At that moment her father came in, and finding supper delayed, commenced scolding in a loud voice.
“I tell ye what, woman, I won't work and provide, to be treated in this ere way. D' ye hear?” and he came close to Margaret and looked into her face.
“Yes, sir. I was late to-night.”
“Yer allus late, somehow. Why don't yer stir round and be lively like other gals, and be more cheery like?”
His poor, rough nature was beginning to feel the need of a better life.
“Let her work as I have, and she'll be thankful to have a roof over her head, let alone the things I make her,” broke in Mrs. Thorne. “When I was a gal, I had to work for my bread and butter.” Having thus relieved her mind, she flew busily about, and the supper was soon ready, to which they sat down, but not as to a homelike repast. Such a thing was not known in that house.
The evening, as usual, passed in a dull routine of drudgery, and Margaret was, as she had been hundreds of times before, glad to reach its close and retire to her room.
Thus wore the winter slowly away, and the days so full of labor, unrelieved by pleasure of any kind, were fast undermining the health and spirits of the sad girl.
When spring came, her step was slower and her cheek paler, but there was no eye of love to mark those changes, and her labors were not lessened. At length her strength gave way, and a slow fever coursed through her veins as the result of over-taxation. The languor it produced was almost insupportable, and she longed for the green woods, and the pure air, and a sight of running waters.
Mrs. Thorne saw that something must be done, and finally consented that Margaret might take a little recreation in the manner she had proposed, accompanying her consent with the remark that she thought it a very idle way of spending one's time.