"It can be done! Heaven and earth tell us that all is under laws of cause and effect, and that this, which has been once, can be made universal. I hear the voice of Science, 'It can be done. It can be done!' I hear the voice of Duty, 'It must be done!' Inextinguishable voices!!" "It comes to me so vividly that I almost point you to that sunrise and say, 'See yon beautiful city whose palaces and churches tower with the grace and splendors of all known architecture; those rural plains and vales of park and garden, where every home nestles so as one could not conceive it more lovely; that race of heroes and goddesses in strength and thought; those proud tablets and monuments of national and international honor and achievement and blessing.' And if any say, 'How can we attain to that greatness?' I would write him this amulet: 'Begin at the POSSIBLE!'" The patriot ended, and when he had finished, Chrysler exclaimed: "Work it out, Haviland! If a convert is any use to you, take me over and send me forth. It's a noble scheme. But, for Heaven's sake, fortify yourself. How many proselytes do you expect in the first hundred years?" "You forget," replied Haviland. "I have always this faithful little legion of Dormilliere. Has not Lareau said," and he smiled half in joke, half seriously, "that we are a people of ideals." They returned to their fishing in silence, broken by a meditative query now and then from Chrysler, but no movement of curiosity from the Bonhomme. CHAPTER XXVII. JOSEPHTE. "Sister Elisa," lisped Rudolphe, the tiny boy. (In the garden the children of the farmer of the domain, and of Pierre, were playing together.) "Mr. Ch'ysl' has told me he was a Canadian." "Did he say so, _mon fin_?" asked motherly ten-year-old Elisa, picking a "belle p'tite" flower for the little fellow, whom she held by the hand. "He's not Canadian," put in the large boy, Henri, with contempt befitting his twelve years of experience. "Because he doesn't speak French. He's an English." "Speaking French don't make a Canadian," answered Elisa. "The Honorable says every one who is native in Canada is a Canadian, speak he French, speak he English." "O, well--the Honorable--the Honorable--" retorted Henri, testily. While this went on, the voice of Josephte could be heard singing low and happy, in a corner of the walk of pines which surrounded the garden and the back of the grounds: "Eglantine est la fleur que j'aime La violette est ma couleur...."[H] Next, lower, but as if stirred softly by the lingering strain rather than feeling its sadness: [Footnote H: "Eglantine is the flower I love, My color is the violet"] "....Dans le souci tu vois l'embleme Des chagrins de mon triste coeur."[I] [Footnote I: "....The symbol shall the emblem prove Of my sad heart and eyelids wet"]