And now I know. Theodore is going to make up for
everything. Only we'll have to help him, first. It's going
to be hard on you, Fanchen. I'm talking to you as if you
were eighteen, instead of fourteen. But I want you to
understand. That isn't fair to you either--my expecting you
to understand. Only I don't want you to hate me too much
when you're a woman, and I'm gone, and you'll remember--"
"Why, Mother, what in the world are you talking about? Hate
you!"
"For what I took from you to give to him, Fanny. You don't
understand now. Things must be made easy for Theodore. It
will mean that you and I will have to scrimp and save. Not
now and then, but all the time. It will mean that we
can't go to the theater, even occasionally, or to lectures,
or concerts. It will mean that your clothes won't be as
pretty or as new as the other girls' clothes. You'll sit on
the front porch evenings, and watch them go by, and you'll
want to go too."
"As if I cared."
"But you will care. I know. I know. It's easy enough to
talk about sacrifice in a burst of feeling; but it's the
everyday, shriveling grind that's hard.
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