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Page 78
Seeing how she had aroused such a love for nature study in the boys, he
felt that she might do the same for Marion. It was really a marvel, Mrs.
Levering insisted, how she had bewitched both her Carl and Tommy Seldon.
They were in a fair way to become as great cranks as the old professor
himself. Now this was the proposition he wanted to make. That Mary
should take the place of teachers and text-books, for awhile, and devote
herself to the task of making Marion forget herself and her imaginary
grievances; to interest her in wood-lore to the extent of making her
willing to spend much time out of doors, and to imbue her if possible
with some of the cheerful philosophy that made the entire Ware family
such delightful companions.
"Of course," explained Mrs. Levering, "he understands that one could
never be adequately repaid for such a service. It would be worth more
than any course at college or any fortune, to Marion, if she could be
changed from a listless, unhappy girl to one like yourself. She will tax
your ingenuity and require infinite tact and patience, but he feels that
you can do more for her than any older person, because she needs
healthy, young companionship more than anything else in the world. If
you will devote your mornings to her, trying to attain the result he
wants in any way you see fit, he will gladly pay you anything in reason.
Just let me take back word that you will consider his offer and he will
be over here post-haste to make terms with you."
Mary looked inquiringly across at her mother, too bewildered by this
sudden prospect of such good fortune, to answer for herself, but Mrs.
Ware consented immediately. "I think it a very fortunate arrangement for
both girls. There is no one near Mary's age in Lone-Rock, and I have
been dreading the winter for her on that account. I am sure she can make
a real friend and companion out of Marion, and I can say this for my
little girl, it will never be dull for anybody who follows her trail
through life."
Mrs. Levering rose to go. "Then it's as good as settled. I'm sure the
poor old professor will feel that you've taken a great burden off his
shoulders, and that this will be the most profitable year's education
that Marion will ever have."
Hardly had their visitor departed, when Mrs. Ware was seized around the
waist by a young cyclone that waltzed her through the kitchen, down the
garden walk and out to the shade of the tree where Jack sat reading in
his wheeled chair. "Tell him, mamma," Mary demanded, breathless and
panting. "I'm too happy for words. Then call in the neighbours, and sing
the Doxology!"
Later, as she and Jack sat discussing the situation with a zest which
left no phase of it untouched, he said teasingly, "You needn't be
pluming yourself complacently over all those compliments. Do you realize
when all's said and done, they've asked nothing more of you than simply
to put on cap and bells and play the jester awhile for that girl's
benefit?"
"I don't care," retorted Mary. "I'm not proud, and I can stand the
motley as long as it brings in the ducats. It isn't the career I had
planned, but--"
She broke off abruptly, and began hunting for her spool of thread which
had rolled off into the grass. When she found it she stitched away in
silence as if she had forgotten her unfinished sentence.
"What career _did_ you have planned, little sister?" asked Jack, gently,
when the silence had lasted a long time. She looked up with a start as
if her thoughts had been far away, then said with a deprecatory smile,
"I hardly know myself, Jack. I don't mind confessing to you, though I
couldn't to any one else, it was so big I couldn't see the top of it."
With her eyes bent on her sewing she told him about the Voice and the
Vision that had come to her when she looked up at Edryn's Window for the
first time, and how she had been wondering ever since what great duty it
was with which she was to keep tryst some day.
"I can always tell _you_ things without fear of being laughed at," she
ended, "so I don't mind saying that I believed at the time, it really
was the King's Call, and that some great destiny, oh far greater than
Joyce's or Betty's awaited me. It seemed so real I don't see how I could
have been mistaken, and yet--now--it _does_ seem foolish for me to
aspire so high. Doesn't it?"
There was a little break in her voice although she ended with a laugh.
Jack watched the brown head bent over her sewing for several minutes
before he replied. Then he said in a grave kind tone that Mary always
liked, because it seemed so intimate and as if he regarded her as his
own age, "Since I've been hurt, I've done a lot of thinking, and I've
come to the conclusion that the highest thing a man can aspire to, and
the blessedest, is 'to ease the burden of the world.' Either consciously
or unconsciously that is what every artist does who paints a
master-piece. He helps us bear our troubles by making us forget them--at
least, as long as the uplift and the inspiration stay with us. Every
author and musician whose work lives, does the same. Every inventor who
creates something to make toil easier, and life happier, eases that
burden to a degree.
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