"There, I'll put the kettle on and make the tea for you--not that I'll ever do it again--no, never, as long as I live. There, you'd better set quiet, or not one drop shall pass your lips." "Why don't the woman get it for me?" growled Granger. "I didn't mean you to be awoke, Bet. Young gels must have their slumber out. Why don't the woman see to her duty?" "She has done her duty, father. You set still, and you shall have the tea presently." The man glared at his daughter with his bloodshot eyes. She had been up all night, and her hair was tossed, and her eyes smarted; but beside him she looked so fresh, so upright, so brave and strong, that he himself in some undefinable way felt the contrast, and shrank from her. He turned his uneasy gaze towards the bed; he would vent his spite on that weak wife of his--Martha should know what it was to keep a man with a splitting headache waiting for his tea. He made an effort to rise, and to approach the bed, but Bet forestalled him. "Set you there, or you'll drink no tea in this house," she said; and then, taking a shawl, she threw it over an old clothes-screen, and placed it between Granger and his dead wife. The kettle boiled at last, the tea was made strong ang good, and Bet took a cup to her father. He drained it off at one long draught, and held out his shaking hand to have the cup refilled. Bet supplied him with a second draught, then she placed her hand with the air of a professional nurse on his wrist. "You're better now, father." "That I am, gel, and thank you. You're by no means a bad sort, Bet--worth twenty of her, I can tell you." "Leave her out of the question, if you please, father, or you'll get no help from me. You'd like to wash your face, mebbe?" "Yes, yes, with cold water. Give me your hand, child, and I'll get up." "Set you still--I'll fetch the water." She brought it in a tin pail, with a piece of flannel and soap and a coarse towel. "Now, wash--wash and make yourself as clean as you can--for you has got to see summut--leastways you can take the outside dirt away; there, make yourself clean while I lets the daylight in." The man washed and laved himself. He was becoming gradually sober, and Bet's words had a subduing effect; he looked after her with a certain maudlin admiration, as she drew up the blind, and let the uncertain daylight into the poor little room. Then she went behind the screen, and he heard her for a moment or two moving about. He dried his face and hands and hair and was standing up, looking comparatively fresh and another man, when she returned to him. "You're not a bad sort of a gel," he said, attempting to chuck her under the chin, only she drew away from him. "You know what a man wants, and you get it for him and don't hurl no ugly words in his face. Well, I'm off to the docks now. I'll let the old 'ooman sleep on, this once, and tell her what I think on her, and how much more I set store by that daughter of hers, tonight."