"Oh," cried Honora, "to be great and rich and powerful, and to be somebody."
"Who has been putting such things in your head, my dear?"
"No one, Aunt Mary. Only, if I were a man, I shouldn't rest until I became great."
Alas, that Aunt Mary, with all her will, should have such limited powers of expression! She resumed her scrubbing of the silver before she spoke.
"To do one's duty, to accept cheerfully and like a Christian the responsibilities and burdens of life, is the highest form of greatness, my child. Your Uncle Tom has had many things to trouble him; he has always worked for others, and not for himself. And he is respected and loved by all who know him."
"Yes, I know, Aunt Mary. But—"
"But what, Honora?"
"Then why isn't he rich, as my father was?"
"Your father wasn't rich, my dear," said Aunt Mary, sadly.
"Why, Aunt Mary!" Honora exclaimed, "he lived in a beautiful house, and owned horses. Isn't that being rich?"