"Hush, Barry, don't make such a noise," said his sister. "You know it's Sunday evening."
"Sunday! well, what about Sunday? What's Sunday good for, except to eat, I should like to know?"
"O Barry!"
"O Barry!" said he, mimicking her. "Come, shut up, and fry your cake. Father and Lumber will be here just now."
Nettie hushed, as she was bidden; and as soon as her father's step was heard below, she went to frying cakes with all her might. She just turned her head to give one look at Mr. Lumber as he came in. He appeared to her very like her father, but without the recommendation which her affection gave to Mr. Mathieson. A big, strong, burly fellow, with the same tinges of red about his face that the summer sun had never brought there. Nettie did not want to look again.
She had a good specimen this evening of what they might expect in future. Mrs. Mathieson poured out the tea, and Nettie baked the cakes; and perhaps because she was almost faint for want of something to eat, she thought no three people ever ate so many griddle cakes before at one meal. In vain plateful after plateful went upon the board, and Nettie baked them as fast as she could; they were eaten just as fast; and when finally the chairs were pushed back, and the men went downstairs, Nettie and her mother looked at each other.
"There's only one left, mother," said Nettie.
"And he has certainly eaten half the piece of pork," said Mrs. Mathieson. "Come, child, take something yourself; you're ready to drop. I'll clear away."
But it is beyond the power of any disturbance to take away the gladness of a heart where Jesus is. Nettie's bread was sweet to her, even that evening. Before she had well finished her supper, her father and his lodger came back. They sat down on either side the fire, and began to talk of politics, and of their work on which they were then engaged, with their employers and their fellow-workmen; of the state of business in the village, and profits and losses, and the success of particular men in making money. They talked loudly and eagerly; and Nettie had to go round and round them to get to the fire for hot water, and back to the table to wash up the cups and plates. Her mother was helping at the table, but to get round Mr. Lumber to the pot of hot water on the fire every now and then, fell to Nettie's share. It was not a very nice ending of her sweet Sabbath day, she thought. The dishes were done and put away, and still the talk went on as hard as ever. It was sometimes a pleasure to Nettie's father to hear her sing hymns of a Sunday evening. Nettie watched for a chance, and the first time there was a lull of the voices of the two men, she asked softly,
"Shall I sing, father?"