Kitty went over to
her; some way she felt a great kindness in her heart for her mother, a
great longing to do something for her.
"Is it cold, mother?" she asked brightly. "Take that chair," pointing to
the seat in the warm corner. "Supper's all ready, and I've made a cup of
tea for you."
Mrs. Lewis took off her hood and shawl in silence, untied her wet shoes,
and placed her cold feet on the clean, warm stove-hearth; took in the
brightness of the room, the shiny candlesticks, the neatly-spread
tea-table; took whiffs of the steaming tea,--all in utter silence; only,
when Kitty's father, looking out, said, "There's been business done here
since you went away," something in her mother's voice, as she answered,
"I should think there had," made the blood rush warmly into Kitty's
cheeks, and made her whisper to herself, as she stooped to place the wet
shoes under the stove to dry, "Mr. Holbrook told me true, I do believe. I
guess I have pleased Jesus to-day; I feel so."
While she was taking up the pudding, there was a merry whistle outside, a
brisk, crushing step on the snow, and Tip whizzed into the room.
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