"Yes, that's the worst part of the whole affair. I--I don't know why I told you, Miss Wallace, but you asked me, and--you see I don't have any one to tell such things to--never did. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but father has spent his life trying to save sinners by preaching--somehow it didn't work on me; and mother, she's good, of course, but--I can't say it just the way I want to--I guess it's sympathy I need." Barbara knew that his earnestness was genuine, but the timidity and hesitancy of the big fellow amused her. "One can do very little without it," she said, trying to refrain from laughter, and then quickly added: "I suppose that you have already planned for the future." "No, I haven't decided what I shall do--hardly thought of it, in fact. I shall stay at home for awhile, and then--I don't know--there's nothing I'm fitted for. I suppose that I might saw wood, or work on the roads." "That would never do for a clergyman's son," replied Barbara. "Would be rather funny, wouldn't it? Anyway, I've got nothing else to do at present except think about it--I guess something will turn up." "Wouldn't it be better to find something yourself instead of waiting for it to come to you?" "I guess you're right, Miss Wallace; but here's your school and forty kids waiting for teacher to let them in. I won't forget your question. Good-bye." Will raised his cap and walked away. The children loved Barbara, and usually ran to meet her like a drove of stampeded animals, but on this morning, when they saw her coming accompanied by a stranger, they remained huddled on the steps of the schoolhouse. "Who's that man?" one of the little girls asked when Barbara arrived within speaking distance. "Mr. Flint," she replied, with her usual candour. "Is he a real good man?" piped another. Barbara was not sure, but did not wish to say so. Without making a reply she unlocked the door and went in, followed by her flock, and was soon deep in the morning's work: trying to make the youngsters believe that the earth is round, explaining such perplexing words as pare, pear, and pair, and proving that twelve times twelve makes one hundred and forty-four,--if you do it right. During the day the question that the little girl had asked, "Is he a real good man?" frequently came into Barbara's mind. She did not know the answer, and wondered why she thought of it at all.