"Don't cry, Jem. Look, now I've put the wood all ready to boil the kettle the minute mother comes, and she'll bring you some tea: she said she would. Now I'm going to sweep up the dust, and make it all tidy." Jem was quieted for a few minutes by looking at his brother's busy operations, carried on in a bustling, rattling way, to afford all the amusement possible; but the feverish restlessness soon returned. "Take me up, do take me up," he cried; "and hold me near the broken pane, please, John;" and he stretched out his white, wasted hands. John kindly lifted out the poor little fellow, and dragging a chair to the window, sat down with him on his knee, and held his face close to the broken pane, through which, however, no air seemed to come, and he soon began to cry again. "What is it, Jem?--what's the matter?" said a kind voice at the door, where a woman stood, holding by the hand a pale child. "I want mother," sobbed Jem. "Mother's out at work, Mrs. Willis," said John; "and she thought she should be home at half-past seven; but she's kept later sometimes." "Don't cry," said Mrs. Willis's little girl, coming forward. "Here's my orange for you." Jem took it, and put it to his mouth; but he stopped, and asked John to cut it in two; gave back half to the little girl, made John taste the portion he kept, and then began to suck the cooling fruit with great pleasure, only pausing to say, with a smile, "Thank you, Mary." "Now lie down again, and try to go to sleep; there's a good boy," said Mrs. Willis; "and mother will soon be here. I must go now." Jem was laid in bed once more; but he tossed about restlessly, and the sad wail began again. "I'll tell you what," said John, "if you will stop crying, I'll take down poor Harry's kite, and show you how he used to fly it." "But mother don't like us to touch it." "No; but she will not mind when I tell her why I did it this once. Look at the pretty blue and red figures on it. Harry made it, and painted it all himself; and look at the long tail!" "But how did he fly it? Can't you show me how poor Harry used to fly it?" John mounted on a chest, and holding the kite at arm's length, began to wave it about, and to make the tail shake, while Jem sat up admiring. "This was the way he used to hold it up. Then he took the string that was fastened here--mother has got it in the chest--and he held the string in his hand, and when the wind came, and sent the kite up, he let the string run through his hand, and up it went over the trees, up--up--and he ran along in the fields, and it flew along under the blue sky." John waved the kite more energetically as he described, and both the boys were so engrossed by it, that they did not observe that the mother, so longed for, had come in, and had sunk down on a chair near the door, her face bent and nearly hidden by the rusty crape on her widow's bonnet, while the tears fell fast on her faded black gown.