"Johnnie, Johnnie, you must not talk that way. He is your father, child."
The voice came from the bed and was marked by that peculiar tone noticeable when persons extremely cold try to speak without chattering.
"I can't help it, mother. I'm cold, so cold, and I'm hungry, too. I only had half a potato, and Maggie says they're all gone."
"Poor child!" said the mother with a sigh. "Here, Maggie, give him this," and she drew from under the pillow a small potato which she held toward the girl.
But the girl did not stir until the hungry boy made a move in the direction of the bed. This movement aroused her as his overdose of coal had roused his other watchful sister a moment previous.
"No! No! Johnnie. Do not take it. Our mother will starve. She has not eaten anything for two days."
"Let him have it, Maggie. I cannot eat it. Perhaps your father will come soon and bring some tea. I think a good cup of tea would make me better."
"And, mother," said Cora, "we will take the money we were going to spend for shoes and get a bit of flannel for you and the baby. You must have it or you will freeze. Surely father will come soon. He said he would."
"Nearly everyone has gone home now. Hardly a person passes," Cora observed, with her nose pressed against the frosty pane.