"It was a splendid thing to do," said Christian. "It was exactly the very thing I mean to do. I always thought granny looked nice—I mean from her picture—but now I am certain about it. She is a great heroine, and I mean to copy her."
"There, Patrick!" cried his wife; "what mischief you have done by telling Christian that absurd story! There always was a vein of oddity in Christian. I hope you will speak seriously to her, and tell her that during our abs—— I mean henceforward we wish her to attend to her accomplishments, that when she is grown up, and—we have time, we will take her out and be proud of her."
Mr. Mitford continued to stand near Christian, and once again he looked into her face; then he said, with a sigh:
"A girl such as your mother has described would be quite acceptable to me. But come, Chris, what have you got in your head?"
"Only that I want to be a heroine," she said.
She stood up as she spoke. Her face looked tired.
"I want to do something big; I want people to remember me when I am dead. I'd like to have a great big obelisk put up over me, and words written on it. And I'd like it to be pointed to, and people to say, 'The woman in memory of whom that obelisk was erected was a benefactress.' That is what I'd like to be, but mother wants me to be——"
"Yes," said her father, who was frowning as well as smiling, and looking with intense earnestness at the child, "and what does mother want you to be?"
"A musician, and to be able to dance; a linguist, and a fine singer. Oh! she wants common, common things——"