“Come here, Tommy, and have some of Auntie’s bread and jam.”

Out comes a small person, with a very swollen face and a very dirty pinafore, from the distant seclusion of the corner, and flies swiftly to Vera’s sheltering arm.

Mrs. Daintree drops her work angrily into her lap.

“Vera, I must beg of you not to interfere with Tom; are you aware that he is in the corner by my orders?”

“Perfectly, Mrs. Daintree; and also that he was there before I went out, exactly three-quarters of an hour ago; there are limits to all human endurance.”

“I consider it extremely impertinent,” begins the old lady, nodding her head violently.

“Darling Vera,” pleads Marion, almost in tears; “perhaps you had better let him go back.”

“Tommy is quite good now,” says Vera, calmly passing her hand over the rough blonde head.  Master Tommy’s mouth is full of bread and jam, and he looks supremely indifferent to the warfare that is being carried on on his account over his head.

His crime having been the surreptitious purloining of his grandmamma’s darning cotton, and the subsequent immersion of the same in the inkstand, Vera feels quite a warm glow of approval towards the little culprit and his judiciously-planned piece of mischief.

“Vera, I insist upon that child being sent back into the corner!” exclaims Mrs. Daintree, angrily, bringing her large fist heavily down upon her knee.

“The child has been over-punished already,” she answers, calmly, still administering the soothing solace of strawberry jam.

“Oh, Vera, pray keep the peace!” cries Marion, with clasped hands.

“Here, I am thankful to say, comes my son;” as a shadow passes the window, and Eustace’s tall figure with the meekly stooping head comes in at the door.  “Eustace, I beg that you will decide who is to be in authority in this house—­your mother or this young lady.  It is insufferable that every time I send the children into the corner Vera should call them out and give them cakes and jam.”

Eustace Daintree looks helplessly from one to the other.

“My dear mother—­my dear girls—­what is it all about?  I am sure Vera does not mean——­”

“No, Vera only means to be kind, grandmamma,” cries Marion, nervously; “she is so fond of the children——­”

“Hold your tongue, Marion, and don’t take your sister’s part so shamelessly!”

Meanwhile Vera rises silently and pushes Tommy and all his enormities gently by the shoulders out of the room.  Then she turns round and faces her foe.

“Judge between us, Eustace!” the old lady is crying; “am I to be defied and set at nought? are we all to bow down and worship Miss Vera, the most useless, lazy person in the house, who turns up her nose at honest men and prefers to live on charity, a burden to her relations?”

“Vera is no burden, only a great pleasure to me, my dear mother,” said the clergyman, holding out his hand to the girl.