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 up stairs, and the red bedstead to bring down."
"No, mother," said Nettie, gently,—"all my things are up stairs 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.
"This morning before breakfast, mother. It's all ready, father, if you or Barry would take up my cot and the bed, and bring down the other bedstead. It's too heavy for me."
"That's what I call doing business and having some spirit," said her father. "Not sitting and letting your work come to you. Here, Nettie—I'll do the rest for you."
Nettie ran with him to show him what was wanted; and Mr. Mathieson's strong arms had it all done very quickly. Nettie eagerly thanked him; and then seeing him in good-humour with her, she ventured something more.
"Mother's very tired to-day, father," she whispered; "she'll feel better by and by if she has a little rest. Do you think you would mind helping me put up this bedstead?"
"Well, here goes!" said Mr. Mathieson. "Which piece belongs here, to begin with?"