b. He's done at forty years
auld," she said, as if she did not wish to heed what he said, "but
meenisters an' schoolmaisters, an' folk o' that kin', leeve a gey lang
while. Look at the easy time they hae to what a collier has. They dinna
get up at five o'clock in the mornin' like your faither. They rise aboot
eight, an' start work at nine. Meenisters only work yae day a week, an'
only aboot two hoors at that. They hae clean claes to wear, a fine white
collar every day, an' sae mony claes that they can put on a different
rig-oot every day. Their work is no' hard, an' look at the pay they get;
no' like your faither wi' his two or three shillin's a day. They hae the
best o' it," she concluded, as she rested her elbows on her knees and
again searched his face keenly to see if her arguments had had any
effect upon him.

"Ay, but I'd raither work," reiterated the boy stubbornly.

"Then they hae plenty o' books," continued the temptress, loth to give
up and keen to draw as rosy a picture as possible, "and a braw hoose,
an' a piano in it. They get a lang holiday every year, and occasional
days besides, an' their pay for it. But a collier gets nae pay when he's
idle. It's the same auld grind awa' at hard work, among damp, an' gas,
an' bad air, an' aye the chance o' being killed wi' falls of stone or
something else. It's no' a nice life. It's gey ill paid, an' forby
naebody ever respects them."

"Ay, mither; but do you no' mind what Bob Smillie said?" chipped in the
boy readily, glad that he could quote such an authority to back his
view. "It's because they dinna respect themselves. They just need to do
things richt, an' things wadna' be sae bad as they are," and he felt as
if he clinched his argument by quoting Smillie against her.

"Ay, Robin," she replied, "that's true; but for it a', you maun admit
that the schoolmaister an' the meenister hae the best o' it." But she
felt that her counter was not very effective.

"My faither says meenisters are nae guid to the world, but
schoolmaisters are," said the boy, with a grudging admission for the
teaching profession. "But I dinna care. I'd raither gang to work. I
dinna want to gang ony langer to the school. I'm tired o' it, an' I want
to leave it," and there was more decision in his voice this time than
ever.

"A' richt, Robin," said Mrs. Sinclair resignedly, as she emptied the
peeled potatoes into a pot and put them on the fire.

There were now seven of a family, and she kne