MIDDLEMARCH (Completed)

Chapter 40

Wise in his daily work was he:

To fruits of diligence,

And not to faiths or polity,

He plied his utmost sense.

These perfect in their little parts,

Whose work is all their prize--

Without them how could laws, or arts,

Or towered cities rise?

In watching effects, if only of an electric battery, it is often

necessary to change our place and examine a particular mixture

or group at some distance from the point where the movement we

are interested in was set up. The group I am moving towards is

at Caleb Garth's breakfast-table in the large parlor where the

maps and desk were: father, mother, and five of the children.

Mary was just now at home waiting for a situation, while Christy,

the boy next to her, was getting cheap learning and cheap fare

in Scotland, having to his father's disappointment taken to books

instead of that sacred calling "business."

The letters had come--nine costly letters, for which the postman had

been paid three and twopence, and Mr. Garth was forgetting his tea

and toast while he read his letters and laid them open one above

the other, sometimes swaying his head slowly, sometimes screwing up

his mouth in inward debate, but not forgetting to cut off a large

red seal unbroken, which Letty snatched up like an eager terrier.

The talk among the rest went on unrestrainedly, for nothing disturbed

Caleb's absorption except shaking the table when he was writing.

Two letters of the nine had been for Mary. After reading them,

she had passed them to her mother, and sat playing with her

tea-spoon absently, till with a sudden recollection she returned

to her sewing, which she had kept on her lap during breakfast.

"Oh, don't sew, Mary!" said Ben, pulling her arm down. "Make me

a peacock with this bread-crumb." He had been kneading a small mass

for the purpose.

"No, no, Mischief!" said Mary, good-humoredly, while she pricked

his hand lightly with her needle. "Try and mould it yourself:

you have seen me do it often enough. I must get this sewing done.

It is for Rosamond Vincy: she is to be married next week, and she

can't be married without this handkerchief." Mary ended merrily,

amused with the last notion.

"Why can't she, Mary?" said Letty, seriously interested in this mystery,

and pushing her head so close to her sister that Mary now turned

the threatening needle towards Letty's nose.