It was so much the case
with my dear mother, that she never was of the slightest use (which she
might have been) when my father and I misunderstood each other. By my
father's views of the moment she always hastily set her own, whether
they were fair or unfair to me; and she made up for it by indulging me
at every point that did not cross an expressed wish of my father's, or
that could not annoy him because he was not there. She never held the
scales between us.
And yet it was the thought of her which kept me from taking my fate into
my own hands again and again. To have obeyed my father seemed to have
done so little towards making him satisfied with me, that I found no
consolation at home for the distastefulness of the office; and more than
once I resolved to run away, and either enlist or go to Liverpool (which
was at no great distance from us) and get on board some vessel that was
about to sail for other lands. But when I thought of my mother's
distress, I could not face it, and I let my half-formed projects slide
again.
Oddly enough, it was Uncle Henry who brought matters to a crisis. I
think my father was disappointed (though he did not blame me) that I
secured no warmer a place in Uncle Henry's affections than I did.
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