But now it was growing dark in the big, bare room, and you had to look
closely into the back of the hearth to see the two little figures--one
trotting the baby, and the other rocking the doll's cradle in which two
of Mitz's sisters were tied with cord, for their good, of course. But
Mitz's piteous cries raised echoes.
"Mieu, mieu!" cried Mitz, trying to claw something under the pillow
case. "Mieu, mieu!" chimed in Mitz's sisters, while little Hannah
trotted desperately, and the doll's cradle was rocked as if by a small
tempest.
[Illustration: HE WOULDN'T EAT HIS BREAD AND MILK.]
"It's no use," said little Hannah, in great perplexity; "all people's
children arn't always bad! Mitz--you wicked Mitz!" And she shook that
badly-behaved child. "He's been crying ever since we began to play. He
wouldn't eat his bread and milk, though I tied on his best new bib. Oh,
dear me, Mrs. Liseke, how noisy your children are! Suppose," said little
Hannah, vainly endeavoring to pacify the indignant Mitz, "suppose, Mrs.
Liseke, we take the children out for a walk?"
Out of the hearth crept Hannah, with Mitz hugged to her heart, and her
short, round figure all the rounder for an ancient shawl and a venerable
cap perched on the top of her plump, rosy face. Hannah had just passed
the brass griffins, when some one burst into the room. There was a
vision of two long stockings with a hole in one knee, a faded velveteen
suit, a pair of brass-tipped boots, a bright patch in the seat of the
short breeches, and a look of triumph on a round face with a turn-up
nose, while a grin, extending from ear to ear, discovered a loss of
several front teeth in the big mouth.
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