got her back in the little parlour in Gloucester Street; "father has
argued and, pleaded and threatened in vain. I thought,--I thought
perhaps you might help him."

"I think I am not one to preach, or to boast," I replied soberly.

"Yes," said she, looking grave; "I know you are wilder than you used to
be; that you play more than you ought, and higher than you ought."

I was silent.

"And I suspect at whose door it lies," said she.

"'Tis in the blood, Patty," I answered.

She glanced at me quickly.

"I know you better than you think," she said. "But Tom has not your
excuse. And if he had only your faults I would say nothing. He does not
care for those he should, and he is forever in the green-room of the
theatre."

I made haste to change the subject, and to give her what comfort I might;
for she was sobbing before she finished. And the next day I gave Tom a
round talking-to for having so little regard for his sister, the hem of
whose skirt he was not worthy to touch. He took it meekly enough, with a
barrel of pat excuses to come after. And he asked me to lend him my
phaeton, that he might go a-driving with Miss Crane, of the theatrical
company, to Round Bay!