“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 soul for the sake of my body, and I mean to get out of the treadmill if I can.  I’m proud, as you call it, because I hate dependence where there isn’t any love to make it bearable.  You don’t say so in words, but I know you begrudge me a home, though you will call me ungrateful when I’m gone.  I’m willing to work, but I want work that I can put my heart into, and feel that it does me good, no matter how hard it is.  I only ask for a chance to be a useful, happy woman, and I don’t think that is a bad ambition.  Even if I only do what my dear mother did, earn my living honestly and happily, and leave a beautiful example behind me, to help one other woman as hers helps me, I shall be satisfied.”

Christie’s voice faltered over the last words, for the thoughts and feelings which had been working within her during the last few days had stirred her deeply, and the resolution to cut loose from the old life had not been lightly made.  Mr. Devon had listened behind his paper to this unusual outpouring with a sense of discomfort which was new to him.  But though the words reproached and annoyed, they did not soften him, and when Christie paused with tearful eyes, her uncle rose, saying, slowly, as he lighted his candle: 

“Ef I’d refused to let you go before, I’d agree to it now; for you need breakin’ in, my girl, and you are goin’ where you’ll get it, so the sooner you’re off the better for all on us.  Come, Betsey, we may as wal leave, for we can’t understand the wants of her higher nater, as Christie calls it, and we’ve had lecterin’ enough for one night.”  And with a grim laugh the old man quitted the field, worsted but in good order.

“There, there, dear, hev a good cry, and forgit all about it!” purred Aunt Betsey, as the heavy footsteps creaked away, for the good soul had a most old-fashioned and dutiful awe of her lord and master.

“I shan’t cry but act; for it is high time I was off.  I’ve stayed for your sake; now I’m more trouble than comfort, and away I go.  Good-night, my dear old Aunty, and don’t look troubled, for I’ll be a lamb while I stay.”