"Understand, there's no hurry about this. I want to treat ye right. I want to help ye. I want to see yer faces bright and yer needs provided for, but I can tell ye this, from a long experience, that the thing in my life that's made me happiest is the honest work I've done. Remember, things go on here in Ipping House just the same, whatever you folks decide. If ye can't think of anything practical to do, why, never mind. I'll stand by ye as well as I can; but if ye could think o' something that yer fitted to do and could put yer heart in, why it would solve your problems and it'd help solve mine. You'll be sore on me for a while, like the kid that sputters and kicks and swallers a quart of water when you chuck him in a pond to learn him to swim."
Harriet's face was a study in horror. "Good heavens, you're not going to——"
"Chuck us in a pond? Eh, what?" gasped Lionel.
"No, no. I mean work is like swimmin'. Ye hate it until ye learn how and then yer crazy about it. Why, you people'll feel just fine when ye've cut out this bluff and fake business. Do ye know what a little useful work'll do? It'll make men and women of ye."
"But what work can we do?" protested the countess.
"Jolly good point, that," echoed Lionel.
Hiram reflected a moment.
"I suppose there are things you folks could do, if ye had to, plenty o' things. Maybe I'm mistaken, maybe it's a crazy idea, but——"
Here suddenly the curate spoke. "I think Mr. Baxter is quite right," he began in a low tone vibrant with feeling.
"Horatio!" glared Mrs. Merle, but the little man faced her calmly.