But if Marguerite often thought of Abel Day, he did not think of her; no, not once during these seven days. Her presence had indeed flashed a ray of light into the darkness of his soul; but it was like the coming and going of a meteor, and the instant she left him he relapsed into his sombre mood. The paper remained stuffed in the keyhole; ever and anon he would utter a word to himself, but ’twas in a whisper; and thus from morning till night, solitary and silent, he passed the time, seated on a bench with his hollow eyes fixed upon the Magic Nest—inventing, inventing, inventing; for, although Abel had not told Marguerite, there was still one little thing wanting to make the invention absolutely perfect.
Then, when dusk approached and the first cat began to caterwaul, he would get into bed, and there rack his brain for hours longer and until the candle went out. People wondered how he managed to live without eating; but a few crusts of bread sufficed to keep Abel alive, and ’twas one of his odd fancies that we might in time bring ourselves to live without nourishment.
“Oh! he is thinner than ever, poor dear man,” exclaimed Marguerite, when she saw Abel entering her store the next Monday afternoon; and he was carrying a hen under his arm. Then, after the first warm greeting was over, she made haste to prepare a nice dish of frogs, which she invited him to partake of. But Abel shook his head, and it was not until she had almost gone on her knees that he finally placed the hen in her safekeeping and sat down to the savory repast.
“Oh! I’m so glad you relish my frogs; everybody declares I cook so well,” said the girl, as she stood watching him.
“The world thinks far too much about eating,” returned Abel. “It is the grossest act humanity can perform; and I believe if we tried we might exist without food.”
“Well, I hope that day is far off,” said Marguerite; “for when it arrives I’ll have to close my business.”
“Ah! true, I didn’t think of that,” said Abel, rising up from the table. “But now are you ready to accompany me and witness the triumph of my Magic Nest?”
“Yes, indeed I am; I wouldn’t miss it for anything,” answered Marguerite; and so, telling a customer, who appeared just at this moment, that the last Emporium frog was sold, not a single one left, she closed the store and they departed.
“You are happy to-day,” observed the girl when they had gone half-way to Tompkins Square, and hearing Abel give a laugh. “Oh! I’m so glad. Let us always try to be happy.” But even as she spoke his countenance settled once more into the old look, and, bending down (for Abel was rather tall), “Learn this truth, my young friend,” he said: “Nothing lies like a laugh.”
“Oh! no, no,” exclaimed Marguerite, making bold to disagree with him; “people only laugh when they feel happy. Laughter always tells the truth. And since I have known you, sir, I laugh ever so much; for I have now a good thick pair of shoes, and the water cannot soak in and wet my feet. And don’t you see, too, I have a new dress? And I am already laying by money in the savings-bank; and it all comes from your brilliant idea of setting up a Frog Emporium. Oh! yes, yes, I laugh a great deal now—a very great deal.”