"Yes, I do!" thundered her husband; "but I tell you I'll not take anything now; so leave your cooking till supper—when Lumber will be here. Go on, child, and get your work done."
There were no preparations for dinner, and Nettie was at a loss, and did not like to say anything for fear of bringing on a storm. Her mother looked both weary and out of temper. The kettle was boiling, the only thing about the room that had a pleasant seeming.
"Will you have a cup of tea, father?" said Nettie.
"Anything you like—yes, a cup of tea will do; and hark ye, child, I want a good stout supper got this afternoon. Your mother don't choose to hear me. Mr. Lumber is coming, and I want a good supper to make him think he's got to the right place. Do you hear, Nettie?"
"Yes, father."
Nettie went on to do the best she could. She warmed the remains of last night's porridge, and gave it to Barry, with treacle, to keep him quiet. Meanwhile she had made the tea, and toasted a slice of bread very nicely, though with great pains, for the fire wasn't good; and the toast and a cup of tea she gave to her father. He ate it with an eagerness which let Nettie know she must make another slice as fast as possible.
"Hallo! Nettie—I say, give us some of that, will you?" said Barry, finding his porridge poor in taste.
"Barry, there isn't bread enough—I can't," whispered Nettie. "We've got to keep a loaf for supper."
"Eat what you've got, or let it alone!" thundered Mr. Mathieson, in the way he had when he was out of patience, and which always tried Nettie exceedingly.
"She's got more," said Barry. "She's toasting two pieces this minute. I want one."