"You are the fresh air, and Mrs. Sterling is the quiet sunshine that
does the work, I fancy. David only digs about the roots."
"Thank you for my share of the compliment; but why say 'only digs'?
That is a most important part of the work: I'm afraid you don't
appreciate David."
"Oh, yes, I do; but he rather aggravates me sometimes," said
Christie, laughing, as she put a particularly big berry in the green
plate to atone for her frankness.
"How?" asked Mr. Power, interested in these little revelations.
"Well, he won't be ambitious. I try to stir him up, for he has
talents; I've found that out: but he won't seem to care for any
thing but watching over his mother, reading his old books, and
making flowers bloom double when they ought to be single."
"There are worse ambitions than those, Christie. I know many a man
who would be far better employed in cherishing a sweet old woman,
studying Plato, and doubling the beauty of a flower, than in selling
principles for money, building up a cheap reputation that dies with
him, or chasing pleasures that turn to ashes in his mouth."
"Yes, sir; but isn't it natural for a young man to have some
personal aim or aspiration to live for? If David was a weak or dull
man I could understand it; but I seem to feel a power, a possibility
for something higher and better than any thing I see, and this frets
me.
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