"I don't think I'll ever get to the poorhouse, Uncle Abner."
"Oh, don't talk back! Take your fish to the kitchen an' then git down to the barnyard as quick as you can. You've got to help me milk to-night. An' don't you dare to go fishin' ag'in, unless I give ye permission," added Abner Balberry, as he strode off towards the barn.
A sharp answer arose to Nat Nason's lips, but he checked it and turned toward the kitchen of the farmhouse.
"What luck did you have, Nat?" questioned the did woman who was Abner Balberry's housekeeper.
"Not much luck, Mrs. Felton. They didn't bite very well to-day."
"What was Mr. Balberry saying to you?" went on Mrs. Felton, who had been housekeeper at the place since the death of Mrs. Balberry, two years before.
"He was mad because I went fishing."
"I am sorry to hear that."
"Uncle Abner never wants me to have any sport."
"He's a hard-working man, and always was, Nat. He doesn't believe in wasting time."