ut
deviation to the law of change, and also indiscriminately of persons.

And so, for this unswerving faith of the Rev. Samuel, Sally Bishop
is made to suffer. Very shortly after the removal from Cailsham, she
made her declaration of independence.

"Mother," she said, one morning at breakfast, "I'm going to earn my
own living." The baby lines of her mouth set tight, and her chin
puckered.

Mrs. Bishop laid down her piece of toast. "I wish you wouldn't talk
nonsense, Sally," she said.

The young man down from Oxford ejaculated--

"Rot!"

"It's not rot--it's not nonsense!"

Her voice was petulant; there were tears in it. It was not a decision
of strength. Here the press-gang was at work driving the unwilling
conscript. She was going; there was no doubt about her going; but
it was a hard struggle to feel resigned.

"But it _is_ nonsense," said Mrs. Bishop.

"How do you think _you_ could earn your living?" said the young man.
He knew something about the matter; he was trying to find employment
himself--he, a 'Varsity man--and as yet nothing had offered itself.
"If I can't get anything to do," he added sententiously, "how on earth
do you think you're going to?"

"She doesn't mean it," said Sally's eldest sister. "She only thinks
it sounds self-sacrificing."

"Is that the kindest thing you can think of?" asked Sally. "I do mean
it. I've written to London and I've got the prospectus here of one
of the schools for teaching shorthand and typewriting. For eight
pounds they guarantee to make any one proficient in both--suitable
to take a secretaryship. Doesn't matter how long you'll stay; they
agree for that sum to make you proficient, and they also half promise
to get you a situation."

"And where are you going to get the eight pounds from?" said her
little sister.

"And where are you going to get the cost of your living up in Town?"
asked the wise young man, who knew how London could dissolve the money
in one's pocket.

"Oh, she's all right there," said the eldest sister bitterly. "I know
what she's thinking about. She's going to draw that money that
grandmama left her--that fifty pounds. I guessed she'd spend that
on herself one of these days."

"And who else was it left to?" asked Sally.

"Yes, my dear child," said her mother; "we know it was left to you,
of course; but since we came away from Cailsham"--her mouth pursed;
she admirably conveyed the effort of controlling her emotions--the
lump in the thr