"My dear Hermione," said her Mamma, "you have quite misapplied what you have read in the book. Self-denial is always required of us, when we feel inclined to do any thing that is wrong, but it does not apply to any aptitude you may have for enjoying the occupations I require of you. That is only a piece of good fortune for you; for to many little girls, doing lessons is a very great act of self-denial, as they want to be doing something else. But now, as you are so lucky in liking every thing you do, you must practise your self-denial in some other way."
"How, Mamma?"
"In not being vexed when your Governess laughs, and in not being in a passion with the cat next time he unravels your stocking."
Hermione blushed. "Oh, Mamma, I understand the difference now."
"But this is not all, Hermione."
"Well, Mamma?"
"Why, as you are so fortunate as to be always happy when employed, and as therefore there is no goodness strictly speaking, in your doing your business so cheerfully and well, you must do this, you must spend some portion of time every day in making your energy of use to other people, and then you will be doing active good if not practising self-denial."
"Oh, Mamma, what a nice idea! Perhaps you will give me some needlework to do for the poor women you give money to; and, besides, just now I can do something actively useful and still a little really disagreeable,—really it is, Mamma,—what makes you laugh?"
"Your resolution to do something you don't like. What is it, Hermione?"
"To knit up again the stocking the cat pulled out. I quite dislike the idea."