“In the second place, because they expect to weave, day after day, the fine cobweb lines of their cold system of repression around you, which will harden and harden, and tighten and tighten, till you are as stiff and shrouded as any of them. You remind me of our poor little duck: don’t you remember him?” “Yes, poor fellow! how he would stay out, and swim round and round, while the pond kept freezing and freezing, and his swimming-place grew smaller and smaller every day; but he was such a plucky little fellow that--” “That at last we found him one morning frozen tight in, and he has limped ever since on his poor feet.” “O, but I won’t freeze in,” she said, laughing. “Take care, Emmy! You are sensitive, approbative, delicately organized; your whole nature inclines you to give way and yield to the nature of those around you. One little lone duck such as you, however warm-blooded, light-hearted, cannot keep a whole pond from freezing. While you have any influence, you must use it all to get John away from these surroundings, where you can have him to yourself.” “O, you know we are building our house; we shall go to housekeeping soon.” “Where? Close by, under the very guns of this fortress, where all your housekeeping, all your little management, will be subject to daily inspection.” “But mamma never interferes, never advises,--unless I ask advice.” “No, but she influences; she lives, she looks, she is there; and while she is there, and while your home is within a stone’s throw, the old spell will be on your husband, on your children, if you have any; you will feel it in the air; it will constrain, it will sway you, it will rule your house, it will bring up your children.” “O no! never! never! I never could! I never will! If God should give me a dear little child, I will not let it grow up in these hateful ways!” “Then, Emmy, there will be a constant, still, undefined, but real friction of your life-power from the silent grating of your wishes and feelings on the cold, positive millstone of their opinion; it will be a life-battle with a quiet, invisible, pervading spirit, who will never show himself in fair fight, but who will be around you in the very air you breathe, at your pillow when you lie down and when you rise. There is so much in these friends of yours noble, wise, severely good,--their aims are so high, their efficiency so great, their virtues so many,--that they will act upon you with the force of a conscience, subduing, drawing, insensibly constraining you into their moulds. They have stronger wills, stronger natures than yours; and between the two forces of your own nature and theirs you will be always oscillating, so that you will never show what you can do, working either in your own way or yet in theirs: your life will be a failure.” “O Chris, why do you discourage me?”