“Dear Miss Louisa,” said Sissy, covering her eyes, and sobbing yet; “I came home from the school that afternoon, and found poor father just come home too, from the booth. And he sat rocking himself over the fire, as if he was in pain. And I said, ‘Have you hurt yourself, father?’ (as he did sometimes, like they all did), and he said, ‘A little, my darling.’ And when I came to stoop down and look up at his face, I saw that he was crying. The more I spoke to him, the more he hid his face; and at first he shook all over, and said nothing but ‘My darling;’ and ‘My love!’ ”

Here Tom came lounging in, and stared at the two with a coolness not particularly savouring of interest in anything but himself, and not much of that at present.

“I am asking Sissy a few questions, Tom,” observed his sister. “You have no occasion to go away; but don’t interrupt us for a moment, Tom dear.”