with ours, and their
path is sometimes forwards and sometimes backwards. Suppose we were in
the centre of the planetary system, all these irregularities would
disappear; but we are outside, and therefore it looks so complicated."

Again Mr. Farrow comprehended, but to Miriam it was all dark.

"Now," continued Mr. Armstrong, "these are the two great truths which I
wish you not simply to acknowledge, but to _feel_. If you can once
from your own observation _realise_ the way the stars revolve--why some
near the pole never set--why some never rise, and why Venus is seen
both before the sun and after it--you will have done yourselves more
real good than if you were to dream for years of immeasurable
distances, and what is beyond and beyond and beyond, and all that
nonsense. The great beauty of astronomy is not what is
incomprehensible in it, but its comprehensibility--its geometrical
exactitude. Now you may look."

Miriam looked first. Jupiter was in the field. She could not suppress
a momentary exclamation of astonished ecstasy at the spectacle. While
she watched, Mr. Armstrong told her something about the mighty orb. He
pointed out the satellites, contrasted the size of Jupiter with that of
the earth, and explained to her the distances at which parts of the
planet are from each other as compared with those of New Zealand and
America from London. But what affected her most was to see Jupiter's
solemn, still movement, and she gazed and gazed, utterly absorbed,
until at last he had disappeared. The stars had passed thus before her
eyes ever since she had been born, but what was so familiar had never
before been emphasised or put in a frame, and consequently had never
produced its due effect.

Afterwards Mr. Farrow had his turn, and Mr. Armstrong then observed
that they had had enough; that it was getting late, but that he hoped
they would come again. They started homewards, but their teacher
remained solitary till far beyond midnight at his lonely post. The
hamlet lay asleep beneath him in profoundest peace. His study had a
strange fascination for him. He never wrote anything about it; he
never set himself up as a professional expert; he could not preach much
about it; most of what he