"My dear child, may the Lord make you as happy as your sweet
affection would make me!" said Marah.
"We can work for our living together," continued Clara, as she gaily
flitted about from the dresser to the table, placing the cups and
saucers and plates. "You can sew the seams and do the plain hemming,
and I can work the buttonholes and stitch the bosoms, collars and
wristbands! And 'if the worst comes to the worst,' we can hang out
our little shingle before the cottage gate, inscribed with:"
MRS. ROCKE AND DAUGHTER.
Shirt Makers.
Orders executed with neatness and dispatch.
"We'd drive a thriving business, mamma, I assure you," said Clara,
as she sat down on a low stool at the hearth and began to toast the
bread.
"I trust in heaven that it will never come to that with you, my
dear!"
"Why? Why, mamma? Why should I not taste of toil and care as well as
others a thousand times better than myself? Why should not I work as
well as you and Traverse, mamma? I stand upon the broad platform of
human rights, and I say I have just as good a right to work as
others!" said Clara, with a pretty assumption of obstinacy, as she
placed the plate of toast upon the board.
"Doubtless, dear Clara, you may play at work just as much as you
please; but heaven forbid you should ever have to work at work!"
replied Mrs, Rocke as she placed the coffee pot and the dish of
broiled chicken on the table.
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