"I say, Mathieson," called one of the men from the inside of the frame, "I s'pose 'tain't worth carrying any of this stuff—Jackson'll have enough without it?"
The words were explained, to Nettie's horror, by a jug in the man's hands, which he lifted to his lips.
"Jackson will do something handsome in that way to-night," said Nettie's father; "or he'll not do as he's done by, such a wet evening. But I've stood to my word, and I expect he'll stand to his'n."
"He gave his word there was to be oysters, warn't it?" called another man, from the top of the ladder.
"Punch and oysters," said Mathieson, hammering away, "or I've raised the last frame I ever will raise for him. I expect he'll stand it."
"Oysters ain't much 'count," said another speaker. "I'd rather have a slice of good sweet pork any day."
"Father," said Nettie. She had come close up to him, but she trembled. What possible chance could she have?
"Holloa!" said Mr. Mathieson, turning suddenly. "Nettie!—what's the matter, girl?"
He spoke roughly, and Nettie saw that his face was red. She trembled all over, but spoke as bravely as she could.
"Father, I am come to invite you home to supper to-night. Mother and I have a particular reason to want to see you. Will you come?"