Her mother came first.
Kitty's heart had never beat more anxiously than when she heard the slow, tired step on the hard snow.

Would she notice anything different?
In she came, tired, cross, and cold, expecting to find disorder, discomfort, and cold inside.

Could anybody, having eyes, fail to notice the changes which had been wrought in that little room since she went out from it in the early morning?
She shut the door with a little slam, and then the flush of the firelight seemed to blind her a little; she brushed her hand over her face, and looked around her with a bewildered air.

Kitty went over to her; some way she felt a great kindness in her heart for her mother, a great longing to do something for her.
"Is it cold, mother ?" she asked brightly.

"Take that chair," pointing to the seat in the warm corner.