He tried to get his thoughts in order as he and Jinny climbed the
hill. He knew what, sooner or later, he must say to Mrs. Richie, and
he thought with relief, that if she were really ill, he could not say
it that day. But the sight of David had brought his duty home to him.
He had thought about it for days, and tried to see some way of escape;
but every way was blocked by tradition or religion. Once he had said
stumblingly to Dr. Lavendar, that it was wonderful how little harm
came to a child from bad surroundings, and held his breath for the
reply.
"An innocent child in a bad home," said Dr. Lavendar cheerfully,
"always makes me think of a water-lily growing out of the mud."
"Yes!" said the doctor, "the mud doesn't hurt it."
"Not the lily; but unfortunately, Willy, my boy, every child isn't a
lily. I wouldn't want to plant one in the mud to see how it would
grow, would you?"
And William admitted that he would not.
After that he even put the matter to his wife "Martha, you're a
sensible woman, I'd like to ask you about a case." "Oh, well," said
Martha simpering, "I don't pretend to any very great wisdom, but I do
know something about sickness."
"This isn't sickness; it's about a child. Do you think a child is
susceptible to the influence of an older person who is not of the
highest character? If, for instance, the mother was--not good, do you
suppose a child would be injured?"
"Not good?" said Martha, horrified.
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