"
"Why, then, are you displeased, since he will do what you wish and do
it without complaint?
"I am displeased because he is dissatisfied and has no heart in his
work. He shows no interest in anything relating to the quarries and it
is becoming worse every day with him."
"Didn't he help this forenoon?"
"Yes, because I told him he must be on hand as soon as he was through
breakfast and not leave until he went to dinner."
"Did you say nothing about his working this afternoon?"
"No; I left that out on purpose to test him."
"What was the result?"
"I haven't seen hide or hair of him since; I suppose he is off in the
woods or up in his room, reading or figuring on some invention. Do you
know where he is?"
"He has been in his room almost all the afternoon and is there now."
"Doing what?"
"I guess you have answered that question," replied Maggie laying aside
her sewing because of the increasing shadows, and looking across at her
father with a smile.
"That's what makes me lose all patience. What earthly good is it for
him to sit in his room drawing figures of machines he dreams of making,
or scribbling over sheets of paper? If this keeps up much longer, he
will take to writing poetry, and the next thing will be smoking
cigarettes and then his ruin will be complete."
Maggie's clear laughter rang out on the summer air. She was always
overflowing with spirits and the picture drawn by her parent and the
look of profound disgust on his face as he uttered his scornful words
stirred her mirth beyond repression.
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