“A girl who has the talent, nay, more, the genius, that you have is too strong a person to say that, mentally too strong.”
“Mother, if I am talented, as you flatter me by saying—”
“I never flatter, dear. Flattery is untruth.”
“Well, if I have talent isn’t it wasted here?”
“I think not. I have never had patience with the theory that geniuses should be exempt from the general burdens of life. The greater the intelligence the greater the endurance and courage should be. I don’t believe the dear Lord ever made a nature lop-sided; though there are so many lop-sided folks in the world, it sometimes seems so.”
“Tell me what you mean, Mother. I don’t want to be a kill-joy in the family, but I felt five minutes ago as if I were ready to give up life, if it were to be all—housework!”
Mrs. Beckwith began unwinding her spools of silk and rewinding them on her rude frame preparatory to the bleaching process, and Isabelle watched her curiously.
“I think it is this way. A body has one characteristic more marked than another; and straightway his or her mistaken friends set about developing it to the detriment of all the other characteristics, which being less pronounced are left without training and cultivation till they really become insignificant. We were in danger of just that for you, but dish-washing happened in time to prevent. That ‘hated’ task will make you a symmetrical and noble woman, my Belle, mentally, as you bid fair to become physically.”
“Mother, you are the dearest, oddest little reasoner in the world!”
“Thank you. But let’s look at this matter practically. Is there not some way by which you can lessen the distastefulness of your task? Can you not study nature, landscape ‘effects,’ at the same time, or learn something of your favorite authors?”