But the next morning rose bright and glad, looking as if it would make up for its father’s wildness by a gentler treatment of the world. The wind was still high, but the hate seemed to have gone out of it. It swept huge clouds across the sky, never granting a pause of motion. But the sky was blue and the clouds were white, and the dungeon-vault of the world was broken up and being carried away.

Everything in the room stood ready when the Raymounts assembled for breakfast—the fire in the hearth, crocuses in a vase on the table. Mr. Raymount was very silent, almost gloomy. Mrs. Raymount’s face, in consequence, was a shade less peaceful. There was nothing the matter, only he had not yet learned to radiate. It is hard for some natures to let their light shine. Mr. Raymount had some light, but he let it shine mostly in reviews, not much at home.

The children were rosy, fresh from their baths, and ready to eat like breakfast-loving English. Cornelius was half of his breakfast ahead of the rest, for he had daily to endure the hardship of being at the bank by nine o’clock, and made the best of it by claiming immunity from the niceties of the breakfast table. Never did he lose a moment in helping anybody. Even little Saffy had to stretch out a very long arm after the butter without his even looking up—except indeed it happened to cross his plate, when he would sharply rebuke her breach of manners. Mark would sooner have gone without salt for his egg than ask Corney to pass it.

This morning the pale boy sat staring at the crocuses.

“Why don’t you eat your breakfast, Mark, dear?” said his mother.

“I’m not hungry, mama,” he answered.

The mother looked at him a little anxiously. He was not a very vigorous boy physically. But unlike his father’s, his light was almost always shining, making the faces about him shine.

After a few minutes unconsciously staring at the crocuses, he said,

“I can’t imagine how they come.”

“They grow!” said Saffy.

“Didn’t you see Hester make the paper flowers for her party?” added their father, willing to set them thinking.

“Yes,” replied Saffy, “but it would take such a long time to make all the flowers in the world that way!”

“So it would. But if a great many angels took it in hand, I suppose they could do it.”

“That can’t be how,” Saffy laughed. “You know the flowers come up out of the earth, and there isn’t room to cut them out there.”

“I think they must be cut and put together before they are made!” said Mark, very slowly and thoughtfully.

The supposition was greeted with a great burst of laughter from Cornelius. In the midst of a refined family he behaved as the blind and stupid generally behave to those who see what they cannot see. Mockery is the share they choose in the motions of life eternal.