Sam appeared to be in low spirits. Usually talkative, he had scarcely spoken to Dick on the way from the house, and had indeed not been visible since breakfast time.
"What's the matter, Sam?" said Dick, as he sat at the tiller, noticing the boy's gloomy face as he rowed to assist the sail.
"Nawthin'," replied Sam curtly.
"But there is. Your face is as long as a fiddle. Something must have upset you. What is it?"
"Well, if I must tell, I will. My poor heart be broke."
"That's bad. What broke it?"
"The Mistress."
"My mother! What has she done?"
"'Tis not what she does, but what she says. Oh! 'tis terrible hard for poor folks in this world."
"I agree with you. We are all pretty poor at the Towers."