"Why, Mattie, are you tired of shop-keeping?"
"At times I am," she answered. "I don't know why. I don't see how to get on and feel happy. It's rather lonely here."
"You dissatisfied, Mattie! Why, I have always regarded you as the very picture of content."
"I'm not dissatisfied exactly; don't tell any one that, or they'll think I'm ungrateful for all the kindness that has been shown me, and all the confidence that has been placed in me. You, Mr. Hinchford, must not think I'm ungrateful or discontented."
"Perhaps you're ambitious, Mattie," he said, jestingly, "now you've mastered all the lessons which I used to set you, and can read and write as well as most of us."
"I don't exactly understand the true meaning of ambition," said Mattie. "I'm no scholar, you know. Is it a wish to get on in the world?"
"Partly."
"I'm not ambitious. I wouldn't be a lady for the world. I would rather be of service to someone I love, than see those I love working and toiling for my sake. But then they must love me, and have faith in me, or I'm—I'm done for!"
Mattie had dropped, as was her habit when excited, into one of her old phrases; but its meaning was apparent, and Sidney Hinchford understood it.
"Something's on your mind, Mattie. Can I punch anybody's head for you?"