I thought if
I could have hoped ever so little, it would have been nice. And then
to think of never being able to run, or row, or stay out late, and
always to be bothering about one's stockings and wraps, and making a
miserable muff of oneself just to keep in a bit of uncomfortable
life, and being a nuisance to everybody."
Babie fairly shrieked and sobbed her protest that he could never be a
nuisance to her or mother.
"You are Babie, and mother is mother, I know that; but it did seem
such a long burthen and bore, and when-—oh, Babie-—don't you know-—"
"How we always thought you would go on and be something great, and do
something great, like Bishop Selwyn, or like that Mr. Denison that
Miss Ogilvie has a book about," said Babie. "But you will get well
and do it when you are a man, Armie! Didn't you think about it when
you heard all about the golden life in the sermon to-day? I thought,
"That's going to be Armie's life," and I looked at you, but you were
looking down. Were you thinking how it was all spoilt, Armie, poor
dear Armie. For perhaps it isn't."
"No, I know nobody can spoil it but myself," said Armine. "And you
know he said that one might make weakliness and sickness just as
golden, by that great Love, as being up and doing.
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