about that the sisters' letters were very
commonplace on the surface. And though Madam Liberality cried when
Darling wrote, "Have swallows built in the summer-house this year?
Have you put my old doll's chest of drawers back in its place since
the room was papered? What colour is the paper?"--the Major only said
that stuff like that was hardly worth the postage to England. And when
Madam Liberality wrote, "The clump of daffodils in your old bed was
enormous this spring. I have not touched it since you left. I made
Mother's birthday wreath out of the flowers in your bed and mine.
Jemima broke the slop-basin of the green and white tea-set to-day. It
was the last piece left. I am trying to forgive her,"--the Major made
no harsher remark than, "A storm in a slop-basin! Your sister is not a
brilliant letter-writer, certainly."

The source of another heart-ache for Madam Liberality was poor Tom. He
was as liberal and hospitable as ever in his own way. He invited his
friends to stay with his mother, and when they and Tom had gone, Madam
Liberality and her mother lived without meat to get the housekeeping
book straight again. Their great difficulty in the matter was the
uncertain nature of Tom's requirements. And when he did write for
money he always wrote in such urgent need that there was no refusing
him if by the art of "doing without" his wants could be supplied.

But Tom had a kindly heart; he sent his sister a gold locket, and
wrote on the box, "For the best and most generous of sisters."

Madam Liberality liked praise, and she dearly liked praise from Tom;
but on this occasion it failed to soothe her. She said curtly, "I
suppose it's not paid for. If we can't afford much, we can afford to
live at our own expense, and not on the knavery or the forbearance of
tradesmen." With which she threw the locket into a box of odds and
ends, and turned the key with some temper.

Years passed, and Madam Liberality was alone. Her mother was dead, and
Tom--poor Tom!--had been found drowned. Darling was still in India,
and the two living boys were in the colonies, farming.

It seemed to be an aggravation of the calamity of Tom's death that he
died, as he had lived, in debt. But, as regards Madam Liberality, it
was not an unmixed evil. It is one of our bitterest pangs when we
survive those we love that with death the opportunity has passed for
being kind to them, though we love them more than ever. By what
earthly effort could Madam