“I have been doing a little sewing for Mrs. Jones.”
“You mean the landlord’s wife?” questioned Robert.
“Yes; I don’t feel very friendly toward her husband, for it’s he that sells strong drink to my husband and keeps his earnings from me, but I couldn’t refuse work from her when she offered it to me.”
Mrs. Trafton spoke half apologetically, for it had cost her a pang to work for her enemy’s family, but Robert took a practical view of the matter.
“Her money is as good as anybody’s,” he said. “I don’t see why you shouldn’t take it. She has enough of our money.”
“That’s true, Robert,” said his aunt, her doubts removed by her young nephew’s logic.
“Is the bundle ready. Aunt Jane?”
“Here it is, Robert,” and the fisherman’s wife handed him a small parcel, wrapped in a fragment of newspaper.
“How much is she to pay for the work?”
“I hardly know what to ask. I guess twenty-five cents will be about right.”