"That's all right. I feel tired. Guess I'll go and lie down."
To his wife's relief he went up-stairs, and was soon stretched out on the bed in a drunken sleep.
"I am glad he is out of the way. I should be ashamed to have Mr. Jackson see him," thought Grit's mother, or Mrs. Brandon, as we must now call her.
"Who is that man?" asked Willie anxiously.
"His name is Brandon," answered Grit's mother.
"He isn't a nice man. I don't like him."
Mrs. Brandon said nothing. What could she say? If she had spoken as she felt, she would have been compelled to agree with the boy. Yet this man was her husband, and was likely to be to her a daily source of anxiety and annoyance.
"I am afraid Grit and he won't agree," she thought anxiously. "Oh I why did he ever come back? For the last five years we have been happy. We have lived plainly and humbly, but our home has been peaceful. Now, Heaven knows what trouble is in store for us."
Half an hour later Mr. Jackson and Grit returned.