Margaret’s face softened as she glanced at Lizzette. “Eet ees not all bad,” Lizzette found time to whisper.
“No,” said Margaret, “a little smile lightens the whole world.”
When the market hours were over, Margaret, to her surprise, found that she had sold out her little stock, and Lizzette was voluble in praise of her ability as a saleswoman. The generous hearted little Frenchwoman had nothing to say of the numberless ways in which she had contrived to bring Margaret’s supplies within the notice of purchasers. Margaret went home with a lighter heart. After all, nothing was ever quite so hard when once the shoulder had been put to the wheel. Yet it was a white, tired face that greeted the three who at Idlewild were anxiously awaiting the result of the experiment.
“O Meg!” cried Elsie apprehensively. “You have gone beyond your strength, and I am to blame for coaxing you into this move. I am going to take your place.”
“No, indeed,” said Margaret decisively; “I’ll not hear one word to it. This is my work until I have mastered it and am ready to give it up to Gilbert.”
They knew persuasions were useless, and so she was left to work out the problem upon which she was just entering. It did not grow any easier as the weeks and months progressed. She never could quite put down the mute protest that arose within her against a conscious unsuitability for such work. It was always distasteful to her to mingle with the jostling crowd and urge upon fault-finding buyers the excellence of her wares; but she resolutely choked back revolt, and finding that she was gaining customers who grew to like the simple earnestness of her manner and to rely upon the exactness of her word and measure, and that there was at least a living profit in her calling, she learned to endure all its unpleasantness with no word of complaint. How bravely she bore it all no one guessed except Lizzette, who witnessed daily the struggle going on in the girl’s breast.
“Ze instinct of ze lady rebelled, but ze heart of ze woman bear,” she said sententiously.
The summer passed away quickly and uneventfully; the daily round of duties, of self-improvement, of little moments of relaxation over Elsie’s organ or Antoine’s violin, making the days bright with widening hope and prospects.
One late October evening, while Elsie and Antoine were filling the little house with music and Gilbert was buried in a book, Margaret seated herself before her father’s desk and began a letter to Dr. Ely.
“In fulfilment of my promise, I inclose a summary of our summer’s work. You will see that financially we are a trifle ahead. This is due to the wise forethought of our good friend Dr. Ely and the management of our wonderful little Frenchwoman. When I look at my own work, I realize that I have been but the obedient machine of wiser calculation than I could possibly have evinced, and I take no credit to myself for this happy state of our affairs. Much as I believe in and preach the independence of the individual, I realize more and more the absolute need of interdependent friendship. It is impossible to find healthy life in the isolation of self; and yet it is in the development of self that we reach the highest capability for perfect friendship. The wisdom of others has benefited me largely this summer. Through others’ eyes I have seen with clearer vision many things which my own inexperience would have shown me but dimly. I feel that I have grown stronger and more steadfast by reason of this friendship that came like a waft of summer wind across my barren pathway; and that I may properly render unto Cæsar, I hereby make my acknowledgments for numberless good offices at your hands.