"Oh, no! not that; but I want to be doing something. I mean something almost more than I can do, not ever so much less. I like to feel as if I must use every bit of strength and courage I have, and then I always find more than I thought I had."
Mr. Burroughs looked sharply at the young girl who made this ungirlish avowal. Was this utter simplicity? or was it an ingenious affectation? Was Dora Darling one of the noblest, or one of the most crafty, of womankind?
Tom Burroughs was a man of the world and of society, and flattered himself that neither man nor woman had art deeper than his penetration; but as he rapidly scanned the broad brow, clear, level-glancing eyes, firm, sweet mouth, queenly head, and mien of innocent self-confidence, he asked himself again,—
"Is it the perfection of art, or can it be the perfection of nature?"
But Karl was saying rather gloomily,—
"And what is to become of us, Dora?"
"Kitty and you?" asked Dora, open-eyed. "Why, of course, you are to come too! Did you suppose I wanted to leave you? Of course, it is your home and mine, just as this house has been: we are all one family, you know."
"To be sure. Well, I fancy there will be something for me to do on your Outpost farm. You must make me overseer."
"No: you shall be confidential adviser; but I am going to oversee every thing myself, and you must go on with your medical studies."
"You are going to become practical farmer, then?" asked Mr.
Burroughs, raising his eyebrows never so slightly.