The bed was so high she had to climb on a chair to get in. She heard
Maria's heavy feet go shuffling down the stairs. A door banged. Then it
was so still she could hear the clock tick in the next room.

It was the first time in all her life that her mother had not come to
kiss her good night. Her lips quivered, and a big tear rolled down on
the pillow.

She reached out to the chair beside her bed, where her clothes were
hanging, and felt in her apron pocket for the little glove. She sat up
in bed, and looked at it in the dim firelight. Then she held it against
her face. "Oh, I want my mothah! I want my mothah!" she sobbed, in a
heart-broken whisper.

Laying her head on her knees, she began to cry quietly, but with great
sobs that nearly choked her.

There was a rustling under the bed. She lifted her wet face in alarm.
Then she smiled through her tears, for there was Fritz, her own dear
dog, and not an unknown horror waiting to grab her.

He stood on his hind legs, eagerly trying to lap away her tears with his
friendly red tongue.

She clasped him in her arms with an ecstatic hug. "Oh, you're such a
comfort!" she whispered. "I can go to sleep now."

She spread her apron on the bed, and motioned him to jump. With one
spring he was beside her.