"Mother has forgotten the dinner because she is doing all the horrid, dirty work of having the sweep herself, that I might rest. I won't say anything; no, I won't. I'll just run out and buy some fish, and cook it myself, without saying a word."
She lights the fire, buys the fish, prepares and cooks it in her swift, methodical fashion, and has dinner quite ready just as Bob and the younger children troop in from school, and Lucy returns from her music-lesson.
"Dinner ready?" cries Bob roughly, flinging his cap down on a chair.
"Bob, how dare you do that? Hang your cap up in the hall, directly."
"Oh, bother; I shall want it again in half a minute. Where's mother?"
A wave of indignation sweeps over Betty at his careless answer.
"Not one scrap of dinner shall you have, Bob, until your cap is hanging up in its proper place; take it out at once!"
"Shan't; where's mother? I want my dinner. I don't want any of your nagging."
Nagging—how Betty hates the word! Bob knows her dislike of it well enough, and always uses it when he means to be especially aggravating. He does so now, fully expecting her to begin scolding violently.
But somehow her very dislike of the word reminds her of Grannie's letter, with its warning about troubles and trials. Is she nagging? has she failed already? Yet how rude Bob is—how wrong!