"Oh, don't talk about that," said Grit, who always felt embarrassed when openly praised.
"But it is true, Grit. But for the money you make in your boat, I might have to go to the poorhouse."
"You will never go while I live, mother," said Grit quickly.
"No, Grit, I feel sure of that. It seems wicked to rejoice in your father's misfortune and disgrace——"
"Not my father," interrupted Grit.
"Mr. Brandon, then. As I was saying, it seems wicked to feel relieved by his imprisonment, but I can't help it."
"Why should you try to help it? He has made you a bad husband, and only brought you unhappiness. How did you ever come to marry him, mother?"
"I did it for the best, as I thought, Grit. I was left a widow when you were four years old. I had this cottage, to be sure, and about two thousand dollars, but the interest of that sum at six per cent. only amounted to a hundred and twenty dollars, and I was not brave and self-reliant like some, so when Mr. Brandon asked me to marry him, I did so, thinking that he would give us a good home, be a father to you, and save us from all pecuniary care or anxiety."