"Mother is busy and hasn't a minute. I always do it for her."
"Well, why can't you go on doing it? you're accustomed to it, you see, and I don't like going out so early," said Barry, stretching himself.
"I would, and I wouldn't ask you; only, Barry, somehow I don't think I'm quite strong lately and I can hardly bring the pail, it's so heavy to me. I have to stop and rest ever so many times before I can get to the house with it."
"Well, if you stop and rest, I suppose it wont hurt you," said Barry. "I should want to stop and rest, too, myself."
His little sister was turning away, giving it up; when she was met by her father who stepped in from the entry. He looked red with anger.
"You take the pail and go get the water!" said he to his son; "and you hear me! don't you let Nettie bring in another pailful when you're at home, or I'll turn you out of the house. You lazy scoundrel! You don't deserve the bread you eat. Would you let her work for you, when you are as strong as sixty?"
Barry's grumbled words in answer were so very unsatisfactory, that Mr. Mathieson in a rage advanced toward him with uplifted fist; but Nettie sprang in between and very nearly caught the blow that was meant for her brother.
"Please, father, don't!" she cried; "please, father, don't be angry. Barry didn't think—he didn't"—
"Why didn't he?" said Mr. Mathieson. "Great lazy rascal! He wants to be flogged."
"Oh don't!" said Nettie,—"he didn't know why I asked him, or he wouldn't have refused me."