on her recovery, from touching my brother any more on any pretence whatever; and my poor mother, who, I could see, wished otherwise, meekly confirmed the interdict, by saying: ‘No doubt you are right, my dear Jane.’

On another occasion, when we three were together, this same dear baby — it was truly dear to me, for our mother’s sake — was the innocent occasion of Miss Murdstone’s going into a passion.

My mother, who had been looking at its eyes as it lay upon her lap, said:

‘Davy! come here!’ and looked at mine.

I saw Miss Murdstone lay her beads down.

‘I declare,’ said my mother, gently, ‘they are exactly alike. I suppose they are mine. I think they are the colour of mine. But they are wonderfully alike.’