"Nowhere, eh? You're in a precious pelt to get there. What have you got in your hand?"
"Nothink, father!"
"Nothink, father!" he mocked, eyeing Prue with something more than suspicion.
"No, father. Wish I may die if I 'ave!"
Without more ado, Mr. Flower seized the little hand and, wresting the tightly-clenched fingers open, extracted the penny. Looking toward the mantelshelf, he said:
"Stealing my money, eh, you young rat? Who learnt you to tell lies?"
"You did!" replied Mrs. Flower, stepping between them. She had finished her washing, and was putting it together while this scene was proceeding. "You did, you drunken vagabond!"
"You shut up! As for you," he said, throwing Prue violently on the bed; "you stop where you are, or I'll break every bone in your body!"
"Lay a finger on her," cried Mrs. Flower fiercely, "and I'll throw the iron at your head! Don't mind him, Prue; I'll soon be back."
"Ah, you'd better!" said Mr. Flower, with a brutal laugh at his wife, who was looking at him in anger. "What are you staring at?"