“It would make a very good theme, in a new line,” said Norman; “but I don’t give into it, altogether. It is the hope and the thought of fame, that has made men great, from first to last. It is in every one that is not good for nothing, and always will be! The moving spirit of man’s greatness!”
“I’m not sure,” said Ethel; “I think looking for fame is like wanting a reward at once. I had rather people forgot themselves. Do you think Arnold von Winkelried thought about fame when he threw himself on the spears?”
“He got it,” said Norman.
“Yes; he got it for the good of other people, not to please himself. Fame does those that admire it good, not those that win it.”
“But!” said Norman, and both were silent for some short interval, as they left the last buildings of the town, and began to mount a steep hill. Presently Norman slackened his pace, and driving his stick vehemently against a stone, exclaimed, “It is no use talking, Ethel, it is all a fight and a race. One is always to try to be foremost. That’s the spirit of the thing—that’s what the great, from first to last, have struggled, and fought, and lived, and died for.”
“I know it is a battle, I know it is a race. The Bible says so,” replied Ethel; “but is not there the difference, that here all may win—not only one? One may do one’s best, not care whether one is first or last. That’s what our reading to-day said.”
“That was against trumpery vanity—false elevation—not what one has earned for oneself, but getting into other people’s places that one never deserved. That every one despises!”
“Of course! That they do. I say, Norman, didn’t you mean Harvey Anderson?”
Instead of answering, Norman exclaimed, “It is pretension that is hateful—true excelling is what one’s life is for. No, no, I’ll never be beat, Ethel—I never have been beat by any one, except by you, when you take pains,” he added, looking exultingly at his sister, “and I never will be.”
“Oh, Norman!”