Mom Beck raised her finger with a warning "Sh!" and seeing that her mother was still asleep, Lloyd stole away to her own room, her own pretty pink and white nest, and curled herself up among the cushions in a big easy chair by the window.
It was the first time in her memory that her mother had been ill.

For more than a week she had not been able to leave her room, and the lonely child, accustomed to being with her constantly, crept around the house like a little stray kitten.

The place scarcely seemed like home, and the days were endless.

Some unusual feeling of sensitiveness had kept her from reminding the family of her birthday.

Other years she had openly counted the days, for weeks beforehand, and announced the gifts that she would be most pleased to receive.
Here by the window the dismal crow thoughts began flocking down to her again, and to drive them away she picked up a book from the table and began to read.