Lola

The old man lay back in his chair asleep. The morning sun beat against the drawn window shades, filling the room with a dim, almost cathedral light. An oil lamp, which had performed its duty faithfully through the night, now seemed to resent its neglect, and spluttered angrily. There was the usual sound of the busy city's street outside the window, for the morning was advancing, but here in the room it was very quiet. A quaint little Dutch clock ticked away regularly, and the tired man's soft breathing came and went, peacefully, for his sleep was untroubled, his heart was full of happiness.

Presently the door opened, and a young girl came into the room, and seeing him, there in the chair, she stopped, afraid for a moment, then stepped forward and bent over him. She smiled as she straightened up, and turning called out softly:

"Miss Lola! Miss Lola!"

"Coming, Maria," the answer came in a clear, fresh young voice; for a moment the sleeper hesitated, about to awake, then thought better of it, and dreamed a dream of the triumph that was to be his.

"Hush!" Maria spoke softly as Lola came into the room, and Lola, following the girl's pointed finger, smiled lovingly as she crossed and stood beside her father's chair.

There was a strong contrast between these two girls as they stood there for a moment, side by side, young and good-looking as both undoubtedly were.

Lola was the sleeper's daughter. Maria, their servant. Maria was strong and rugged; Lola delicate and blond. Maria's splendid young body had been developed by hard work, while her mind had been stunted by a miserable childhood of neglect and abuse. Lola, since her mother's death, had been her father's constant companion, and had seemed to catch from him something of his grave and scholarly outlook upon life, lightened, however, by the impulses of a naturally sweet and sunny disposition, and the brave happiness of youth.

"He hasn't been to bed at all!" exclaimed Maria, as Lola stooped and put her hand lightly on the sleeper's arm.

"Father!" she called softly. "Father! It is morning!"

He awoke, startled, for a moment rather bewildered, then added his smile to theirs, and said brightly, "I am very happy, Lola."

"I'm sure you haven't any right to be, and, of course, you know that you ought to be scolded?"

"Perhaps so," he returned, looking with pride at a complicated electric apparatus on the table beside him, "but I have worked it all out! I am sure of it this time!"

"Put that dreadful lamp out, and open the window!" called out Lola to Maria, as she started to pick up from the floor bits of broken glass and pieces of wire.

"I do wish you would use the electric lights, father. That lamp isn't enough, even if you could be trusted to refill it, which you can't!"

"You can't teach an old dog new tricks, my dear," smiled the Doctor, as he rose, rather stiffly. "The big thoughts won't come by electric light, at least not to an old fellow who learned to do his thinking under an old-fashioned student's lamp."

"Oh, I don't mind, not really," answered Lola. "And, besides, the lamp saves money."

She was turning away when the Doctor's low chuckle of amusement stopped her. "Are you laughing at me, father?" she questioned, with pretended sternness.

"Just a little perhaps, my dear, because after this you need not think of little savings. You shall give up your school-teaching; you shall have new dresses every day of your life, and hats---- La! Never mind, you shall see."

"You really think so, father?"

"I know it! After last night I shall never doubt it again. I did not dare to stop until my work was done, and then I sat there, dreaming, until I fell asleep."

He looked again at his apparatus with such pride and confidence that even Lola, who knew nothing of the details of his experimental work, was thrilled with the hope of his success, and rested her hand tenderly upon his arm as she stood beside him.

They were much alike, these two, as they stood there together, the tall, rather delicate old man, and the fragile, sensitive girl. Dreamers both, one had but to look at them to see that, and they started apart, almost guiltily, as the little clock on the mantel struck eight.

"Eight o'clock! Oh, Maria! Eight o'clock! We must hurry!" Lola called out to Maria, who was busily arranging the breakfast table in the adjoining room.

"Come, father!" she continued. "Run and get yourself ready for breakfast, and the very minute we get through I am going to put you to bed."

"Not to-day, my dear," he answered gaily; "this is to be my busy day!"

As he left the room, smiling and happy, Maria looked after him anxiously.

"He'll be sick if you don't look out, Miss Lola. He don't know no more about takin' care of himself than one of my sister's babies."

Lola laughed cheerfully as she looked with approval over the neatly arranged breakfast table.

"I think he is perfectly well, Maria, and quite delighted with himself this morning. He feels sure that he has made a wonderful discovery, something he has been working on for years. I know that he thinks it is going to be a fine thing for all the world and for us, Maria; he says it is going to make us rich."

"I hope so, I'm sure. There's lots of little things we're needing in the kitchen," said Maria practically. "Anyway, he's the best doctor in the world, and he ought to have the most money!"

"Don't get his egg too hard."

"No, Miss, it will be just like he wants it."

When the Doctor returned he found everything ready for his breakfast, and he stopped to greet Maria kindly, as he always did, for aside from his habit of rather old-fashioned courtesy she was a great favorite of his.

"Would you like a pan-cake, Doctor?" she inquired anxiously, as she stood beside the table. "There's a Dutch lady boarding with my brother's wife. She showed me how to make real German ones."

"I can't have you spoiling father," reproved Lola gently. "Besides German pan-cakes are not supposed to be eaten for breakfast."

"She knows no more about German food," said the Doctor, "than an Irishman's pig! You shall make me one of your pan-cakes to-night."

Maria smiled gratefully at him, and leaving the apartment ran down stairs to the letter-box in the hall, returning a moment later with the morning mail, which she put beside Lola's plate.

"Four letters," said Lola, glancing over them. "One for me, a bill! Two for you, father." She pushed them across the cloth. "And, Maria! Oh, Maria! This is for you. Oh, Maria! You're blushing. Who do you suppose it's from," she teased, as Maria stepped forward eagerly and took the letter.

"I guess, Miss," said Maria in confusion, "I guess it's from a friend of mine."

Lola looked after her, as she hurried out of the room, the precious letter clutched tightly in her hand.