“And none of your old ‘Liberality’ tricks, mind!” George wrote on one occasion.  “Fit yourself thoroughly out in the latest fashions, and do us credit!”

But it all went to Tom’s tailor.

She felt hardly justified in diverting George’s money from his purpose; but she had never told the boys of Tom’s debts.  There was something of her old love of doing things without help in this, and more of her special love for Tom.

It was not from the boys alone that help came to her.  Madam Liberality’s godmother died, and left her fifty pounds.  In one lump she had now got enough to finish her work.

The acknowledgments of these last payments came on Tom’s birthday.  More and more courteous had grown the tradesmen’s letters, and Madam Liberality felt a foolish pleasure in seeing how respectfully they all spoke now of “Your lamented brother, Madam!”

The jeweller’s bill was the last; and when Madam Liberality tied up the bundle, she got out Tom’s locket and put a bit of his hair into it, and tied it round her throat, sobbing as she did so, “Oh, Tom, if you could have lived and been happy in a small way!  Your debts are paid now, my poor boy.  I wonder if you know.  Oh, Tom, Tom!”

It was her greatest triumph—­to have saved Tom’s fair name in the place where he had lived so foolishly and died so sadly.

But the triumphs of childhood cast fewer shadows.  There was no one now to say, “Three cheers for Madam Liberality!”

* * * * *

It was a very cold winter, but Madam Liberality and Jemima, the maid-of-all-work, were warmer than they had been for several previous winters, because they kept better fires.  Time heals our sorrows in spite of us, and Madam Liberality was a very cheerful little body now, and as busy as ever about her Christmas-boxes.  Those for her nephews and nieces were already despatched.  “The boys” were married; Madam Liberality was godmother to several children she had never seen; but the Benjamin of his aunt’s heart was Darling’s only child—­Tom—­though she had not seen even him.

Madam Liberality was still in the thick of her plans, which were chiefly to benefit the old people and the well-behaved children of the village.  All the Christmas-boxes were to be “surprises,” and Jemima was in every secret but the one which most concerned her.

Madam Liberality had even some plans for her own benefit.  George had talked of coming home in the summer, and she began to think of saving up for a new carpet for the drawing-room.  Then the last time she went to the town she saw some curtains of a most artistic pattern, and particularly cheap.  So much good taste for so little money was rare in provincial shops.  By and by she might do without something which would balance the cost of the curtains.  And she had another ambition—­to provide Jemima with black dresses and white muslin aprons for afternoon wear in addition to her wages, that the outward aspect of that good soul might be more in accordance than hitherto with her intrinsic excellence.