The children knew that Hester was in disgrace, as she vainly tried to eat the congealed slice of roast mutton, with blue slides in it, which had been put before her chair half an hour ago, when the joint was sent out for the servants’ dinner.  The children liked “Auntie Hester,” but without enthusiasm, except Regie, the eldest, who loved her as himself.  She could tell them stories, and make butterflies and horses and dogs out of paper, but she could never join in their games, not even in the delightful new ones she invented for them.  She was always tired directly.  And she would never give them rides on her back, as the large, good-natured Pratt girls did.  And she was dreadfully shocked if they did not play fair, so much so that on one occasion Mr. Gresley had to interfere, and to remind her that a game was a game, and that it would be better to let the children play as they liked than to be perpetually finding fault with them.

Perhaps nothing in her life at the Vicarage was a greater trial to Hester than to see the rules of fair play broken by the children with the connivance of their parents.  Mr. Gresley had never been to a public school, and had thus missed the ABC of what in its later stages is called “honor.”  He was an admirable hockey-player, but he was not in request at the frequent Slumberleigh matches, for he never hit off fair, or minded being told so.

“Auntie Hester is leaving all her fat,” said Mary, suddenly, in a shrill voice, her portion of pear held in her left cheek as she spoke.  She had no idea that she ought not to draw attention to the weakness of others.  She was only anxious to be the first to offer interesting information.

“Never mind,” said Mrs. Gresley, admiring her own moderation.  “Finish your pear.”

If there was one thing more than another in Hester’s behavior that annoyed Mrs. Gresley—­and there were several others—­it was Hester’s manner of turning her food over on her plate and leaving half of it.

Hester did it again now, and Mrs. Gresley, already irritated by her unpunctuality, tried to look away so as not to see her, and prayed for patience.  The hundred a year which Hester contributed to the little establishment had eased the struggling household in many ways; but Mrs. Gresley sometimes wondered if the money, greatly needed as it was, counterbalanced the perpetual friction of her sister-in-law’s presence.

“Father!”

“Yes, my son.”

“Isn’t it wrong to drink wine?”

Yes, my son.”

“Then why does Auntie Hester drink it?”

Hester fixed her eyes intently on her brother.  Would he uphold her before the children?

“Because she thinks it does her good,” said Mr. Gresley.

She withdrew her eyes.  Her hand, holding a spoonful of cold rice pudding, shook.  A delicate color flooded her face, and finally settled in the tip of her nose.  In her own way she loved the children.