"I'll knock you over if you say another word," said his father.
Nettie was frightened, for she saw he meant to have the whole, and she had destined a bit for her mother. However, when she gave her father his second slice, she ventured, and took the other with a cup of tea to the forlorn figure on the other side of the stove. Mrs. Mathieson took only the tea. But Mr. Mathieson's ire was roused afresh. Perhaps toast and tea didn't agree with him.
"Have you got all ready for Mr. Lumber?" he said, in a tone of voice very unwilling to be pleased.
"No," said his wife,—"I have had no chance. I have been cooking and clearing up all the morning. His room isn't ready."
"Well, you had better get it ready pretty quick. What's to do?"
"Everything's to do," said Mrs. Mathieson.
He swore at her. "Why can't you answer a plain question? I say, what's to do?"
"There's all Nettie's things in the room at present. They are all to move upstairs, and the red bedstead to bring down."
"No, mother," said Nettie, gently, "all my things are upstairs already; there's only the cot and the bed, that I couldn't move."
Mrs. Mathieson gave no outward sign of the mixed feeling of pain and pleasure that shot through her heart. Pleasure at her child's thoughtful love, pain that she should have to show it in such a way.