Chapter 19 - Page 2

answer?"

"I do not know, madam," answered Mistress Margaret; "but, of all birds
in the air, I would rather be the lark, that sings while he is
drifting down the summer breeze, than the weathercock that sticks fast
yonder upon his iron perch, and just moves so much as to discharge his
duty, and tell us which way the wind blows."

"Metaphors are no arguments, my pretty maiden," said the Lady
Hermione, smiling.

"I am sorry for that, madam," answered Margaret; "for they are such a
pretty indirect way of telling one's mind when it differs from one's
betters--besides, on this subject there is no end of them, and they
are so civil and becoming withal."

"Indeed?" replied the lady; "let me hear some of them, I pray you."

"It would be, for example, very bold in me," said Margaret, "to say to
your ladyship, that, rather than live a quiet life, I would like a
little variety of hope and fear, and liking and disliking--and--and--
and the other sort of feelings which your ladyship is pleased to speak
of; but I may say freely, and without blame, that I like a butterfly
better than a bettle, or a trembling aspen better than a grim Scots
fir, that never wags a leaf--or that of all the wood, brass, and wire
that ever my father's fingers put together, I do hate and detest a
certain huge old clock of the German fashion, that rings hours and
half hours, and quarters and half quarters, as if it were of such
consequence that the world should know it was wound up and going. Now,
dearest lady, I wish you would only compare that clumsy, clanging,
Dutch-looking piece of lumber, with the beautiful timepiece that
Master Heriot caused my father to make for your ladyship, which uses
to play a hundred merry tunes, and turns out, when it strikes the
hour, a whole band of morrice dancers, to trip the hays to the
measure."

"And which of these timepieces goes the truest, Margaret?" said the
lady.

"I must confess the old Dutchman has the advantage in that"--said
Margaret. "I fancy you are right, madam, and that comparisons are no
arguments; at least mine has not brought me through."

"Upon my word, maiden Margaret," said the lady, smiling, "you have
been of late thinking very much of these matters."

"Perhaps too much, madam," said Margaret, so low as only to be heard
by the lady, behind the back of whose chair she had now placed
herself. The words were spoken very gravely, and accompanied by a half
sigh, which did not escape the attention of her to whom they were
addressed. The Lady Hermione turned immediately round, and looked