"Why did you, then?"
"Because it made my back ache so to bring it, I couldn't help asking him."
"Did you ever ask him before?"
"Never mind, please, father!" said Nettie, sweetly. "Just don't think about me, and don't be angry with Barry. It's no matter now."
"Who does think about you? Your mother don't, or she would have seen to this before."
"Mother didn't know my back ached. Father, you know she hasn't a minute, she is so busy getting breakfast in time; and she didn't know I wasn't strong enough. Father, don't tell her, please, I asked Barry. It would worry her so. Please don't, father."
"You think of folks, anyhow. You're a regular peacemaker!" exclaimed Mr. Mathieson as he turned away and left her. Nettie stood still, the flush paling on her cheek, her hand pressed to her side.
"Am I that?" she thought. "Shall I be that? Oh Lord, my Saviour, my dear Redeemer, send thy peace here!"—She was still in the same place and position when Barry came in again.
"It's wretched work!" he exclaimed, under his breath, for his father was in the next room. "It's as slippery as the plague, going down that path to the water—it's no use to have legs, for you can't hold up. I'm all froze stiff with the water I've spilled on me!"
"I know it's very slippery," said Nettie.