Hearing that his examination (as he called it) was now over, Mr. Skimpole left the room with a radiant face to fetch his daughters (his sons had run away at various times), leaving my guardian quite delighted by the manner in which he had vindicated his childish character.  He soon came back, bringing with him the three young ladies and Mrs. Skimpole, who had once been a beauty but was now a delicate high-nosed invalid suffering under a complication of disorders.

“This,” said Mr. Skimpole, “is my Beauty daughter, Arethusa—­plays and sings odds and ends like her father.  This is my Sentiment daughter, Laura—­plays a little but don’t sing.  This is my Comedy daughter, Kitty—­sings a little but don’t play.  We all draw a little and compose a little, and none of us have any idea of time or money.”

Mrs. Skimpole sighed, I thought, as if she would have been glad to strike out this item in the family attainments.  I also thought that she rather impressed her sigh upon my guardian and that she took every opportunity of throwing in another.

“It is pleasant,” said Mr. Skimpole, turning his sprightly eyes from one to the other of us, “and it is whimsically interesting to trace peculiarities in families.  In this family we are all children, and I am the youngest.”

The daughters, who appeared to be very fond of him, were amused by this droll fact, particularly the Comedy daughter.

“My dears, it is true,” said Mr. Skimpole, “is it not?  So it is, and so it must be, because like the dogs in the hymn, ’it is our nature to.’  Now, here is Miss Summerson with a fine administrative capacity and a knowledge of details perfectly surprising.  It will sound very strange in Miss Summerson’s ears, I dare say, that we know nothing about chops in this house.  But we don’t, not the least.  We can’t cook anything whatever.  A needle and thread we don’t know how to use.  We admire the people who possess the practical wisdom we want, but we don’t quarrel with them.  Then why should they quarrel with us?  Live and let live, we say to them.  Live upon your practical wisdom, and let us live upon you!”

He laughed, but as usual seemed quite candid and really to mean what he said.

“We have sympathy, my roses,” said Mr. Skimpole, “sympathy for everything.  Have we not?”

“Oh, yes, papa!” cried the three daughters.

“In fact, that is our family department,” said Mr. Skimpole, “in this hurly-burly of life.  We are capable of looking on and of being interested, and we do look on, and we are interested.  What more can we do?  Here is my Beauty daughter, married these three years.  Now I dare say her marrying another child, and having two more, was all wrong in point of political economy, but it was very agreeable.  We had our little festivities on those occasions and exchanged social ideas.  She brought her young husband home one day, and they and their young fledglings have their nest upstairs.  I dare say at some time or other Sentiment and Comedy will bring their husbands home and have their nests upstairs too.  So we get on, we don’t know how, but somehow.”