ch as there were, were of the "wholesome"
kind--plenty of breadstuff, and the currants and raisins at a
respectful distance from each other. But, few as the plums were,
she seldom ate them. She picked them out very carefully, and put
them into a box, which was hidden under her pinafore.

When we grown-up people were children, and plum-cake and
plum-pudding tasted very much nicer than they do now, we also
picked out the plums. Some of us ate them at once, and had then to
toil slowly through the cake or pudding, and some valiantly
dispatched the plainer portion of the feast at the beginning, and
kept the plums to sweeten the end. Sooner or later we ate them
ourselves, but Madam Liberality kept her plums for other people.

When the vulgar meal was over--that commonplace refreshment
ordained and superintended by the elders of the household--Madame
Liberality would withdraw into a corner, from which she issued
notes of invitation to all the dolls. They were "fancy written" on
curl-papers, and folded into cocked hats.

Then began the real feast. The dolls came and the children with
them. Madam Liberality had no toy tea-sets or dinner-sets, but
there were acorn-cups filled to the brim, and the water tasted
deliciously, though it came out of the ewer in the night-nursery,
and had not even been filtered. And before every doll was a flat
oyster-shell covered with a round oyster-shell, a complete set of
complete pairs which had been collected by degrees, like old family
plate. And, when the upper shell was raised, on every dish lay a
plum. It was then that Madam Liberality got her sweetness out of
the cake. She was in her glory at the head of the inverted
tea-chest, and if the raisins would not go round the empty
oyster-shell was hers, and nothing offended her more than to have
this noticed. That was her spirit, then and always. She could "do
without" anything, if the wherewithal to be hospitable was left to
her.

When one's brain is no stronger than mine is, one gets very much
confused in disentangling motives and nice points of character. I
have doubted whether Madam Liberality's besetting virtue were a
virtue at all. Was it unselfishness or love of approbation,
benevolence or fussiness, the gift of sympathy or the lust of
power, or was it som