So Winifred was only more confused. It was not a question of
lilies. At least, if it were a question of lilies, then her children were
the little blossoms. They at least _grew_. Doesn't Jesus say: 'Consider
the lilies _how they grow_.' Good then, she had her growing babies. But
as for that other tall, handsome flower of a father of theirs, he was
full grown already, so she did not want to spend her life considering him
in the flower of his days.
No, it was not that he didn't earn money. It was not that he was idle. He
was _not_ idle. He was always doing something, always working away, down
at Crockham, doing little jobs. But, oh dear, the little jobs--the garden
paths--the gorgeous flowers--the chairs to mend, old chairs to mend!
It was that he stood for nothing. If he had done something
unsuccessfully, and _lost_ what money they had! If he had but striven
with something. Nay, even if he had been wicked, a waster, she would have
been more free. She would have had something to resist, at least. A
waster stands for something, really. He says: 'No, I will not aid and
abet society in this business of increase and hanging together, I will
upset the apple-cart as much as I can, in my small way.' Or else he says:
'No, I will _not_ bother about others. If I have lusts, they are my own,
and I prefer them to other people's virtues.' So, a waster, a scamp,
takes a sort of stand. He exposes himself to opposition and final
castigation: at any rate in story-books.
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