Mr。Bhaerspokewarmly，andwalkedtothefire，crumplingthepaperinhishands。Josatstill，lookingasifthefirehadcometoher，forhercheeksburnedlongafterthecockedhathadturnedtosmokeandgoneharmlesslyupthechimney。
“Ishouldlikemuchtosendalltherestafterhim，“mutteredtheProfessor，comingbackwitharelievedair。
Jothoughtwhatablazeherpileofpapersupstairswouldmake，andherhard-earnedmoneylayratherheavilyonherconscienceatthatminute。Thenshethoughtconsolinglytoherself，“Minearenotlikethat，theyareonlysilly，neverbad，soIwon’tbeworried，“andtakingupherbook，shesaid，withastudiousface，“Shallwegoon，Sir？I’llbeverygoodandpropernow。“
“Ishallhopeso，“wasallhesaid，buthemeantmorethansheimagined，andthegrave，kindlookhegavehermadeherfeelasifthewordsWeeklyVolcanowereprintedinlargetypeonherforehead。
Assoonasshewenttoherroom，shegotoutherpapers，andcarefullyrereadeveryoneofherstories。Beingalittleshortsighted，Mr。Bhaersometimesusedeyeglasses，andJohadtriedthemonce，smilingtoseehowtheymagnifiedthefineprintofherbook。NowsheseemedtohaveontheProfessor’smentalormoralspectaclesalso，forthefaultsofthesepoorstoriesglaredatherdreadfullyandfilledherwithdismay。