“Here’s some clean soft linen and the court-plaister,” I heard Hetty say with a sob.
“Where’s your mar?” said Mary.
“Upstairs in papa’s room.”
“Ho?” ejaculated Mary, “and I hope she’ll stay there. There, don’t you begin a-crying again. Hold his hair back while I put this bit on. There, it’s not going to bleed any more, and you needn’t get shuddering like that at the sight of a little blood. That’s the way. Poor boy, it was enough to knock down a hox. Never mind the wet hair; it’s only vinegar and water. That’s the way; we’ll soon strap it up. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Miss Hetty, but your par’s a brute.”
“Oh, Mary! I won’t stop in the kitchen if you say such things,” cried Hetty, stamping her little foot.
“Then you’d better go back into the parlour, my dear, for I shall say what I like in my own kitchen; so there now.”
“It’s very cruel and unkind of you, Mary.”
“And it’s very cruel and unkind of your par to keep this poor boy half-starved in that orfis.”
“He did not, Mary. I’m sure papa would not do such a thing.”
“And that’s why you go without half your dinner, and then take and put it in Antony’s desk.”