"I dare say not, dear. People seldom like things that they do badly. But we all have to do things we don't like."
"Not grown-up people!"
"Yes; certainly; very often."
"But there isn't anybody that could tell you to stop indoors when you want to go out—like there is with me."
"If not, I have to say so to myself."
This was a new idea. Hecla considered it, and drew a long squeaking line on her slate with the pencil. "I shouldn't ever tell myself to stop in," she remarked.
"I hope you would, if you knew it to be right. The man or woman who cannot say 'must' to himself or herself is a very poor sort of creature, and of very little use in the world. And if you don't learn to say 'must' to yourself now, while you are a child, you will find it doubly hard when you are grown-up."
Hecla crinkled her forehead seriously, and stared out of the window, where the sun shone and the birds sang in a most inviting way. And again the thought sprang up of Chris and the lovely boat he had promised.
"I shall like that boat," she exclaimed.
"Wouldn't it be wiser not to think about the boat at all, till you have finished your sum?"