I could say nothing to comfort him, and the hour passed without words.
“If I could only begin again, I would not lean so much on my quickness. It is the same old story—the hare and the tortoise. You will get there quicker than I shall.”
“It is not too late for you,” said I; “try it.”
“I cannot do three years’ work in one. Besides, it is easier to fall into bad habits than to get rid of them. After all, I may get along just as well; but mother expected me to fill Lovell’s place. She wrote me in her last letter, that if I could not help myself a little, she should have to take my sister from school; she could not afford the expense of both. Poor mother.”
“Poor mother,” I echoed, and thought of what I should do, had I only a mother to write me letters full of loving words, and a sister that must be taken from school unless I could help myself in a measure. I was roused by his voice.
“We can never be young but once. I want my share of pleasure.”
“Do you find it?”
“Not yet; but I am hoping every day for something better.”
“Which you will never find, I am afraid. Judging from your own words, you are making your mother unhappy, and yourself miserable.”
“It is so; but what can I do?”