“Perhaps. But upon the whole, I don't agree with you. It is bad for the child to use naughty words and to scratch and bite; that's part of the warfare in which we all live; but it's worse for her to covet, and to wish to keep others from having.”
“I don't wonder you find it hard to make her understand that.”
“Yes, it's hard with all of us. But if it is ever to be easier we must begin with the children.”
He was silent, and Annie did not say anything. She was afraid that she had not helped her cause. “At least,” she finally ventured, “you can't object to giving Idella a little rest from the fray. Perhaps if she finds that she can get things without fighting for them, she'll not covet them so much.”
“Yes,” he said, with a dim smile that left him sad again, “there is some truth in that. But I'm not sure that I have the right to give her advantages of any kind, to lift her above the lot, the chance, of the least fortunate—”
“Surely, we are bound to provide for those of our own household,” said Annie.
“Who are those of our own household?” asked the minister. “All mankind are those of our own household. These are my mother and my brother and my sister.”
“Yes, I know,” said Annie, somewhat eagerly quitting this difficult ground. “But you can leave her with me at least till you get settled,” she faltered, “if you don't wish it to be for longer.”
“Perhaps it may not be for long,” he answered, “if you mean my settlement in Hatboro'. I doubt,” he continued, lifting his eyes to the question in hers, “whether I shall remain here.”
“Oh, I hope you will,” cried Annie. She thought she must make a pretence of misunderstanding him. “I supposed you were very much satisfied with your work here.”