Daybreak | Page 9

in them, as if she were suddenly waking up to a
whole world of unsuspected wonders in heaven and on earth. There
was a gladness about her, like the gladness of a little child who has
been turned out of a dull, close room into a field of cowslips. She and
Frances never tired of each other's company; and Kate, for the first time
in her life, was guilty of laughing and talking nonsense from sheer
lightheartedness.
And so the days sped by, till Kate began to have a sort of wish to see
the Orphanage again, and a feeling that after all the pain might be
conquered, and life there be brightest and best.
And, oddly enough, as she and Frances were talking about it one
morning, who should make her appearance but Mother Agnes herself,
who spoke about Kate's return as if it had been all settled long ago; and
then told Frances to her great surprise that she too was to become an
inmate of the Orphanage. The poor aunt had had losses, the little shop
was given up, and she could no longer provide for Frances, and had
entreated Mother Agnes to get the child admitted. And Frances' great
love for Kate helped her over the trouble of changing her old home for
a new one.
When the two invalids arrived at the Orphanage, they found a great
"Welcome" arranged in daisies over the door. Kate was feasted like the

prodigal son on his return, and no one thought of reproaching her for
having run away. And Kate returned the love and kindness she met
with fully and joyously, for now she had entered into that mysterious
rest and sweetness existing somewhere at the heart of things, of which
so much is written, but which so few set themselves with earnest
purpose to find.
It was a surprise to every one, except perhaps to Mother Agnes, who
understood the girl's mind, when Kate began to write little poems, and
to receive sundry little sums of money from different magazines for
them. Kate's first wish, of course, was to give back the value of the
Orphanage dress in which she had run away; and then Mother Agnes
started a money-box, into which all the earnings were put in the hope
that some day enough would be found in it to buy Kate a cork leg.
"That day, Kate," said she, "may yet be a long way off. But, meanwhile,
dear child, you will remain here, and complete your education, and
by-and-by I hope we shall see you mistress of a village school."
The money-box was placed in the Orphanage schoolroom, and the
children dropped their pennies in, and sometimes strangers who came
to visit the Orphanage were told how Kate had lost her leg, and added
something to the fund. And, in course of time, the box got so full that
Mother Agnes, for prudence sake, would carry it to her own room to
lock it up at night.
* * * * * *
Another frosty Christmas, but it was night now, and all the glories of a
starlit sky could be seen from the corridor window, on the broad ledge
of which Kate and Frances sat. The years that had passed had changed
them much. Kate had a quiet power about her that could be more felt
than expressed in words. Her face, quaint and clever, was lighted up by
a singularly sweet smile; and nothing reminded one of the old Kate
except the large, pathetic eyes. She was Mother Agnes's right hand with
the little ones. Her way of managing them was so winning that she
seldom or never caused vexation; and she brought sympathy,
imagination, and judgment to bear in her work amongst them.

Frances had grown very pretty; she had golden brown hair, and blue
eyes that were always laughing; and her face was not only beautiful in
form and colour, but sensitive and refined. She had quite recovered her
accident; was fleet of foot as a little hare, and full of health and spirits.
Frances was always laughing, and it was a laugh so utterly joyous and
free from care, that it seemed to have no place in this weary,
hard-working, grasping, eager, restless nineteenth century, but to
belong to some early age, before the world had lost its freshness, or
better still, to be an earnest, with all that is good and true, of the
"Restoration of all things."
[Illustration: Kate and Frances.]
She was leaning her head against Kate's shoulder, and talking eagerly.
"And then, dear Kate, as you have made up your mind to be a
schoolmistress in Westminster, and to teach those poor little sickly
children whom no one seems to care for, I have made up my mind