But her brother was not so enthusiastic. “I am not sure that I like it yet,” he admitted. “I have a queer feeling in my middle; all gone, like dropping down in a fast elevator.”
“That comes from the pancakes you ate last night,” said Jo unsympathetically. “Don’t think about them and you will be all right in a minute.”
“I forgot,” said Ann, putting her hand in her pocket. “I brought these crackers; it will be rather a long time before breakfast and I thought that mother would say we must eat something.”
“I ought to have thought of that,” apologized Jo, “but I never have anything myself.”
But though he did not feel the crying emptiness that was upsetting Ben, Jo ate his share. Never had crackers tasted better to any of them.
“That was a fine idea of yours, Ann,” said Ben.
“Now,” advised Jo, “if you should sing you’d feel even better. I’ve heard that some doctors cure patients by giving them something worse than they have already.”
“That cure might work,” admitted Ben, “but it seems hard to give you and Ann a dose of the same medicine, and besides, I don’t need any, now. What shall I sing?”
“Oh, we wouldn’t suffer in silence,” said Jo. “We’ll sing, too. How’s this one?” And he began:
Oh, it’s bonny, bonny weather