picture these healthy,
sturdy, outdoor youngsters confined to a little dingy shop such as their
mother had been used to in her own childhood was impossible, as she
recalled to her mind the pale, anemic-looking little souls she had
occasionally seen during her stay in London. Was not any personal
sacrifice worth seeing one's children grow up so strong and healthy, so
manly and independent?

This, then, was the true inwardness of it all; the thing that dignified
and ennobled this life of toil and hardship, deprived of almost all the
things which she had always regarded as necessary, that the welfare,
prosperity and happiness of generations yet to come might be reared on
this foundation laid by self-denial and deprivation.

She felt almost humbled in the presence of this simple, unpretentious,
kindly woman who had borne so much without complaint that her children
might have wider opportunities for usefulness and happiness than she had
ever known.

Not that Mrs. Sharp, herself, seemed to think that she was doing
anything remarkable. She took it all as a matter of course. It was only
when something brought up the subject of the difficulties of learning to
do without this or that, that she alluded to the days when she also was
inexperienced and had had to learn for herself without anyone to advise
or help her.

Miles away from any help other than her husband could give her, she had
borne six children and buried one. And although the days of their worst
poverty seemed safely behind them, they had been able to save but
little, so that they still felt themselves at the mercies of the
changing seasons. Given one or two good years to harvest their crops,
they might indeed consider themselves almost beyond the danger point.
But with seven mouths to feed, one could not afford to lose a single
crop.

With her head teeming with all the new ideas that Mrs. Sharp's
experiences furnished, Nora felt that the time was by no means as wasted
as she had once thought it would be. There was no reason, after all,
that she should sink to the level of a mere domestic drudge. And if this
part of her life was not to endure forever, it would not have been
entirely barren, since it furnished her with much new material to ponder
over. After all, was it really more narrow than her life at Tunbridge
Wells? In her heart, she acknowledged that it was not.

To Frank, also, the winter brought a broader outlook. He had looked upon
Nora's little refine