"You are to be called Mr. Aldean, and made to work."
"You will indeed be clever if you can make Mr. Aldean work, Margery," said Mallow, smiling. "I have never been successful so far."
"Please excuse her, Lord Aldean," said the shocked Mrs. Drabble. "It is her father who puts these ideas into her head. Margery, how can you?"
"Oh, we all know that the doctor is working for the social millennium, Mrs. Drabble; the time when there will be neither rich nor poor, and we shall all practise communism."
"I'm sure I wish the doctor would practise his profession, Lord Aldean. But Mr. Dyke, that new man, gets all his best cases, whilst he is constantly in London working for the cause. As if preaching in Trafalgar Square is of any use to me. I never know the day when he may be in gaol; and then what shall I do with these seven children?"
"I'll support us all with my poetry, mother," said Margery, grandly.
"Poetry!" said Mallow, laughing. "And pray what kind of poetry do you write, young lady?"
"The poetry of Revolt; that is what father calls it;" and Margery, stretching out a lean arm, proceeded to recite these terrible lines:--
"Tyrants tremble in your beds,
We shall cut off all your heads,
Take your money and your land,
And as freemen take our stand;
This is not a foolish gabble,
But the word of Margery Drabble."
The young men roared, both at the poetry and the fierce attitude of the child.