“Not yet. Miss Margaret said it must grow from the soil of our daily life, and nothing seems to grow in my soil.”
“Listen, Antoine. You say I make heaven for you because I can bring you laughter. Has not that thought grown in the barren soil you complain of? Now make a blossom out of the root and stalk.”
“I am too dull. You will not let me enter the circle if I show you how little I can make a thought. I only live when I forget myself and everything around me in somebody else. I am such a useless lad.”
“No, no, you must not allow yourself to think such things. See what a comfort you are to your mother; and how I delight in that odd little head of yours. I neglect my work to talk to you, and shall have Margaret scolding presently,” answered Elsie, picking up her trowel and giving one or two energetic digs at the sod about a rose bush.
“Miss Margaret never scolds, I am sure,” said Antoine emphatically. “But oh, if I could run and leap and work!” The words ended in a half-sob.
“We all have our appointed tasks, Antoine,” said Elsie softly. “Some are made to do and some are made to bear.”
“Mine always to bear!” exclaimed the lad bitterly. “Never to be a man with a man’s hopes and ambitions. Just a little dried-up mummy——”
“There, there!” interrupted Elsie, taking the flushed face between her hands and kissing it. “Not very much of a mummy with such a vehement tongue as that. Dear child, let us put the inevitable away. Heavy as the cross is, love lightens it, and love will always be yours. No one can look at you without loving you.”
“For what?” asked the lad eagerly. “For my misfortune, or what other reason?”
“For the spirit in those dark eyes and the atmosphere of love that radiates from you. The spirit is greater than the body, and life need not be useless to you nor you to life.”