“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 Liberality’s mother now be pleased, whom so little had pleased heretofore?

But for poor Tom it was still possible to plan, to economize, to be liberal—­and by these means to pay his debts, and save the fair name of which he had been as reckless as of everything else which he possessed.

Madam Liberality had had many a hard struggle to get Tom a birthday present, but she had never pinched and planned and saved on his behalf as she did now.  There is a limit, however, to the strictest economies.  It would have taken a longer time to finish her labour of love but for “the other boys.”  They were good, kind fellows, and having had to earn daily bread where larks do not fall ready cooked into the mouth, they knew more of the realities of life than poor Tom had ever learned.  They were prosperous now, and often sent a few pounds to Madam Liberality “to buy a present with.”