lled
out, "Jemima, get up this minute!"

Jem knew what to expect when Aunt Hetty began a day by calling her
"Jemima." It was one of the poor child's grievances that she had been
given such an ugly name. In all the books she had read, and she had read
a great many, Jem never had met a heroine who was called Jemima. But it
had been her mother's favorite sister's name, and so it had fallen to her
lot. Her mother always called her "Jem," or "Mimi," which was much
prettier, and even Aunt Hetty only reserved Jemima for unpleasant state
occasions.

It was a dreadful day to Jem. Her mother was not at home, and would not
be until night. She had been called away unexpectedly, and had been
obliged to leave Jem and the baby to Aunt Hetty's mercies.

So Jem found herself busy enough. Scarcely had she finished doing one
thing, when Aunt Hetty told her to begin another. She wiped dishes and
picked fruit and attended to the baby; and when baby had gone to sleep,
and everything else seemed disposed of, for a time, at least, she was so
tired that she was glad to sit down.

And then she thought of the book she had been reading the night before--a
certain delightful story book, about a little girl whose name was Flora,
and who was so happy and rich and pretty and good that Jem had likened
her to the little princesses one reads about, to whose christening feast
every fairy brings a gift.

"I shall have time to finish my chapter before dinner-time comes," said
Jem, and she sat down snugly in one corner of the wide, old fashioned
fireplace.

But she had not read more than two pages before something dreadful
happened. Aunt Hetty came into the room in a great hurry--in such a
hurry, indeed, that she caught her foot in the matting and fell, striking
her elbow sharply against a chair, which so upset her temper that the
moment she found herself on her feet she flew at Jem.

"What!" she said, snatching the book from her, "reading again, when I am
running all over the house for you?" And she flung the pretty little blue
covered volume into the fire.

Jem sprang to rescue it with a cry, but it was impossible to reach
it; it had fallen into a great hollow of red coal, and the blaze
caught it at once.

"You are a wicked woman!" cried Jem, in a dreadful passion, to Aunt
Hetty. "You are a wicked woman."

Then matters reached a climax. Aunt Hetty boxed her ears, pushed her back
on her little footstool, and walked out of the room.

Jem hid h