And John began to speak of Amy’s ill-doing. He had always in some degree a sense of shame when he spoke privately with Sidney, always felt painfully the injustice involved in their relations. At present he could not look Kirkwood in the face, and his tone was that of a man who abases himself to make confession of guilt. Sidney was gravely concerned. It was his habit to deal with the children’s faults good-naturedly, to urge John not to take a sombre view of their thoughtlessness; but the present instance could not be made light of. Secretly he had always expected that the girl would be a source of more serious trouble the older she grew. He sat in silence, leaning forward, his eyes bent down. ‘It’s no good whatever _I_ say,’ lamented Hewett. ‘They don’t heed me. Why must I have children like these? Haven’t I always done my best to teach them to be honest and good-hearted? If I’d spent my life in the worst ways a man can, they couldn’t have turned out more worthless. Haven’t I wished always what was right and good and true? Haven’t I always spoke up for justice in the world? Haven’t I done what I could, Sidney, to be helpful to them as fell into misfortune? And now in my old age I’m only a burden, and the children as come after me are nothing but a misery to all as have to do with them. If it wasn’t for Clara I feel I couldn’t live my time out. She’s the one that pays me back for the love I’ve given her. All the others—I can’t feel as they’re children of mine at all.’ It was a strange and touching thing that he seemed nowadays utterly to have forgotten Clara’s past. Invariably he spoke of her as if she had at all times been his stay and comfort. The name of his son who was dead never passed his lips, but of Clara he could not speak too long or too tenderly. ‘I can’t think what to do,’ Sidney said. ‘If I talk to her in a fault-finding way, she’ll only dislike me the more; she feels I’ve no business to interfere.’ ‘You’re too soft with them. You spoil them. Why, there’s one of them broken a pane in the kitchen to-day, and they know you’ll take it quiet, like you do everything else.’ Sidney wrinkled his brow. These petty expenses, ever repeated, were just what made the difficulty in his budget; he winced whenever such demands encroached upon the poor weekly income of which every penny was too little for the serious needs of the family. Feeling that if he sat and thought much longer a dark mood would seize upon him, he rose hastily. ‘I shall try kindness with her. Don’t say anything more in her hearing.’ He went to the kitchen-door, and cried cheerfully, ‘My dinner ready, girls?’ Annie’s voice replied with a timorous affirmative. ‘All right; I’ll be down in a minute.’