--Where's Tip?--_Isn't_ it
cold, though?--There'll be prime skating to-night.--Give me the pitcher
right away, please." All this in one breath.
Now they would have beautiful fresh milk for supper; and if there was
anything which Tip liked, it was pudding and milk.
So Kitty set the old arm-chair in the warmest corner for her mother,
fastened her father's door wide open, so that he could see the new room,
then stirred her pudding, and watched and waited. Her mother came first.
Kitty's heart had never beat more anxiously than when she heard the slow,
tired step on the hard snow. Would she notice anything different? In she
came, tired, cross, and cold, expecting to find disorder, discomfort, and
cold inside. Could anybody, having eyes, fail to notice the changes which
had been wrought in that little room since she went out from it in the
early morning? She shut the door with a little slam, and then the flush
of the firelight seemed to blind her a little; she brushed her hand over
her face, and looked around her with a bewildered air.
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