“How thankful I shall be when your father comes home, my dear!” said Mrs Braydon.
“A bag of flour would be the best thing,” said Nic to himself.
“I know, of course, my dear, that you are doing wonders,” continued Mrs Braydon, looking uneasily at her son, and misinterpreting his heavy look into showing annoyance at her remark. “Both the girls and I are astonished at the rapidity with which you have taken up this wild farm life, and gone on with it as if you had been working for years; but we cannot help longing to see your father back to take the management and give us that feeling of protection which we miss.”
“I ought to have guessed it at once,” muttered Nic.
“Is anything the matter, Nic?” said Hilda.
“Matter? No. Why?”
“You seem so dull, and you are not eating your breakfast.”
“Oh yes, I am,” cried the boy, with forced merriment; and he rapidly attacked the meal and made mother and sisters more uneasy by eating tremendously and talking rapidly at the same time about how glad he would be to have the doctor back.
Soon after breakfast Nic went to the storehouse and filled a bag with meal, carrying it afterwards to the stable.
“I suppose one of the horses is ill,” said Hilda. “Nic has been to fetch some flour to make it a mash.”