“It is strange,” said June, “that we have such different qualifications. I can see great beauty in some poems, but I never could put the beauty there.”
“I can see much beauty in that poem. I can feel its loveliness, but I could never put the poem together as that poet did, any more than I could trim a lady’s bonnet,” said Scott.
“Then you believe that every person is born with a taste for a certain occupation?” said June.
“Yes,” said Scott, “everyone must have a talent, either small or great, and each one must work to cultivate it, if he would have it increase, or he may let it die for want of proper training.”
“I guess my talent must have died, then,” said June, “for I shall never make a mark in the world at anything.”
“Every true, good, pure-minded woman makes a mark, my dear sister, and it is not always the great in name who are really the most worthy of note, although I honor the labor of a grand achievement. The private soldier who is foremost in battle is far more a hero than the most noted general, though he wears not the sword and plume.”
“I am afraid it would be the hardest work of all for me to be a hero in goodness,” said Paul.
“Why?” asked June.
“Because it is so natural to be wicked and selfish.”