"No one—except those who don't work in the morning. Some kinds of work can't stop, of course; but most kinds can. I told you before—no one has to work more than two hours a day; most people work four. Why?" She saw my unbelieving stare. "Because we like to. Also because we are ambitious," she went on. "I told you of the gain we've made in 'the civilized world.' Not all of it is civilized. We are still missionary-ing. And while there is need of help anywhere on earth, most of us work overtime. Also it lays up public capital—we are planning some vast undertakings—and gives a wider margin for vacations."
I was thinking in a hazy way of a world that was not tired, not driven, no nose on any grindstone; of a people who only had to work two hours—and worked four! Yet there was every evidence of increased wealth——
Suddenly Nellie gave a joyous little cry.
"Why, there's Owen!" she waved her veil. "And there's Jerrold and Hallie!" She fairly danced with pleasure.
"I could see a big grayish man madly waving his hat down there—and two young folks hopping up and down and flourishing handkerchiefs, among many similarly excited.
"Oh, how good of him!" she cried. "I never dreamed they'd be here!"
"Nellie," said I sternly. "You never told me you were married!"
"Why should I?" she asked innocently. "You never asked me."
I had not. I had seen that she signed her name "Ellen Robertson," and I knew she was president of a college—how could I imagine her married. Married she evidently was, and even her long-lost brother was forgotten for a moment as the big man engulfed her in his gray overcoat, and the tall son and daughter added their arms to the group.
But it was only a moment, and the big brotherly grasp of my new relation's hand, the cordial nephewly grip, and affectionate nicely kiss gave me a new and unexpected sense of the joys of homecoming.