The last five years had been a steady triumph. He had found his ideals, but he had not attained them. He knew what his life-work was, and had the gratification of counting among his friends and collaborators the highest authorities the world recognized. The habits of generations could not be changed in a moment—some of them could never be changed; but the ball had been started and was gaining in size with each revolution. It no longer needed his gentle, persuasive push; it had its own momentum now, and he found it only necessary to guide its advance and to watch its growth.
Uncle Peabody’s thoughts reverted to his work as he folded Helen’s letter and placed it again in his pocket, where he had so long carried it. He regretted having his labors interrupted just now, but he found himself keenly interested to watch Helen’s approaching evolution. His wagon was firmly hitched to this new star, and he had no notion of changing stars. So, with a murmured “Bless you, my children. May you live forever, and may I come to your funeral,” he sought the repose which the others had already found.
IV
Mary and Bertha Sinclair were just completing a year’s study in Florence, upon which they were depending to perfect their musical education; but both girls were sufficiently homesick after their two years’ absence from Boston to be more than eager to exchange their pension for a week’s visit with Helen, who brought to them a fresh budget of home news,—for which their eagerness increased as the date for their return to America drew nearer. Emory and Eustis, too, added familiar faces, so the days following the first dinner at the villa proved to be full of interest and enjoyment to all concerned.
The guests became familiar with each portion of the house and grounds, the mysteries of Italian house-keeping were contrasted with the limitations of boarding, and numerous topics of common import succeeded each other without surcease.
During the morning following the arrival of the guests, Armstrong touched tentatively upon the subject of visiting the library.
“We went there when we first came to Florence,” Mary Sinclair replied; “and we saw everything there was.”
Armstrong smiled indulgently, thinking of the little they had really seen.