As she was thinking of all this a voice sounded by her bedside; it said:
“Now, missy dear, you must not take on so. You must not fret. Look what old cooksie-coaxy has brought you—a mince-pie—a big—beautiful mince-pie—all for missy—alone.”
It was cook who had stolen softly into the room. She was a fat, good-natured soul, and she spoilt Kitty terribly. All during that sad week cook had petted her, giving her cakes and sweets. She had kept assuring Kitty she was the dearest, best little girl in the world—“Cooksie-coaxy’s little angel-darling, and that Johnnie would soon get quite well.”
This sympathy had sometimes been very agreeable to Kitty, and she had accepted it and the sweet things it brought gratefully; but at other times she had repelled it, feeling angry with cook for saying what was not true only to please her.
Now Kitty buried her face deeper in the pillow, stopped her ears, and waved away cook and the mince-pie with an impatient elbow.
“Go away! go away!” she cried. “You spoil me; mamma says you spoil me. I would not be so naughty if you did not spoil me.”
Cook continued to hold out the mince-pie, but Kitty would not look round.
“Go away! go away!” she repeated.
Poor cook departed, leaving the mince-pie on a chair by Kitty’s bed. As she reached the door she looked round, and murmured: “Poor little dear, she doesn’t mean to be unkind to old cooksie-coaxy.”
Toss! toss! went Kitty again as soon as she was left alone. She had never been so wakeful.