“Sell books.” She sat staring at the wall now. “Who would buy them?”
She was thinking of blue-eyed Merry and of her last visit to the basement shop. “It is hard,” the brave little Irish girl had said to her. “For days and days no one has entered the shop. And we need money so badly.
“But we have hopes,” she had added quickly. “The holiday season is coming. Perhaps those who cannot buy costly presents will come to our shop and buy mended ones that are cheap.”
“I am sure of it,” Jeanne had said.
“And see!” Merry had cried, pointing at the marble falcon with the broken beak, that rested on the shelf above her desk. “See! He is still looking toward the sky. All will be well.”
“Oh, little girl with your smiling Irish eyes,” Jeanne had cried, throwing both arms about her, “How I love you! Some day I’ll be rich. Then I shall give you a falcon all made of gold and he shall be looking toward the sky.”
Now as she sat alone in her room, she thought again of the marble falcon, and murmured, “I wonder if the falcon told the truth. I wonder if all will be well? Truly, in such times as these it is necessary to have great faith if one is to be brave.”
She threw herself into her dances that day with abandon. By the time she had done the last wild whirl she had worked herself up to such heights that she felt sure that a change for the better would come.
“It is as if I were preparing for some great event,” she told herself, “a trial of my skill that will mean great success or terrible defeat!”
But as she went toward the studio she was given a shock that came near to breaking her poor little heart.