'Then how came you here?'
'People couldn't work, or pay for work, miss, when every one was starvin' around them.'
Mrs Prothero looked at Netta reproachfully. The girl was not really hard-hearted, so she changed the subject.
'I daresay you can knit and mark samplers?' she said.
'Yes, miss, mother taught us to do that at school.'
'I think, Netta,' interrupted Mrs Prothero, 'that she must go to bed now. She looks tired, and has been up long enough.'
'What a fuss mother makes about the girl,' muttered Netta as she left the room.
The following day the bonnet was tastily trimmed under Netta's superintendence, and work enough hunted up to employ Gladys for a month at least. Netta even found an old cotton gown, which she presented to her in return for her labours. It was not long enough, but Gladys thought she might be able to lengthen it.
Whilst her convalescence and Netta's needlework were thus progressing, there was an arrival at the farm. One evening the family were assembled in the large hall, their usual sitting-room. Mr Prothero was reading the newspaper at a small round table, with an especial candle to himself. His worthy wife was mending or making shirts. At another round table, not very far off, Netta had some work in her hands, and one of Captain Marryat's novels open before her.
'Why don't you do your work instead of reading those trashy stories, Netta?' suddenly exclaimed Mr Prothero.