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“Are they?” said the Tailor emphatically.

He had a high respect for his mother, and did not like to contradict her, but he held his own opinion, based upon personal experience; and not being a metaphysician, did not understand that it is safer to found opinions on principles than on experience, since experience may alter, but principles cannot.

“Look at Tommy,” he broke out suddenly. “That boy does nothing but whittle sticks from morning till night. I have almost to lug him out of bed o’ mornings. If I send him an errand, he loiters; I’d better have gone myself. If I set him to do anything, I have to tell him everything; I could sooner do it myself. And if he does work, it’s done so unwillingly, with such a poor grace; better, far better, to do it myself. What housework do the boys ever do but looking after the baby? And this afternoon she was asleep in the cradle, and off they went, and when she awoke, I must leave my work to take her. I gave her her supper, and put her to bed. And what with what they want and I have to get, and what they take out to play with and lose, and what they bring in to play with and leave about, bairns give some trouble, Mother, and I’ve not an easy life of it. The pay is poor enough when one can get the work, and the work is hard enough when one has a clear day to do it in; but housekeeping and bairn-minding don’t leave a man much time for his trade. No! no! Ma’am, the luck of the Trouts is gone, and ‘Bairns are a burden,’ is the motto now. Though they are one’s own,” he muttered to himself, “and not bad ones, and I did hope once would have been a blessing.”

“There’s Johnnie,” murmured the old lady, dreamily. “He has a face like an apple.”

“And is about as useful,” said the Tailor. “He might have been different, but his brother leads him by the nose.”

His brother led him in as the Tailor spoke, not literally by his snub, though, but by the hand. They were a handsome pair, this lazy couple. Johnnie especially had the largest and roundest of foreheads, the reddest of cheeks, the brightest of eyes, the quaintest and most twitchy of chins, and looked altogether like a gutta-percha cherub in a chronic state of longitudinal squeeze. They were locked together by two grubby paws, and had each an armful of moss, which they deposited on the floor as they came in.

“I’ve swept this floor once to-day,” said the father, “and I’m not going to do it again. Put that rubbish outside.” “Move it, Johnnie!” said his brother, seating himself on a stool, and taking out his knife and a piece of wood, at which he cut and sliced; while the apple-cheeked Johnnie stumbled and stamped over the moss, and scraped it out on the doorstep, leaving long trails of earth behind him, and then sat down also.

“And those chips the same,” added the Tailor; “I will not clear up the litter you lads make.”

“Pick ’em up, Johnnie,” said Thomas Trout, junior, with an exasperated sigh; and the apple tumbled up, rolled after the flying chips, and tumbled down again.

“Is there any supper, Father?” asked Tommy.

“No, there is not, Sir, unless you know how to get it,” said the Tailor; and taking his pipe, he went out of the house.

“Is there really nothing to eat, Granny?” asked the boy.

“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.”