"She is a coward after all. She dare not tell her father. She believes my tale, but she is not brave enough to see justice done to me and mine; so she tries to make up for it; she tries to salve her conscience and bribe me with gifts--gifts and flattery. I will have none of it. My rights--my true and just rights, or nothing! These parcels shall go back unopened to-morrow." She rose from her seat, and put them all tidily away on a side-table. She had scarcely done so before her husband's latch-key was heard in the hall-door. He came in with the weary look which was habitual to his thin face. "Oh, Angus, how badly you do want your tea!" said the poor wife. She was almost alarmed at her husband's pallor, and forgot Charlotte while attending to his comfort. "What are those parcels, Lottie?" he said, noticing the heaped-up things on the side-table. "Never mind. Eat your supper first," she said to him. "I can eat, and yet know what is in them. They give quite a Christmas and festive character to the place. And what is that I see lying on that chair--a new doll for Daisy? Why, has my careful little woman been so extravagant as to buy the child another doll?" Mr. Home smiled as he spoke. His wife looked at him gravely. She picked up the very pretty doll and laid it with the other parcels on the side-table. "I will tell you about the parcels and the doll if you wish it," she answered. "Miss Harman called when I was out, and brought cakes, and sweeties, and toys to the children. She also brought those parcels. I do not know what they contain, for I have not opened them. And she left a note for me. I cannot help the sweeties and cakes, for Harold and Daisy have eaten them; but the toys and those parcels shall go back to-morrow." Mrs. Home looked very proud and defiant as she spoke. Her husband glanced at her face; then, with a slight sigh, he pushed his supper aside. "No, I am not hungry, dear. I am just a little overtired. May I see Miss Harman's note?" Charlotte put it at once into his hand. He read it carefully once--twice. His own spirit was very loving and Christ-like; consequently the real love and true human feeling in the little note touched him. "Lottie," he said, as he gave it back to his wife, "why do you want to pain that sweet creature?" Mrs. Home took the note, and flung it into the fire. "There!" she said, an angry spot on each cheek. "She and hers have injured me and mine. I don't want gifts from her. I want my rights!" To this burst of excited feeling Mr. Home answered nothing. After a moment or two of silence he rang the bell, and when Anne appeared asked her to take away the tea-things. After this followed an hour of perfect quiet. Mrs. Home took out her great basket of mending. Mr. Home sat still, and apparently idle, by the fire. After a time he left the room to go for a moment to his own. Passing the nursery, he heard a little movement, and, entering softly, saw Harold sitting up in his little cot.