CHAPTER XI.
MRS. MERRYWEATHER'S VIGIL
Mrs. Merryweather had had a busy day. There had been a picnic at Oak Island, which had taken all the morning and a good part of the afternoon; then there had been a dozen letters to write for the late mail; and finally she had taken Kitty's turn with Willy at getting supper, as Kitty had a headache. The sisters protested, each one claiming her right to take the extra duty; but Mrs. Merryweather had her own reasons for being glad of the hour of play-work with her little boy. Willy had been rather out of spirits, which meant that he, as well as his sister, had eaten too many huckleberries; this afternoon he had been decidedly cross, and required treatment.
Coming into the kitchen at five o'clock, she found the fire lighted, and the kettle on, for Willy was a faithful soul; but he was frowning heavily over his chopping-tray.
"I wish mince-meat had never been invented!" he said, gloomily.
"Do you?" said his mother. "I don't! I am glad it was, even if I did not have three helps last night."
"I was so hungry, I had to eat something," said Willy, in an injured tone. "When I grow up, I mean to have beefsteak every day, and never have anything made over at all."
"I'll remember that, the next time we have brown-bread brewis!" said his mother smiling.
"Oh! that's different!" said Willy.
"Most things are different," said Mrs. Merryweather, "if you look at them in a different way. Is that ready, son?"