It was very unkind of Gibbie to leave her, she said to herself, But then he was a sort of angel, and doubtless had to go and help somebody else.

There was a little pile of books on the table, which he must have left for her.

She began examining them, and soon found something to interest her, so that an hour or two passed quickly.
But Gibbie did not return, and the day went wearily.

She cried now and then, made great efforts to be patient, succeeded pretty well for a while, and cried again.

She read and grew tired a dozen times; ate cakes and milk, cried afresh, and ate again.