“I suppose he begins work about six?” said Madame.
“No, he don’t, he’s mighty spry,” said old Mrs. Ruby, who lived near the Huntleys. “I hear him a-movin’ off with his plough every morning at five by the clock. He’s terrible sot on his work.”
“Then I shall be there ready to go to work at five o’clock in the morning, and I shall begin by going to bed now, so as to be able to give a good day’s work. Good-night, friends all.”
She rose, included them all in a sweeping salute and left the room as lightly as she had entered. Balthasar rose and slowly followed her.
When Madame left the room the meeting broke up. No one felt inclined to linger when she was gone. It was from her they drew their interest in each other, as well as their belief in themselves and in Perfection City. She possessed the secret of influencing people without seeming to do so. The thought that she was going out on the land at five in the morning to plant corn made everyone ten times more eager to work than heretofore.
Wright and his independent spouse, Mary Winkle, were infected by her example as they went home.
“Now, Wright, don’t you go and do any more essaying till the crop is in. I think people oughtn’t to write except in winter time,” said Mary Winkle with firmness.
“I never believed in nothing but manual work. Why, if I did, I should be still slaving away on that farm out in Illinois, instead of joining a community here where one can follow the bent of his higher nature, to the advantage of his neighbours as well as of himself,” said Wright.
“Well, let that be,” said Mary hastily, recognising her own words and oft-expressed opinions, but not quite knowing what to do with them—a predicament not unexampled among theoretical philosophers, “but see and be out on the land to-morrow as early as anyone. Are you ready for the planting? Because I’ll go out and plant if you are.”
“No, my drills won’t be ready for the planting till day after to-morrow.”