"No, my bairn, only some bread for breakfast to-morrow."

"What makes Father so cross, Granny?"

"He's wearied, and you don't help him, my dear."

"What could I do, Grandmother?"

"Many little things, if you tried," said the old lady. "He spent
half-an-hour to-day, while you were on the moor, getting turf for the
fire, and you could have got it just as well, and he been at his work."

"He never told me," said Tommy.

"You might help me a bit just now, if you would, my laddie," said the
old lady coaxingly; "these bits of cloth want tearing into lengths, and
if you get 'em ready, I can go on knitting. There'll be some food when
this mat is done and sold."

"I'll try," said Tommy, lounging up with desperate resignation. "Hold
my knife, Johnnie. Father's been cross, and everything has been
miserable, ever since the farm was sold. I wish I were a big man, and
could make a fortune.--Will that do, Granny?"

The old lady put down her knitting and looked. "My dear, that's too
short. Bless me! I gave the lad a piece to measure by."

"I thought it was the same length. Oh, dear! I am so tired;" and he
propped himself against the old lady's chair.