“The old—gentleman!” exclaimed Elsie as Margaret glanced up apprehensively. “I was only going to say ‘heathen,’ anyway,” she added mischievously. “Do you think it is my duty, Meg, to accept the offer, and learn under their guidance to be a meek and quiet Christian?”
“My poor Elsie, you will never be a meek Christian, I am sure. Let us hope Mr. Dempster meant well, and so forget all about it.”
“With all my heart, since I am not going to him. So long as my dear old Meg commands I obey. He needn’t have troubled himself about the school, for I don’t intend to go back.”
“Indeed you must. I shall write to Dr. Ely to-day and ask a place for you and Gilbert. You know what our prospects are, dear, that it must be head and hands for each of us, and it behooves us to put as much into our heads as time and circumstance will allow.”
“And you, dear?” asked Elsie wistfully.
“I shall find something for my hands to do. They are good strong hands, and they must put bread into that little mouth.”
“What can your hands find to do here? There is nothing better than sewing or dish-washing. You are fitted for better work.”
“I hope I am; but it does not follow that I must refuse to do what I can find to do, because I cannot find what I want. If nothing better offers I shall even try the dish-washing.”
“O Meg! I couldn’t bear to see you so lowered.”
“You misuse the word, Elsie. I should feel that I lowered myself more in refusing the work at hand, in the vain hope of finding something pleasing and genteel. Dear little girl, your solemn old Meg wants to disclose to you the prosaic rule by which she means to measure her life. It will seem dry and hard to you in your youth and bloom; but you must learn some time, and if the bitter tonic is taken early nothing seems quite so bitter afterward. Shall I tell you?”