The lad obeyed, but as he began to look through his packets of grocery, he flushed hotly.
"I can't think how I could have been so stupid, sir," he said penitently; "why, here's sugar and salt got mixed somehow, and the bacon rashers has gone and wrapped theirselves up with the yaller soap. Oh my! And a pound of taller dips is broke loose all among the currants, till they looks just like the hats of them 'ketch-'em-alive' fellers. Oh, sir, I'm awful sorry."
The round face of Mr. Scales expanded into a grin of genuine amusement.
"It isn't often you make such mistakes, my boy," he said kindly, "so I must forgive you this time. But it seems to me, Tad, that you've something on your mind."
"Yes, sir, that's just it," answered Tad.
"Is it anything I can help you in?"
"No, sir, thank you, no one can't help me," replied the boy gloomily.
"Ah well, you think so now, but perhaps things will mend in a day or two, and then you'll feel more hopeful."
Tad shook his head, but did not reply. He tried, however, to put his troubles out of his mind for the present, and to give his undivided attention to his work, so as to make no more mistakes. He did not reach home that evening until eight, and his father and stepmother were sitting at table. Bert, half undressed, was sobbing in a corner, his face to the wall, and little Nell was wailing in her cot upstairs, having been put to bed supperless for some childish offence.
"Late again, Tad!" exclaimed Mrs. Poole crossly. "Why can't you be home in good time?"