[The Mother and Daughter.]
Marietta was full of grief, because her mother insisted on her writing a second copy, her first having been badly done; and she had already spent nearly half-an-hour, in crying and pouting, a period long enough to have finished her task in, had she been so disposed. In fact, Marietta, though nine years old, and possessed of many good qualities, was often very unreasonable, and the slightest whim or irritability was sufficient to make her forget her best resolutions.
"My dear child," said Madame Leroi, who had been quietly working at the other end of the room, "as there is no help for it, I would advise you to make up your mind to do what I require."
"No help for it!" exclaimed Marietta, pettishly; "and where is the great necessity for my writing this copy?"
"It must be done, because I wish it."
"And why do you wish it, mamma?"
"Because it is necessary."
"It is necessary because you wish it. Can you not do just what you please about it?"