Emily pouted, but knowing her aunt would firmly enforce her command, she rose, and taking her brother by the wrist, said:
“Come, Charlie, let us go up-stairs!”
“I don’t want to,” growled Charlie, pulling away his arm, and putting it round his plate.
“Charlie!” exclaimed Mrs. Carlton.
“I want my dinner!” was his surly reply.
Mary had now drawn near the ugly little fellow. Placing her heavy hand on his shoulder, she seized him with a grip, which made him feel like a pigmy, in the grasp of a giant. Having had a taste of Mary’s anger, once or twice before, and catching a glance from the kindling eye of Uncle Morris, he yielded, and was led out of the room.
“The worst child of his age I ever knew,” observed the old gentleman with a sigh, as he proceeded to carve the chickens, which were smoking on the hospitable table before him.
Jessie’s face had clouded a little during this scene. The thaw of which Emily had spoken, cut off her hope of trying her new skates. Leaning towards Guy, who sat next to her at the table, she whispered:
“Is the ice all gone, Guy?”
“I expect it is pretty much used up by the fog we’ve had all day.”