As I think of them going up and down before those schoolroom windows⁠—the Doctor reading with his complacent smile, an occasional flourish of the manuscript, or grave motion of his head; and Mr. Dick listening, enchained by interest, with his poor wits calmly wandering God knows where, upon the wings of hard words⁠—I think of it as one of the pleasantest things, in a quiet way, that I have ever seen. I feel as if they might go walking to and fro forever, and the world might somehow be the better for it⁠—as if a thousand things it makes a noise about, were not one half so good for it, or me.