When I was packing my things, preparatory to leaving Mrs. Cohen’s next
morning, for I was to return home, now that Ellen was married, Mrs.
Cohen came in with a large piece of cake in her hand. She was very sorry
for me because I had lost my sister.
“There,” she said, “that will make you feel better. Taste it. It is
good.” I could not eat their cake, because she used goose grease instead
of butter, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings and I pretended to
take a bite. When she was not looking I stuffed it into the wastepaper
basket.
“Now never mind about your sister no more,” she said kindly. “The sun
will shine in your window some day.”