'Is what wrong?' said the Curate, who had quite forgotten the subject.
'That depends. To accept them is sometimes necessary; to look out for them is generally foolish and often wrong.'
'Sometimes necessary?' said Cherry eagerly.
'Sometimes experience seems to show that in good Providence a merciful preparation is sent not so much to lead to anticipations, as to bring the mind into keeping with what is coming, and, as it were, attune it.'
'So that little things may be constantly types of great future ones?'
'My dear Cherry, I said _not_ constantly.'
'Just let me tell you. Sibby says that the very day we all came into this poor old house, just as the omnibus stopped, there was the knell ringing overhead, and a funeral coming up the street. She knew it was a token, and burst out crying; and dear Mamma, who you know never shed tears, turned as white as a corpse, as if she was struck to the heart.'
'Oh! Sibby said he just stood in the doorway, lifted his hat as the funeral passed, and then well-nigh carried Mamma, with the baby (that was Fulbert) in her arms, over the threshold, and smiled at her, saying, "Well, mother, what better than to have found our home till death!" So you see he did believe in it.'
'I see he wanted to cheer her spirits, not by saying "stuff and nonsense," but reminding her that there are worse things than death. Have you an omen on your mind, Cherry? Have it out; don't let it sink in.'
'Only _please_ don't laugh at me. Indeed, it was not my own doing, but Stella's fancy to have a boat for each of us, when she was launching them; and I could not help recollecting how we are all starting out and away from our first home.'
'Stella's was not a _very_ perilous ocean.'
'That was a comfort at first; and Stella tried to draw all the thirteen lines together, but they tangled, and one thread broke, and that boat was left behind; and one poor crooked ill-made thing fell over, and was left at home because hindering all the rest, and even Stella knew that was me, and--' her voice quivered, 'one was caught on a nail, and torn into a wreck! Now, can I help thinking, though you'll just call them newspaper-boats, dragged by a baby on a dry dusty floor?'
'Watched by a weary fanciful damsel,' said Mr. Audley, sitting down by her, 'who does not know a bit more than she did before, that all are launching on a sea, and if it _is_ a rougher one, there's a better Guiding Star than Stella Eudora to lead them, and they have compasses of their own--ay, and a Pilot. And if there are times when He seems to be asleep in the ship--why, even the owner of the unseaworthy boat left at home can show the Light, and pray on till the others are roused to awaken Him.'