forget what
you've told me and Auntie's told me. Almost everybody I know at home
doesn't care for what you do up here in Yorkbury. I used to think about
dancing-school, and birthday parties, and rigging up, and summer
fashions, and how many diamonds I'd have when I was married, and all
that, the whole of the time, Peace--the _whole_ of it; then I got mad
when my dresses didn't fit, and I used to strike Therese and Kate, if
you'll believe it--when I was real angry that was. Now, up here,
somehow I'm ashamed when I miss at school; then sometimes I help Auntie
a little, and sometimes I _do_ try not to be cross. Now, you see, I'm
going back, and father he thinks the world of me, and let's me do
everything I want to, and I'm afraid"--Joy stopped, puzzled to express
herself--"I'm afraid I _shall_ do everything I want to."

Peace smiled, and seemed to be thinking.

"Then, you see. I shall grow up a cross, old selfish woman," said Joy
dolefully; "Auntie says people grow selfish that have everything their
own way. You see, up here there's been Gypsy, and she wanted things just
as much as I, so there's been two ways, and that's the thing of it."

"I don't think you need to grow up selfish," said Peace, slowly; "no, I
am sure you needn't."

"Well, I wish you'd tell me how."

"Ask Him not to let you," said Peace softly.

Joy colored.

"I know it; I've thought of that. But there's another trouble. You see,
father--well, he doesn't care about those things. He never has prayers
nor anything, and he used to bring me novels to read Sundays. I read
them then. I've got all out of the way of it up here. I don't think I
should want to, now."

"Joy," said Peace after a silence, "I think--I guess, you must help
your father a little. If he sees you doing right, perhaps,--he loves
you so very much,--perhaps by-and-by he will feel differently."

Joy made no answer. Her eyes looked off dreamily through the window; her
thoughts wandered away from Peace and the quiet room--away into her
future, which the young girl seemed to see just then, with grave,
prophetic glance; a future of difficulty, struggle, temptation; of old
habits and old teachings to be battled with; of new ones to be formed;
of much to learn and unlearn, and try, and try again; but perhaps--she
still seemed to see with the young girl's earnest eyes that for the
moment had quite outgrown the child--a future faithfully lived and
well; not frittered away in beautiful playing