"I suppose so," said Jack, kicking the foot-stool.
"Well, she can't tell us anything, Jack," said Belle, "if you don't keep your feet still."
"I think you are rather hard on Jack; but never mind. Now," said sister Mary, "we'll have our story:—
"It was a poor little room the sun was looking into, just as it was setting. There was no carpet on the floor, and no curtains to the window. The old grate was cracked and rusty, and contained a few red coals among the embers. By the fire, in a curious old chair, roughly made, yet looking comfortable, sat a little girl rocking herself backwards and forwards. It was a very pale face that the sun shone upon, and a very thin, pale hand it was that the little girl was holding up, shading her eyes. Every little while the girl dropped her hand, and looked towards the window with a bright smile,—and no wonder! for there stood the prettiest of rose-bushes, with bright green leaves, and one dark crimson bud just opening. She sat watching it, till the last rays of the sun died away, and it began to grow dark. Then the look of sadness came back to her face, and drawing her old shawl closer round her, she sat leaning her head on her hand. By-and-by there was a sound of footsteps, and the door opened, and a man entered with a slow and heavy step. She turned round with a quick smile,—'O father! what has made you so late?'
"He said nothing; but, stooping down, lifted her in his arms, and sat down by the fire. Though he lifted her very gently, an expression of pain passed over her face, and you could see that the poor limbs hung shrunken and helpless. He was a rough-looking man, with a rough, heavy voice; but when he spoke to her, his tones were very gentle, and as he held her in his lap he stroked her hair softly and kissed her again and again.
"'How have you been to-day, Lizzie?'
"'Pretty well, father. When neighbour Green came in to see to the fire, she brought me some nice warm broth for my dinner. Wasn't it kind, father—and wasn't it odd too? I had been thinking all the morning how much I should like some broth, and then just to think I had some for my dinner. And then the best of all is that dear little rose-bush. You can't see it now, it's so dark; it's got one dear little bud, and it won't eat anything but water, so I can keep it. Mrs. Smith brought it to me, and she brought a nice basketful of things besides; and you'll get some of them for your supper—won't you, father?'
"He put her back carefully in her chair, then put on a few more coals, and brought out from a basket in a corner their supper. After they had eaten, he took her again in his arms and sat down with her.
"'Was the day very long, Lizzie?'