A girl of perhaps fifteen sat close to the stove and held a tiny baby wrapped in a gingham apron.
A spell seemed to have fallen on the usually noisy group. Even Cora, the family merrymaker, was quiet, until aroused from her reverie by an act of her brother who replenished the fire.
She spoke rather severely.
"Johnnie, how many pieces of coal are there left in the box?"
"Five—and little ones."
"Then get to work quick! Take out one of the pieces that you have just put in. We are not rich enough to burn three pieces at once."
"I'm cold," whined the boy.
"So am I, awful cold, but you know that coal must do till pa comes."
"I'd like to know when that will be. Any other pa would be home such a freezing night as this. I hate my pa."