Ella's father was on a hunting trip.
One morning Stepmother woke Ella.
"Get up, lazy girl," she snapped.
"I have some news. Your father is dead!"
Ella gasped. Tears filled her eyes.
"Oh no!" she cried in pain.
"Father! My poor father . . ."
After that, nothing was the same.
Ella was still kind and polite.
But Stepmother was now mean.
Stepmother gave fancy dresses to her daughters.
Ella wore ugly, old rags.
The stepsisters slept in soft feather beds.
Ella slept on a hard bed made of straw.
Gert napped all day long.
Trudy ate all day long.
But Stepmother made Ella work.
She scrubbed, swept, and mopped.
"Pretty little Ella," Stepmother said.
"You think you're better than we are.
You think you're prettier too."
"No, I don't!" Ella said.
"You're my family now.
I love all of you."
"Ugh." Stepmother sneered. "You're too nice.
Go and make my lunch!
And tend the fire again!
I don't want my daughters to catch a cold."
Ella liked to sit near the fire.
She remembered her days with Father.
"I miss him so much," she thought.
The stepsisters saw Ella by the fire.
Trudy giggled. "You're covered in ashes!"
"Ella likes ashes and cinders," Gert said.
"Let's call her . . . Cinderella!"