"I don't know yet; but, make or break, I'm going to do something. It's no use for me to work for Mr. Checkynshaw at five dollars a week, when it will cost us fifteen dollars a week to get along. I'm going to do something," continued Leo, as he took a lamp from the shelf and lighted it.
Then he stopped before Maggie, and looked her full in the face, his eyes lighting up with unusual lustre.
"Why, what's the matter, Leo? What makes you look at me so?"
"Maggie, André is not our own father; but he has done all that an own father could do for us. Maggie, let me take your hand."
She gave him her hand, and was awed by the impressive earnestness of his manner.
"Maggie, I'm going to do my duty now. I want to promise you that poor father shall never want for anything. I want to promise you that I will do all for him that a real son could do."
"Good, kind Leo! We will both do our whole duty."
Leo dropped her hand, and went down stairs into his workshop. The white mice were capering and gamboling about their palatial abodes, all unconscious that poor André had been stricken down. Leo gave them their suppers, and sat down on the work-bench. He was in deep thought, and remained immovable for a long time.
He was a natural mechanic. His head was full of mechanical ideas. Was there not some useful article which he could make and sell—a boot-jack, a work-box, a writing-desk—something new and novel? He had half a dozen such things in his mind, and he was thinking which one it would pay best to mature. His thought excited him, and he twisted about on the bench, knocking a chisel on the floor. The noise frightened the mice, and they made a stampede to their nests. He looked up at them.
"That's an idea!" exclaimed he, leaping off the bench. "Make or break, I'll put it through!"