"Doesn't he mean to do any work himself?"
"I fear not. You know what sort of a man he is, Grit. He probably means to live on what we can earn, and spend his time and what money he can get hold of at the tavern."
"And he calls himself a man!" said Grit disdainfully.
"I am afraid our quiet, happy life is at an end, Grit," sighed his mother.
Grit did not answer for a moment, but he looked stern and determined. Finally, he answered:
"I don't want to make any disturbance, mother, or to act improperly, but I feel sure that we ought not to submit to such treatment."
"What can we do, Grit?"
"If Mr. Brandon cares to stay here we will provide him a home, give him his board, but, as to supplying him with money, we ought not to do it."
"I agree with you, Grit, but I don't see how we can help it. Mr. Brandon is a man, and you are only a boy. I don't want you to quarrel with him."