ich lead to peace
through the born desire of contradiction--the mother fell asleep at
last, perhaps from simple sympathy, and slept beyond her usual hour. But
instead of being grateful for this, she was angry and bitter to any one
awake before her.

"I can not tell why it is," she said to Geraldine, who was toasting a
herring for her brothers and sisters, and enjoying the smell (which was
all that she would get), "but perpetually now you stand exactly like
your father. There is every excuse for your father, because he is an
officer, and has been knocked about, as he always is; but there is no
excuse for you, miss. Put your heel decently under your dress. If we can
afford nothing else, we can surely afford to behave well."

The child made no answer, but tucked her heel in, and went on toasting
nobly, while she counted the waves on the side of the herring, where his
ribs should have been if he were not too fat; and she mentally divided
him into seven pieces, not one of which, alas! would be for hungry
Geraldine. "Tom must have two, after being out all night," she was
saying to herself; "and to grudge him would be greedy. But the bit of
skin upon the toasting-fork will be for me, I am almost sure."

"Geraldine, the least thing you can do, when I speak to you, is to
answer. This morning you are in a most provoking temper, and giving
yourself the most intolerable airs. And who gave you leave to do your
hair like that? One would fancy that you were some rising court beauty,
or a child of the nobility at the very least, instead of a plain little
thing that has to work--or at any rate that ought to work--to help its
poor mother! Oh, now you are going to cry, I suppose. Let me see a tear,
and you shall go to bed again."

"Oh, mother, mother, now what do you think has happened?" little Tom
shouted, as he rushed in from the beach. "Father has caught all the
smugglers, every one, and the Royal George is coming home before a
spanking breeze, with three boats behind her, and they can't be all
ours; and one of them must belong to Robin Lyth himself; and I would
almost bet a penny they have been and shot him; though everybody said
that he never could be shot. Jerry, come and look--never mind the old
fish. I never did see such a sight in all my life. They have got the
jib-sail on him, so he must be dead at last; and instead of half a
crown, I am sure to get a guinea. Come along, Jerry, and perhaps I'll
give you some of it!"

"Tomm