Cousin Ann, the brown-haired one, was ironing near the stove. She soon found the steps, went down them one at a time, and pushed open the door at the foot. When she had finished she went out into the hall, and with a return of her aggrieved, abandoned feeling (you must remember that her stomach was very empty) she began to try to find her way downstairs.

She reached for her clothes and began to dress.

Finally it occurred to her that it was not absolutely necessary to have somebody tell her to get up. The sun rose higher and higher, and Elizabeth Ann grew hungrier and hungrier. From it came a warm breath of baking bread and a muffled thump once in a while. She discovered that the heat came from a hole in the floor near the bed, which opened down into the room below. At home Aunt Frances always told her, and helped her get dressed. She stared at it a long time, waiting for somebody to tell her when to get up. This picture was repeated a great many times, all over the paper and in the corner, where it hadn't come out even, they had had to cut it right down the middle of the horse. What funny wall-paper it was-so old-fashioned looking! The picture was of a blue river and a brown mill, with green willow-trees over it, and a man with sacks on his horse's back stood in front of the mill. Elizabeth Ann stretched and yawned and looked about her. The room was quite empty except for the bright sunshine pouring in through the small-paned windows. Previous Chapter Next Chapter Chapter III - A Short MorningĪunt Abigail was gone, Eleanor was gone.

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