So the crisis had come! Mrs. Brandon looked at her son and her husband with anxiety, fearing there would be a quarrel, and perhaps something worse. She was tempted to say something in deprecation, but Grit said promptly:
"Thank you, Mr. Brandon, but I would prefer to keep the money myself."
Brandon was rather taken aback by the boy's perfect coolness and self-possession.
"How old are you?" he asked, with a frown.
"Fifteen."
"Indeed!" sneered Brandon. "I thought, from the way you talked, you were twenty-one. You don't seem to be aware that I am your legal guardian."
"No, sir, I was not aware of it."
"Then it's time you knew it. Ain't I your stepfather?"
"I suppose so," said Grit, with reluctance.
"Ha, you admit that, do you? I'm the master of this house, and it's my place to give orders. Your wages belong to me, but if you are obedient and respectful, I will allow you a small sum daily, say five cents."