“Oh, you do want something said?”
“Of course!” she replied, a little indignantly. “If not, how could I write.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Charles Osmond, “and you mean to take this up as your vocation?”
“If I am thought worthy,” said Erica, coloring a little.
“I see you have high ideas of the art,” said Charles Osmond; “and what is your reason for taking it up?”
“First of all, though it sounds rather illogical,” said Erica, “I write because I MUST; there is something in me which will have its way. Then, too, it is part of our creed that every one should do all in his power to help on the cause, and of course, if only for my father's sake, it would be my greatest pleasure. Then, last of all, I write because I must earn my living.”
“Good reasons all,” said Charles Osmond. “But I don't feel sure that you won't regret having written when you look back several years hence.”
“Oh! I dare say it will all seem crude and ridiculous then, but one must make a beginning,” said Erica.
“And are you sure you have thought out these great questions so thoroughly and fairly that you are capable of teaching others about them?”
“Ah! Now I see what you mean!” exclaimed Erica; “you think I write in defense of atheism, or as an attacker of Christianity. I do nothing of the kind; father would not allow me to, he would not think me old enough. Oh! No, I am only to write the lighter articles which are needed every now and then. Today I had a delightful subject—'Heroes—what are they?'”