Mrs. Brandon was alarmed. What did they mean by these references? What had been done to Grit, and how had he been served? Was it possible that Brandon had dared to use violence to the boy? The very thought hardened her, and gave her courage.
"Mr. Brandon," she said, with flashing eyes, "what do you mean? What have you done to Grit? Have you dared to illtreat him? If you have, it will be a bad day's work for you."
"Ha! She threatens you, Brandon. Now, brace up, man, and show your spunk," said Travers, enjoying the scene.
"I'm not accountable to you, Mrs. B.," stammered Brandon, in what he essayed to make a dignified tone. "Grit is my stepson, and I'm his natural guardian."
"Mr. Brandon, what have you done to Grit?" persisted his wife, with flashing eyes. "Have you dared to lay a finger upon him?"
"I'll lay two fingers, three fingers, on him, if I like," said Brandon doggedly. "He's a sassy puppy, Mrs. B."
Mrs. Brandon became more and more anxious. Generally, Grit was home by this time, and his failure to appear led the anxious mother to conclude that he had been injured by her husband.
"Where is Grit?" she asked, with startling emphasis.
"He's all right," stammered Brandon.