May, however, was in no humour to rejoice with her little sister. Her orange-pip, planted at the same time, showed no signs of life whatever, and now to hear of Ethel's plant putting forth leaves was too much; and so her only answer was to say crossly, 'What have you brought the stupid thing here for? I want the table for my scrap-book.'
'Oh, let it stop,' pleaded little Ethel. 'The sun always leaves the schoolroom window at ten o'clock, and orange-trees want so much sun. There is plenty of room for your desk and the pot.'
May did not answer, but she pettishly pushed the plant to one side, and placed her scrap-book on the table with a bang.
'There is not room,' she said at last; 'where is my desk to go with that great plant blocking up everything? Take it back to the schoolroom, Ethel,' and not looking at the plant, she carelessly pushed it to one side—too much to one side, for it fell to the ground and was broken to pieces, the heavy scrap-book falling on top of it.
'Oh, my plant! my beautiful plant is broken!' cried Ethel. 'I shall never see the oranges grow on it,' and she covered her face with her hands and sobbed bitterly.
'What is the matter? Are you hurt, dear?' asked her mother, hurrying up from a flower-bed where she was planting out seedlings.
'It's the orange-plant!' sobbed Ethel; 'but May did not mean to break it,' she added loyally.
'Oh, dear, what a pity!' said Mrs. Randen, as she carefully lifted the plant in its broken pot, and placed it on the table. 'How came you to be so careless, May?'
'I—I don't know,' stammered May, and she turned away feeling ashamed and miserable, for her conscience told her it was scarcely an accident, for she meant to be rough with the plant, though perhaps she had hardly meant to break it.
'How could I do it?' she asked herself, as she threw herself on the schoolroom sofa, and burst into tears. 'Ethel is so good, too; how horrid I must be to have grudged her pleasure in her plant, even though mine is dead.'