"What are you to do?" echoed the mother. "Why, look at that basket of stockings to darn!"
"I am quite willing to darn them," said Nancy meekly.
"Yes, you are quite willing, I daresay. You are quite willing when I tell you. But you don't seem to see what a burden it is to me to have to tell you everything as if you were a baby. There are the stockings, and there are you; at your age, you don't surely need me to tell you that the stockings need mending!"
"I will do them at once," said Nancy. "I will do them this minute."
"Yes, with your thoughts in the clouds, and your mind fixed on scribbling. What, may I ask you, Nancy, do you think you will ever do with it?"
"I don't know," said Nancy desperately. "Perhaps I may make some money some day."
"Never, never! Waste it, you mean. Waste it over pens, ink, paper and tablecloths. There is the tablecloth in your bedroom spotted with ink from end to end. It is heart-breaking."
"Well, Mother, what do you wish me to do?" the girl asked in desperation.
"Your plain and simple duty. I would like you to give up all idea of wasting your time in that way from now on," said the mother deliberately.
"Won't you even let me write a little to amuse myself in my spare time?" asked the girl piteously.