Miss Esperance felt so exhausted that she even folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes; a thing she never did in the day except sometimes on a Sabbath afternoon. She did not lean back, for she belonged to that vanished school of old ladies who considered that to loll was akin to something positively disreputable: bed was the only place where it was proper to repose. Sofas were for the invalid or the indolent, and easy-chairs for men folk and such-like feeble spirits as were indulgent to the frailties of the flesh. "As thy days so shall thy strength be," whispered Miss Esperance. The precepts and promises by which she had ruled her gentle life did not fail her now in her need: "They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run and not be weary; and they shall walk and not faint." She opened her eyes. Once more the room looked homely and familiar; the pictures on the walls had ceased to chase each other in a giddy round. She unclasped her hands and rose. "I’d better go and see what those bairns are doing," she thought to herself, "it’s not fair to leave them with him for long." She mounted the steep stairs and paused on the landing to listen. The only sound to be heard was a sort of munching. Then, in Edmund’s decisive voice, "Maw toas’." Another pause. "Bacon all dawn," in tones of sorrowful conviction. Silence again for a minute, then, "Maw mink." A gurgle, and a hasty movement, evidently on the part of Mr. Wycherly. "He always pours it down his chin if he holds it himself," said Montagu, in a slightly reproving voice. A sound of rubbing. "Toas’ all dawn," mournfully, from Edmund. Miss Esperance opened the door. The two children were sitting on either side of Mr. Wycherly at his round table. Edmund’s chubby face was liberally besmeared with bacon fat, and the board had been cleared of every sort of eatable except a small "heel" of loaf and a pot of marmalade, which neither of the children liked. It was Oxford marmalade and very bitter. "Have they been good?" Miss Esperance inquired anxiously. Mr. Wycherly looked somewhat flushed and perturbed, but he hastened to reply, "They have been model children—but—" here he hesitated, "do you think they had enough to eat downstairs? They seemed so exceedingly hungry, and it would be so dreadful——" "Hungry?" Miss Esperance repeated incredulously. "Hungry? They had each a large bowl of porridge and milk, and bread and jam after that." "Maw dam," Edmund immediately struck in; "’at nasty dam," and he pointed a scornful fat finger at the pot of marmalade. Here Robina appeared opportunely to take them for a walk. Edmund roared at the top of his voice at being reft from his beloved man. But Miss Esperance was firm.