“Oh, I don’t mean butterfly,—as so many people do,—to represent a frivolous, useless person. I have a great respect for butterflies, myself. And you radiate the same effect of joy, happiness, gladness, and beauty, as a butterfly does when hovering around in the golden sunshine of a summer day.”
“Why, Ken, I didn’t know you were a poet. But you haven’t proved your case.”
“Yes, I have. It’s your mission in life to be happy, and so to make others happy. This you can do without definite effort, so stick to your calling, and let the more prosaic people, the plodders,—earn wages.”
“Let me earn the wages of my country, and I care not who makes it smile,” Patty had rejoined, and there the subject had dropped.
To-day, when he arrived, carrying what was evidently something fragile, Patty greeted him gaily.
“I’m not working to-day,” she said; “so you can stay ’most an hour if you like.”
“Well, I will; and if you’ll wait till I set down this precious burden, I’ll shake hands with you. I come, like the Greeks, bearing gifts.”
“A gift? Oh, what is it? I’m crazy to see it.”
“Well, it’s a gift; but, incidentally, it’s a plan for wage-earning. If you really want to wage-earn, you may as well do it in an interesting way.”
“Yes,” said Patty, demurely, for she well knew he was up to some sort of foolery. “My attempts so far, though absorbing, were not really interesting.”