The proof of this is that Providence has bestowed
upon me the seal of its approval: I was not blown up. Had my
conduct been open to censure--as in certain quarters has been
suggested--should I be walking besides you now, undamaged--not a hair
turned, as the saying is? No. Discriminating Fate--that is, if any
reliance at all is to be placed on literature for the young--would
have made it her business that at least I was included in the debris.
Instead, what do we notice!--a shattered chimney, a ruined stove,
broken windows, a wreckage of household utensils; I, alone of all
things, miraculously preserved. I do not wish to press the point
offensively, but really it would almost seem that it must be you
three--you, my dear parent, upon whom will fall the bill for repairs;
Dick, apt to attach too much importance, maybe, to his victuals, and
who for the next few days will be compelled to exist chiefly upon
tinned goods; Robina, by nature of a worrying disposition, certain
till things get straight again to be next door to off her head--who
must, by reason of conduct into which I do not enquire, have merited
chastisement at the hands of Providence. The moral lesson would
certainly appear to be between you three. I--it grows clear to me--
have been throughout but the innocent instrument."
Admit the premise that to be virtuous is to escape whipping, the
argument is logical. I felt that left uncombated it might lead us
into yet further trouble.
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