onth of sixteen, and
Veronica was in her thirteenth year; but she looked as old as I did.
She carefully prepared her toast with milk and butter, and ate it in
silence. The plenty around me, the ease and independence, gave me a
delightful sense of comfort. The dishes were odd, some of china, some
of delf, and were continually moved out of their places, for we helped
ourselves, although Temperance stayed in the room, ostensibly as a
waiter. She was too much engaged in conversation to fulfill her duties
that way. I looked round the room; nothing had been added to it,
except red damask curtains, which were out of keeping with the
old chintz covers. It was a delightful room, however; the blue sea
glimmered between the curtains, and, turning my eyes toward it, my
heart gave the leap which I had looked for. I grew blithe as I saw it
winking under the rays of the afternoon sun, and, clapping my hands,
said I was glad to get home. We left Veronica at the table, and mother
resumed her conversation with me in a corner of the room. Presently
Temperance came in with Charles, bringing fresh plates. As soon
as they began their supper, Veronica asked Temperance how the fish
tasted.

"Is it salt?"

"Middling."

"How is the bannock?"

"Excellent. I will say it for Hepsey that she hasn't her beat as a
cook; been at it long enough," she added, in expiation of her praise.

"Temperance, is that pound cake, or sponge?"

"Pound."

"Charles can eat it," Verry said with a sigh.

"A mighty small piece he'll have--the glutton. But he has not been
here long; they are all so when they first come."

She then gave him a large slice of the cake.

Veronica, contrary to her wont, huddled herself on the sofa. Arthur
played round the chair of mother, who looked happy and forgetful.
After Temperance had rearranged the table for father's supper we were
quiet. I meditated how I could best amuse myself, where I should go,
and what I should do, when Veronica, whom I had forgotten, interrupted
my thoughts.

"Mother," she said, "eating toast does not make me better-tempered;
I feel evil still. You know," turning to me, "that my temper is worse
than ever; it is like a tiger's."

"Oh, Verry," said mother, "not quite so bad; you are too hard upon
yourself."

"Mother, you said so to Hepsey, when I tore her turban from her head,
it was _so_ ugly. Can you forget you said such a thing?"

"Verry, you drive me wild. Must I say that I was wrong? Say so