As if coming out of a reverie Mrs. King started, the mistiness that had softened her eyes vanishing.
"There! Look at the way you've splashed up my nice clean sink!" complained she tartly. "Did any one ever see such a child—always messing up everything! Come, clear out of here and take your fish with you. It does seem as if you needed four nursemaids and a valet at your heels to pick up after you. Be off this minute."
With a cloth in one hand and a bar of soap in the other, she elbowed him away from the dishpan.
"You'll fry these flounders for supper, won't you, Ma?" called the lad as he disappeared into the shed.
"Fry 'em? I reckon I'll have to. It's wicked to catch fish and not use 'em."
But he saw his mother's eyes twinkle and her grumbling assent did not trouble him.