His uncle set down his cup sharply.
“You have not been keeping that scoundrel Bannock?” he cried.
“No, sir; I’ve been talking to Jem.”
“Ho!” ejaculated the old merchant. “That’s better. But you might have come straight home.”
Don’s eyes encountered his Cousin Kitty’s just then, as she gave her head a shake to throw back the brown curls which clustered about her white forehead.
She turned her gaze upon her plate, and he could see that she was frowning.
“Yes,” thought Don, “they all dislike me, and I’m only a worry and trouble to my mother. I wish I was far away—anywhere.”
He went on with his tea moodily and in silence, paying no heed to the reproachful glances of his mother’s eyes, which seemed to him to say, and with some reason, “Don’t be sulky, Don, my boy; try and behave as I could wish.”
“It’s of no use to try,” he said to himself; and the meal passed off very silently, and with a cold chill on every one present.
“I’m very sorry, Laura,” said her brother, as soon as Don had left the room; “and I don’t know what to do for the best. I hate finding fault and scolding, but if the boy is in the wrong I must chide.”