“It must be very delightful, no doubt, to indulge every passing caprice, without ever counting the cost; but, after a while, what a spoilt-child weariness would come over one from all this cloying enjoyment,—how tiresome would it be to shorten the journey between will and accomplishment, and make of life a mere succession of 'tableaux'! I 'd rather strive and struggle and win.”
“Ay, but one does n't always win,” broke he in.
“I believe one does—if one deserves it; and even when one does not, the battle is a fine thing. How much sympathy, I ask you, have we for those classic heroes who are always helped out of their difficulties by some friendly deity? What do we feel for him who, in the thick of the fight, is sure to be rescued by a goddess in a cloud?”
“I confess I do like a good 'book,' 'hedged' well all round, and standing to win somewhere. I mean,” added he, in an explanatory tone, “I like to be safe in this world.”
“Stand on the bank of the stream, then, and let bolder hearts push across the river!”
“Well, but I 'm rather out of patience,” said he, in a tone of half irritation. “I 've had many a venture in life, and too many of them unfortunate ones.”
“How I do wonder,” said she, after a pause, “that you and papa are such great friends; for I have rarely heard of two people who take such widely different notions of life. You seem to me all caution and reserve; he, all daring and energy.”
“That's the reason, perhaps, we suit each other so well,” said Beecher, laughing.
“It may be so,” said she, thoughtfully; and now there was silence between them.
“Have you got sisters, Mr. Beecher?” said she, at length.