"Don't cry, dear. You shall have your supper in a little while. I have brought you home some nice bread and molasses," said the mother, in tones meant to soothe and quiet her hungry and impatient little one. But Emma continued to fret and cry on.
"It's so cold, mamma!" she said. "It's so cold, and I'm hungry!"
"Don't cry, dear," again urged the mother. "I'll make the fire up nice and warm in a little while, and then you shall have something good to eat."
But—"It's so cold, mamma! it's so cold! and I'm hungry!" was the continued and incessant complaint of the poor child.
All this time, Ella had been busily engaged in peeling her orange and dividing it into four quarters.
"See here, Emma! Look what I've got!" she said, in a lively, cheerful tone, as soon as her orange had been properly divided. "Come, cover up in bed here with me, until the fire's made, and you shall have this nice bit of orange."
Emma's complaints ceased in a moment, and she turned towards her sister, and clambered upon the bed.
"And here's a piece for you, Henry, and a piece for mother, too," continued Ella, reaching out two other portions.