n had the fainting
hearts of toilers in the wretched places of the city been sustained and
comforted by her kind words and her alms-deeds. There were many humble
dwellings within sight of her home, where her face came like sunlight,
and her voice like music. But these were the pleasures of her life,
enjoyed in secret. This was not the work that was to make her life
worthy, the work for God and man that was to fill the void in her life,
and still the pain in her heart. So she only said, quietly,--

"It is not much that one can do. And, indeed, I have little time that
is not occupied with something that cannot be neglected, though it can
hardly be called work. I cannot tell you, but what with the little
things to be cared for at home, the visits to be made, and engagements
of one kind or other, little time is left. I don't know how I could
make it otherwise. My time is not at my own disposal."

Mrs Snow assented, and Graeme went on.

"I suppose I might do more of that sort of work--caring for poor people,
I mean, by joining societies, and getting myself put on committees, and
all that sort of thing, but I don't think I am suited for it, and there
are plenty who like it. However, I daresay, that is a mere excuse.
Don't you mind, Janet, how Mrs Page used to labour with me about the
sewing meetings."

"Yes, I mind," said Mrs Snow, with the air of one who was thinking of
something else. In a little she said, hesitatingly:

"Miss Graeme, my dear, you speak as though there were nothing between
living in your brother's house, and keeping a school. Have you never
glanced at the possibility that sometime you may have a house of your
own to keep."

Graeme laughed.

"Will said that to me once. Yes, I have thought about it. But the
possibility is such a slight one, that it is hardly worth while to take
it into account in making plans for the future."

"And wherefore not?" demanded Mrs Snow.

"Wherefore not?" echoed Graeme. "I can only say, that here I am at six
and twenty; and the probabilities as to marriage don't usually increase
with the years, after that. Fanny's fears on my account have some
foundation. Janet, do you mind the song foolish Jean used to sing?

"`The lads that cast a glance at me
I dinna care to see,
And the lads that I would look at
Winna look at me.'

"Well, dear, you mustna be angry though I say it, but you may be ower
ill to please. I told you that before, you'll mind."