'I wouldn't! I'd rather be up at the top of everything and give orders to the angels if I chose. I can't think, Marjorie, why you'd rather take orders than give them.' 'That's just it, Susan. I don't want to give orders; I'd rather obey them. It must be very terrible to have to think of things so much, that you want everything done your own way. And besides, I shouldn't like to have to be just!' 'Why not?' the voice was truculent, though there was wistfulness in it also. 'Oh Susan. Just fancy having to punish; for of course justice needs punishing as well as praising. Now an angel has such a nice time, helping people and comforting them, and bringing sunshine into dark places. Putting down fresh dew every morning; making the flowers grow, and bringing babies and taking care of them till their mothers find them. Of course God is very good and very sweet and very merciful, but oh, He must be very terrible.' 'All the same I would rather be God and able to do things!' Then the children moved off out of earshot. The two seated on the tombstone looked after them. The first to speak was the girl, who said: 'That's very sweet and good of Marjorie; but do you know, Harold, I like Susie's idea better.' 'Which idea was that, Stephen?' 'Why, didn't you notice what she said: "I'd like to be God and be able to do things"?' 'Yes,' he said after a moment's reflection. 'That's a fine idea in the abstract; but I doubt of its happiness in the long-run.' 'Doubt of its happiness? Come now? what could there be better, after all? Isn't it good enough to be God? What more do you want?' The girl's tone was quizzical, but her great black eyes blazed with some thought of sincerity which lay behind the fun. The young man shook his head with a smile of kindly tolerance as he answered: 'It isn't that--surely you must know it. I'm ambitious enough, goodness knows; but there are bounds to satisfy even me. But I'm not sure that the good little thing isn't right. She seemed, somehow, to hit a bigger truth than she knew: "fancy having to be just."' 'I don't see much difficulty in that. Anyone can be just!' 'Pardon me,' he answered, 'there is perhaps nothing so difficult in the whole range of a man's work.' There was distinct defiance in the girl's eyes as she asked: 'A man's work! Why a man's work? Isn't it a woman's work also?' 'Well, I suppose it ought to be, theoretically; practically it isn't.' 'And why not, pray?' The mere suggestion of any disability of woman as such aroused immediate antagonism. Her companion suppressed a smile as he answered deliberately: