"Hollo!" burst in a rude boy of some fifteen years, opening the door from the entry,--"who's puttin' my room to rights?"
A very gentle voice said, "I've done it, Barry."
"Here it is,--in the corner behind the bureau."
"Don't you touch it now, to take it for your fire,--mind, Nettie! Where's my kite?"
"You wont have time to fly it now, Barry; supper will be ready in two minutes."
"_I_ don't care for supper." Barry was getting the tail of his kite together.
"But please, Barry, come now; because it will make mother so much more trouble if you don't. She has the things to clear away after you're done, you know!"
"Trouble! so much talk about trouble! _I_ don't mind trouble. I don't want any supper, I tell you."
Nettie knew well enough he would want it by and by, but there was no use in saying anything more, and she said nothing. Barry got his kite together and went off. Then came a heavier step on the stairs, which she knew; and she hastily went into the other room to see that all was ready. The tea was made, and Mrs. Mathieson put the smoking dish of porridge on the table, just as the door opened and a man came in. A tall, burly, strong man, with a face that would have been a good face enough if its expression had been different, and if its hue had not been that of a purplish-red flush. He came to the table and silently sat down as he took a survey of what was on it.
"Give me a cup of tea! Have you got no bread, Sophia?"
"Nothing but what you see. I hoped you would bring home some money, Mr. Mathieson. I have neither milk nor bread; it's a mercy there's sugar. I don't know what you expect a lodger to live on."
"Live on his board,--that'll give you enough. But you want something to begin with. I'd go out and get one or two things--but I'm so confounded tired. I can't."
Mrs. Mathieson, without a word, put on a shawl and went to the closet for her bonnet.
"I'll go, mother! Let me go, please. I want to go," exclaimed Nettie, eagerly. "I can get it. What shall I get, father?"
Slowly and weariedly the mother laid off her things, as quickly the child put hers on.
"Well, you can go down the street to Jackson's, and get what your mother wants: some milk and bread; and then you'd better fetch seven pounds of meal and a quart of treacle. And ask him to give you a nice piece of pork out of his barrel."