eyes half-shut up. . . . Elly could just think how good the sun must feel
on their feathers! She could imagine perfectly how it would be to have
feathers instead of skin and hair. She went into the kitchen door.
Nobody was there. She went through into the pantry. Nobody there!
Nobody, that is, except the cookie-jar, larger than any other object in
the room, looming up like a wash-tub. She lifted the old cracked plate
kept on it for cover. _Oh_, it was _full_,--a fresh baking! And raisins
in them! The water ran into her mouth in a little gush. Oh _my_, how
good and cracklesome they looked! And how beautifully the sugar
sprinkled on them would grit against your teeth as you ate it! Oh
_gracious!_

She put her hand in and touched one. There was nothing that felt like a
freshly baked cookie; even through your mitten you could _know_, with
your eyes shut, it was a cookie. She took hold of one, and stood
perfectly still. She could take that, just as easy! Nobody would miss
it, with the jar so full. Aunt Hetty and Agnes were probably
house-cleaning, like everybody else, upstairs. Nobody would ever know.
The water of desire was at the very corners of her mouth now. She felt
her insides surging up and down in longing. _Nobody_ would know!

She opened her hand, put the cookie back, laid the plate on the top of
the jar, and walked out of the pantry. Of course she couldn't do that.
What had she been thinking of,--such a stealy, common thing, and she
_Mother's_ daughter!

But, oh! It was awful, having to be up to Mother! She sniffed forlornly
and drew her mitten across her nose. She _had_ wanted it so! And she was
just _dying_, she was so hungry. And Mother wouldn't even let her _ask_
people for things to eat. Suppose Aunt Hetty didn't think to ask her!