She was reassured by his promise and prepared to go to bed. Soon all three inmates of the little cabin were sleeping soundly. CHAPTER VII THE NEXT MORNING Robert rose at six the next morning and half an hour later took his breakfast. It consisted of fish, bread and a cup of tea, and though most of my young readers might not be satisfied with it--especially as there was no butter--Robert thought himself lucky to be so well provided for. When his breakfast was finished he rose from the table. “Now I’m off, Aunt Jane,” he said. “Where are you going, Robert?” “I’ll earn some money if I can. We’ve got a little, but it won’t last long.” “It won’t be very easy to find work, I am afraid.” “I shall be ready for anything that turns up, aunt. Something turned up yesterday when I didn’t expect it.” “That’s true.” Just then the fisherman was heard to stir in the adjoining room, and Robert, not wishing to be near when he awakened, hastily left the cabin to avoid a repetition of the scene of the previous night. Mrs. Trafton breathed a sigh of relief when her nephew was fairly out of the way. About an hour later her husband rose and without needing to dress--for he had thrown himself on the bed in his ordinary clothes--walked into the room where his wife was at work. “Where’s Robert?” he asked. “He had his breakfast and went out.” “How long ago?” “About an hour ago.” John Trafton scowled with disappointment. “Is he round about home?” “I don’t think he is.” “Did he say where he was going?” “He said he would try to find a job.” “Why didn’t you keep him? Didn’t you know I wanted to see him?” “You didn’t ask me to keep him,” said Mrs. Trafton nervously. “I see how it is,” said the fisherman; “you’re in league with him.” “What do you mean by that, John?” “You know well enough what I mean. You don’t want him to give me that money.” Mrs. Trafton plucked up courage enough to say: “You ought not to ask for it, John.” “Why shouldn’t I ask for it?” he demanded, pounding forcibly on the table. “Because he means to spend it for things we need and you want it to spend at the tavern.” “There you are again--always twitting me because, after exposing myself to storm and the dangers of the sea, I take a little something to warm me up and make me comfortable.” To hear John Trafton’s tone one might think him a grievously injured man. “For two years, John Trafton, you have spent three-fourths of your earnings at the tavern,” said his wife quietly. “You have left me to suffer want and privation that you might indulge your appetite for drink.” “You seem to be alive still,” he said with an ugly sneer. “You don’t seem to have starved.” “I might have done so but for Robert. He has brought me fish and bought groceries with what little money he could earn in various ways.” “Oh, it’s Robert always!” sneered Trafton. “He is an angel, is he? He’s only done his duty. Haven’t I given him the shelter of my roof?”