"I mean that you are startin' all wrong; your redic'lus notions
about independence and self-cultur won't come to nothin' in the long
run, and you'll make as bad a failure of your life as your mother
did of her'n."

"Please, don't say that to me; I can't bear it, for I shall never
think her life a failure, because she tried to help herself, and
married a good man in spite of poverty, when she loved him! You call
that folly; but I'll do the same if I can; and I'd rather have what
my father and mother left me, than all the money you are piling up,
just for the pleasure of being richer than your neighbors."

"Never mind, dear, he don't mean no harm!" whispered Aunt Betsey,
fearing a storm.

But though Christie's eyes had kindled and her color deepened, her
voice was low and steady, and her indignation was of the inward
sort.

"Uncle likes to try me by saying such things, and this is one reason
why I want to go away before I get sharp and bitter and distrustful
as he is. I don't suppose I can make you understand my feeling, but
I'd like to try, and then I'll never speak of it again;" and,
carefully controlling voice and face, Christie slowly added, with a
look that would have been pathetically eloquent to one who could
have understood the instincts of a strong nature for light and
freedom: "You say I am discontented, proud and ambitious; that's
true, and I'm glad of it. I am discontented, because I can't help
feeling that there is a better sort of life than this dull one made
up of everlasting work, with no object but money. I can't starve my