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 eat it with an eagerness which let Nettie know she must make another slice as fast as possible.
"Hollo! 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."
"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.