“Ach, but he’s a dunce onyway,” said the boy.  “He canna spell an easy word like ‘examination,’ an’ he had twenty-two mistakes in his dictation test,” he went on, and she was quick to note the air of priggish importance in his utterance.

“Ay, an’ you’re left the school now,” said Mrs. Sinclair, after a pause, during which her busy fingers handled the potatoes with great skill.  “Your faither will be gey pleased when he comes hame the day,” she said, giving the conversation a new turn.

“Ay, I’ll get leavin’ the school when I like, an’ gaun to the pit when I like.”

“Would ye no’ raither gang to the school a while langer?” observed the mother after a pause, and looking at him with searching eyes.

“No,” was the decisive reply.  “I’d raither gang to work.  I’m ready for leaving the school and forby, all the other laddies are gaun to the pit to work.”

“But look at the things ye micht be if ye gaed to the school a while langer, Robin,” she went on.  “The life of a miner’s no’ a very great thing.  There’s naething but hard work, an’ dangerous work at that, an’ no’ very muckle for it.”  And there was an anxious desire in her voice, as if trying to convince him.

“Ay, but I’d raither leave the school,” he answered, though with less decision this time.  “Besides, it’ll mean more money for you,” he concluded.

“Then, look how quick a miner turns auld, Rob.  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.