She hurried Jenny off to bed before her brothers came home; Jenny did not like to go so early, and had to be bribed and coaxed to give up the pleasure of sitting on brother Tom’s knee; and when she was in bed, she could not go to sleep, and kept up a little whimper of distress. Bessy kept calling out to her, now in gentle, now in sharp tones, as she made the hearth clean and bright against her brothers’ return, as she settled Bill and Mary to their next day’s lessons, and got her work ready for a happy evening. Presently the elder boys came in. “Where’s Jenny?” asked Tom, the first thing. “I’ve put her to bed,” said Bessy. “I’ve borrowed a book for you to read to me while I darn the stockings; and it was time for Jenny to go.” “Mother never puts her to bed so soon,” said Tom, dissatisfied. “But she’d be so in the way of any quietness over our reading,” said Bessy. “I don’t want to read,” said Tom; “I want Jenny to sit on my knee, as she always does, while I eat my supper.” “Tom, Tom, dear Tom!” called out little Jenny, who had heard his voice, and, perhaps, a little of the conversation. Tom made but two steps upstairs, and re-appeared with Jenny in his arms, in her night-clothes. The little girl looked at Bessy half triumphant and half afraid. Bessy did not speak, but she was evidently very much displeased. Tom began to eat his porridge with Jenny on his knee. Bessy sat in sullen silence; she was vexed with Tom, vexed with Jenny, and vexed with Jem, to gratify whose taste for reading travels she had especially borrowed this book, which he seemed to care so little about. She brooded over her fancied wrongs, ready to fall upon the first person who might give the slightest occasion for anger. It happened to be poor little Jenny, who, by some awkward movement, knocked over the jug of milk, and made a great splash on Bessy’s clean white floor. “Never mind!” said Tom, as Jenny began to cry. “I like my porridge as well without milk as with it.”