"Mr. Desmonde, while you have spoken that which we have never before heard, I think I may say for my friends as well as myself, that your sentiments do not fall on entirely barren soil. While you were talking, it seemed to me the way looked plain, and I felt to say, Amen. But I know we are not ready for such a movement as this. Perhaps we ought to be, and if your picture is a true one, I say from the bottom of my heart I will for myself try to be of some good. I am willing to be taught how."
Louis crossed the room, and offering his hand, said with emotion:
"Thank God, the truth I uttered found soil. May the years water with the dews of their love, the one seed fallen on rich ground, and may we, sir, live to be a unit in our thought and action, and you too, gentlemen," turning to the two who were silent.
A short and pleasant conversation followed, and they took their departure. As they left us, Clara said:
"Well done, Louis. Here is a work and Emily will help you do it."
Louis had grown grandly beautiful through these years, and never had he seemed for one moment careless or unmindful of any simplest need. We walked together truly, keeping pace through the years whose crown we wore as yet lightly. He said I grew young all the time, and often, when thoughts of his work filled his mind, as he sat looking on into the future, finding one by one the paths which, like small threads running through a garment, led to the unfoldment of life, he would hold my hands in his, and when, like a picture, the way and means all made plain, he would say:
"My Emily, do you see it? Oh? you have helped me to find it, and still you see it not; then I must tell you," and he would unfold to me the work not of a coming day only—but sometimes even that of months and years.
He kept the promise made to the mill-owners, and the hearts of the little operatives knew him as their friend. When the work he was doing for them commenced, Aunt Hildy had said:
"That's it; put not your light under a bushel but where men can see it, Louis, for I tell you the candles you carry to folks' hearts are run in the mould of the Lord's love, and every gleam on 'em is worth seein'."
Aunt Hildy's step we knew was growing less firm, and now and then she rode to the village. Matthias got on bravely, and gloried in the deposit of some "buryin' money," as he called it, with Louis, who took it to the bank and brought him a bank-book.