Susie flounced away to the farther end of the carriage, and sat looking
at the reflection of herself in the glass. She saw a little girl with
short blue skirts and a shady hat. When she took off the hat she could
see very large, brown eyes and a cross mouth, and the more she looked the
crosser it got. There was a fascination about that cross little mouth.
It seemed to Susie that she sat there a long while, whilst nobody took
any notice of her. In the reflection she could see baby asleep on
mother's lap, with mother's hand tucked under his cheek. He looked a
darling; but Susie frowned and looked away. Amy was sitting "in mother's
pocket"--that was what nurse called it--and Susie felt unreasonably
vexed. Dick and Tommy were leaning out of the window buying buns--Tommy
was paying. They were at a station, and there were heaps of buns. Susie
saw the cross mouth in the reflection quiver and close tightly; the brown
eyes blinked--she almost thought the Susie in the reflection was going to
cry.

"Nobody cares," she said to herself miserably. "Mother doesn't care; she
loves Amy and Alick more than me. The boys hate me; they will eat all the
buns, and I shall die of hunger. I wish--"

"Susie," said mother's voice, "the children are stifling me. Come and
have tea; we have bought such a lot of buns. Will you help me put baby
down in your corner? and you might give him your jacket for a pillow."

Susie could see nothing, but she kept her eyes on the reflection in the
window, with a fascinated stare.

"Susie, I _want_ you," said her mother gently.

In a minute Susie had swept the tears away with her sleeve, and had