I had acquired this submission to her wishes.

Must I forever be a slave to hours?
Must I weave for others the chain whose daily restraint chafed and galled my free, impatient spirit?
Must I bear the awful burden of authority, that unlovely appendage to youth?
Must I voluntarily assume duties to which the task of the criminal that tramps, tramps day after day the revolving tread-mill, seems light; for that is mere physical labor and monotony, not the wear and tear of mind, heart, and soul?
"What else can you do, my child ?" asked my mother.
"I could sew." My mother smiled and shook her head.
"Your skill does not lie in handicraft," she said, "that would never do." "I could toil as a servant.

I would far rather do it." I had worked myself up to a belief in my own sincerity when I said this, but had any tongue but mine suggested the idea, how would my aspiring blood have burned with indignation.
"It is the most honorable path to independence a friendless young girl can choose,--almost the only one," said my mother, suppressing a deep sigh.
"Oh, mother! I am not friendless.

How can I be, with you and Peggy ?" "But we are not immortal, my child.

Every day loosens my frail hold of earthly things, and even Peggy's strong arm will in time grow weak.