“You do that quite well, dear,” she said when the Sonatina was over. “That will do now. You will run to the top of the hill, to the big pine root and then we shall do our lessons——”
“Let me do this Minuet first, Mother. I just feel like it now.”
“No, dear, you’ve had enough—indeed more than enough. A little fresh air, and then your lessons for an hour, then out.”
“Just this Minuet, Mother, dear.”
“Duty first, boy, you know.”
“Why, Mother, that’s what you said when you sent me to the piano; now it’s the same thing when you want me to quit!”
“Yes, dear, duty first always—the thing to be done at the time it ought to be done and in the way it ought to be done.”
“My, it’s awful hard, Mother. Can’t I ever do just as I like?”
“Why, yes, dear.”
“When? When I grow big like you?”