"Will you go away, then, and give up troubling us?" demanded the young boatman sternly.
"Yes, yes, I'll go," said Travers hurriedly. "Lower that pistol. It might go off."
Grit lowered the weapon, as desired, seeing that Travers was likely to keep his word.
"Tell Brandon I want to see him. I will be at the tavern this afternoon at four o'clock."
"I'll tell him," said Grit, who preferred that his stepfather should be anywhere rather than at home.
Having got rid of Travers, Grit turned to survey his stepfather, who was lying on the floor, breathing heavily. His eyes were closed, and he seemed in a drunken stupor.
"How long have we got to submit to this?" thought Grit. "I must go up and consult with mother about what is to be done."
He went up-stairs, and found his mother seated in her chamber, nervously awaiting the issue of the interview between Grit and the worthy pair below.
"Are they gone, Grit?" she asked quickly.
"Travers is gone, mother. I turned him out of the house."