“Don't be cross, Margaret. I didn't mean to say anything offensive. And I want you to love me. I think I want everyone to love me. I can't bear to have people not love me. But more than anyone else I want you.” As she spoke she turned impulsively toward Margaret and put her arms around her neck. Margaret relented.
“Of course I love you,” she said. “There,” kissing her, “good-night. Go to sleep or you'll lose your beauty.”
But Iola clung to her. “Good-night, dear Margaret,” she said, her lips trembling pathetically. “You are the only girl friend I ever had. I couldn't bear you to forget me or to give up loving me.”
“I never forget my friends,” cried Margaret gravely. “And I never cease to love them.”
“Oh, Margaret!” said Iola, trembling and clinging fast to her, “don't turn from me. No matter what comes, don't stop loving me.”
“You little goose,” cried Margaret, caressing her as if she were a child, “of course I will always love you. Good-night now.” She kissed Iola tenderly.
“Good-night,” said Iola. “You know this is my last night with you for a long time.”
“Not the very last,” said Margaret. “We go to the Mill to-morrow night, you remember, and you come back here with me. Barney is going to have Ben there for nursing and feeding.”
Next day Barney had Ben down to the Mill, and that was the beginning of a new life to Ben in more ways than one. The old mill became a place of interest and delight to him. Perhaps his happiest hours were spent in what was known as Barney's workroom, where were various labour-saving machines for churning, washing, and apple-paring, which, by Barney's invention, were run by the mill power. He offered to connect the sewing machine with the same power, but his mother would have none of it.
Before many more weeks had gone Ben was hopping about by the aid of a crutch, eager to make himself useful, and soon he was not only “paying his board,” as Barney declared, but “earning good wages as well.”