to sew on buttons and mend socks?" Beth
asked, one day when they were sitting in a sandy hollow waiting for
rabbits.

"It's not a man's work," said Jim, a trifle disconcerted.

Beth looked about her. The great sea, the vast tract of sand, and the
blue sky so high above them, made her suffer for her own insignificance,
and feel for the moment that nothing was worth while; but in the hollow
where they sat it was cosy and the grass was green. Miniature cliffs
overhung the rabbit-holes, and the dry soil was silvered by sun and wind
and rain. There was a stiff breeze blowing, but it did not touch them in
their sheltered nook. They could hear it making its moan, however, as if
it were vainly trying to get at them; and there also ascended from below
the ceaseless sound of the sea. Beth turned her back on the wild
prospect, and watched the rabbit-holes.

"There's one on the right," she said at last, softly.

Jim raised his gun, aimed, and fired. The rabbit rolled over on its
back, and Beth rose in a leisurely way, fetched it, carrying it by its
legs, and threw it down on the bag.

"And when all the buttons are sewed on and all the socks mended, what
is a girl to do with her time?" she asked dispassionately, when she
had reseated herself. "The things only come home from the wash once a
week, you see."

"Oh, there's lots to be done," Jim answered vaguely. "There's the
cooking. A man's life isn't worth having if the cooking's bad."

"But a gentleman keeps a cook," Beth observed.

"Oh yes, of course," Jim answered irritably. "You would see what I
mean if you weren't a girl. Girls have no brains. They scream at a
mouse."

"_We_ never scream at mice," Beth protested in surprise. "Bernadine
catches them in her hands."

"Ah, but then you've had brothers, you see," said Jim. "It makes all
the difference if you're taught not to be silly."

"Then why aren't all girls taught, and why aren't we taught more
things?"

"Because you've got no brains, I tell you."

"But if we can be taught one thing, why can't we be taught another?
How can you tell we've no brains if you never try to teach us?"

"Now look here, Miss Beth," said brother Jim in a tone of
exasperation, "I know what you'll be when you grow up, if you don't
mind. You'll be just the sort of long-tongued shrew, always arguing,
that men hate."

"Do you say 'that men hate' or 'whom men hate'?" Beth interrupted.

"There you are!" said Jim; "devilish sharp at a nag. T