"What shall I do with her?" she kept saying to herself. "How can I help her conquer her hasty temper? So affectionate one moment, so passionate the next."
Toward night, Mrs. Kent's pain was relieved. She was able to sit up in bed and take a cup of gruel. Nothing could exceed Ida's fond attention. She ran softly to the entry for a shawl, then upstairs for another pillow, and afterwards sat in a chair, her curly head resting on the bed, her forefinger in her mouth, looking as placid and happy as if no cries of passion had ever distorted her features.
Mrs. Kent was greatly refreshed by the gruel. She sat up in bed long enough for Aunt Mary to smooth her tangled hair, and then lay down, saying—
"I feel as if I could sleep."
Presently she put her hand softly on Ida's cheek. "You're a good girl now," she said. "You're mamma's comfort."
Ida caught her mother's hand and kissed it, then went to sucking her finger again.
By and by papa came home, and rocked his little girl in his arms until the tea-bell rang.
"The sky seems remarkably clear to-night," he said to his sister Mary, after a glance at Ida.
"Yes," she said, smiling; "a storm generally clears the sky; and there has been a terrible one to-day."
"Was that what made her mother's head ache so bad?"