"Go on, and let's see how long you'll stay," said Kat, shaking an egg into her coffee. "If the fires don't get along fast enough to suit you, pitch in and build one of them; there's piles of difference between that and standing around watching some one else."
Ernestine chose to ignore the remark, and stood warming her fingers, while she contemplated the frosty window-pane.
"To-day's lesson-day, so of course I hate it," she said, with an air of settled resignation. "I never thought I'd teach music, that's sure. I never was cut out for it, so neither the children, nor I, get along well. Is there anything I can do to help out here?"
"No, breakfast is ready; just trot the bread in to the table. I'll bring the butter, and the coffee will be done in a few minutes; that's all we've got for breakfast this morning," said Kat, vanishing down the cellar stairs.
"I could eat two hundred and fifty griddle cakes, I know!" exclaimed Kittie, as they collected about the table, and Bea began rattling the cups, and the bread started around.
"Come down a hundred and seventy-five," laughed Ernestine who had taken time, despite all depressing circumstances, to twist a rose-colored ribbon in her sunny hair. "I believe it's going to snow real hard; don't I wish those children wouldn't come to-day. You all can't imagine how horrible it is to teach music."
"Well, you have the easiest time of any of us," said Kittie.
"You ought to cook and wash dishes awhile," cried Kat.
"Or keep the house," added Bea.
"Or have to stay all day long in the dreariest store in town and keep books," echoed Olive.