“Indeed, no, sir. I feel like a Hercules.”
“All right. Let us see how soon we can slay the giant disorder. In view of the circumstances, madam will excuse a hasty departure.”
“Certainment. Work ees master in our leetle world.”
“Work and love, ma mère,” exclaimed Antoine.
“Antoine is right,” said Margaret. “These are the soul and body of existence; to toil is the Divine command—to love the Divine purpose.”
“We must perforce obey the command,” exclaimed Elsie, patting Antoine’s cheek. “The purpose we will leave to its own solution.”
“I’ve already solved it,” answered Antoine with a ripple of laughter that brought a happy light to Lizzette’s eyes as she answered the “good-nights” of the little party.
CHAPTER IV.
It did not take long to settle the little four-roomed house, for Dr. Ely proved himself an every-day worker. The week that had passed since he had left his school had been full of business. The purpose which he saw in Margaret and Elsie had awakened a new interest in his life, and to see that their feet were firmly fixed in the way they had marked out for themselves seemed to him the task, as well as the pleasure, of an elder brother. Looking upon life as the vast field from which should spring all that is highest of development and achievement in humanity, he was touched with the hope of being a factor in the ambitious purposes of these inexperienced and well-nigh friendless girls. He believed fully in allowing to each individual soul the opportunities for measuring its own power, and while a certain sense of loss came upon him when he realized that the expectation of taking Margaret into his own life could not be fulfilled, he felt ennobled and strengthened by the desire to be one with her in her efforts of self-advancement. “Not now, not now; but some time, perhaps,” he said to his heart, and during his week of early and late work not one word or look of his had disturbed the serenity of Margaret’s mind. He had been solely and simply the elder brother on whose experience and friendly aid she could rely. Now, however, the little home was in order; the tiny sitting-room with its painted and polished floor, its bright rugs, its gayly-cushioned Boston rockers, its hassocks that served the double duty of seats and boot-boxes, and last, but not least, its revolving book-case with the few of the well-known volumes which Margaret had selected from her father’s library and which Dr. Ely had supplemented with some contributions of his own. These were principally works on art and the intellect, by Ruskin, Hammerton, and others, and a few books of poetry by Dante Rossetti, Keats, Tennyson, and a superb édition de luxe of “Aurora Leigh.” They were all seated in this room surveying its finishing touches the evening previous to Dr. Ely’s departure for A—.
“Well, it is pleasant,” he exclaimed. “I shall carry its memory with me when I go, and in imagination behold you seated every evening around the open stove, feasting on the contents of this handy little book-case. I shall remember how white the curtains are, how dainty the table scarfs and the head-rests of the chairs, and how really fine those oleographs and photogravures on the wall appear in the glow of the fire-light, and I shall fancy you are all taking on flesh and good spirits under the inspiration of Elsie’s cooking.”