IV.
Poor Kate! She had certainly never been so wicked in her life before. The words of her father still lingered in her ears, and she could almost hear the moans of those hungry, crying children.
She had never been sent to bed in her life without her supper, and it looked like a dreadful thing to her—perhaps even more dreadful than it really was.
If there had been nothing but the falsehoods she had told, she might have gone to sleep; but it was sad to think that she had deprived the poor children of their supper, and sent them hungry to bed. This seemed to be the most wicked part of her conduct.
I do not know how many times she turned over in the bed, nor how many times she pulled the clothes over her eyes to shut out the sad picture of those hungry and crying children that would come up before her, in spite of all she could do to prevent it.
She tried to think of other things—of the scene with Fanny; of her school; of a picnic party she had attended on the first of May; of almost everything, indeed; but it did no good. The poor children could not be banished from her mind.