Daybreak: A Story for Girls

								

The full moonlight was shining in the dormitory on many a little empty
bed.  Who could resist a pillow-fight? The sub-matron was up already
trimming an extra beautiful bonnet to wear on this festive day.  Jane
remonstrated, but was met with a wrathful reminder that on Christmas
Day Mother Agnes let them do just what they liked, a great pillow was
hurled at poor Jane's head, and the fight began in real earnest.
Just when the excitement was at its highest pitch, a fierce cry rang
from the end of the room.  The game ceased suddenly, and the children
turned to see what had happened.  There was that odd little new-comer,
Kate Daniels, standing with hands clenched and dark eyes flashing, in
front of the last small bed.
"You wicked, rough girls," she said, "you have hurt my little sister.
I shall make you feel it!  I shall do something dreadful to you, Mary
Kitson.  I hate you!"
In their excitement the children had quite forgotten that the little
bed at the end of the dormitory had an occupant, a soft curly-headed
child of six, who slept soundly regardless of the noise, till that
awkward Mary tumbled over the bed and made her cry.  They understood it
all now, and Jane and Maggie moved up to the bed-side, hoping to soothe
the sisters with kind words.  But Kate stood in front of the bed
glaring at them.
"You treat us so because we are strangers," she said, "and I hate you
all.  I never wanted to come here--they made me come--and I shan't stay
if I can help it.  I shall run away, and take Frances."
Little Frances, meanwhile, clung crying to her sister, who went on
talking so wildly and passionately that Jane thought it better to make
a move to the lavatory with the younger children, and leave the new
girls for a time to themselves.
A great change passed over poor Kate's face when she and her sister
were once more alone together.  The passion left it, and was replaced
by a melancholy smile.  She sat down on the bed, took her little
sister's hand, and looked long into her face.
"Are you much hurt, darling?" she said, at length.
"Not so badly, but I made a great noise, didn't I!"
Kate did not answer, but wrapping a petticoat round the child, lifted
her out of bed.
"Now, Frances, darling, come with me to the window, and I will show you
the prettiest sight you ever saw, and we will forget all our troubles.
Look at the roofs with the snow on them, and the moon making such
strange, pale lights on the snow.  Look at the icicles--did you ever
see such lovely ones!  Look at the trees--every tiniest little branch
covered with frost!  Look at the pictures the frost has made upon the
window,--see, there are forests,--and oh, more wonderful things than I
could tell.
"Nobody loves you and me, Frances.  We've only got each other,--and I
hate everybody but you (you needn't do that though).  But I am glad
things are so pretty.  One might almost think that somebody had loved
you and me, and cared to make everything so pretty to please us!"