And I ought not to grow weary, be they
many or few."

There was a long pause, broken at last by Graeme.

"Janet," said she, "do you think I could keep a school?"

"A school," repeated Mrs Snow. "Oh, ay, I daresay you could, if you
put your mind to it. What would binder you? It would depend some on
what kind of a school it was, too, I daresay."

"You know, teaching is almost the only thing a woman can do to earn a
livelihood. It is the only thing I could do. I don't mean that I could
take charge of a school; I am afraid I am hardly fit for that. But I
could teach classes. I know French well, and music, and German a
little."

"My dear," said Mrs Snow, gravely, "what has put such a thought in your
head? Have you spoken to your brother about it? What does he say?"

"To Arthur? No, I haven't spoken to him. He wouldn't like the idea at
first, I suppose; but if it were best, he would reconcile himself to it
in time."

"You speak about getting your livelihood. Is there any need for it? I
mean, is there more need than there has been? Is not your brother able,
and willing--"

"Oh! yes, it is not that I don't know. Our expenses are greater than
they used to be--double, indeed. But there is enough, I suppose. It is
not that--at least it is not that only, or chiefly."

"What is it then, dear child?" asked her friend.

But Graeme could not answer at the moment. There were many reasons why
she should not continue to live her present unsatisfying life, and yet
she did not know how to tell her friend. They were all plain enough to
her, but some of them she could not put in words for the hearing of
Janet, even. She had been saying to herself, all along, that it was
natural, and not wrong for her to grow tired of her useless, aimless
life, and to long for earnest, bracing work, such as many a woman she
could name was toiling bravely at. But with Janet's kind hand on her
head, and her calm, clear eyes looking down upon her face, she was
constrained to acknowledge that, but for one thing, this restless
discontent might never have found her. To herself she was willing to
confess it. Long ago she had looked her sorrow in the face, and said,
"With God's help I can bear it." She declared to herself that it was
well to be roused from sloth, even by a great sorrow, so that she could
find work to do. But, that Janet should look upon her with pitying or
reproving eyes, she could not bear to think; so she sat at