"I am going to buy Christmas presents with it, if I get enough."
"I should think your father might let you have money for such a purpose, without your degrading yourself by working for a bookseller," said Mrs. Bertie.
"Why is it degrading, aunt?" asked Ethel.
"Because it is!" was the short reply.
"Father cannot afford to give me money now," pursued Ethel, "and mother said I might earn some if I could. So I got these pictures to paint, and really, Aunt Sally, I like it very much. It is pretty work, in the first place, and then there is all the time a pleasure in thinking you are going to be paid for it!"
"The long and the short of the matter is, Ethel, that you must leave off this business at once—at once, do you hear?" said Mrs. Bertie, growing angry as usual on finding herself opposed. "If you don't, you need never expect any thing from me. Perhaps you think, because you are my relative, that I am bound to leave my fortune to you, whether or no; but I can tell you, you will find yourself mistaken. I will never leave you one penny, unless you do as I tell you in this matter."
"You must do as you like about that, Aunt Sally," said Ethel, modestly but firmly. "If you think I shall take any more pains to please you because you are rich, you are very much mistaken. I should do it just as much if you were as poor as old Mammy Rachel."
"And pray, who taught you such fine sentiments, Miss Fletcher?"
"My mother taught me, aunt. She said—" and here Ethel stopped, for she was not quite sure that she ought to repeat what her mother had said.
"Well, what did she say? Come, don't be afraid."