The warm fragrant breath of sunshine and twitter
of birds entered.
"So this is being at school in France? What a din!" said Bessie,
stopping her ears and looking for her comrade.
That strange child was just opening a pair of sleepy eyes and exhorting
herself by name: "Now, Miss Janey Fricker, you will be wise to get up
without more thinking about it, or there will be a bad mark and an
imposition for you, my dear. What a blessing! five dull days yet before
the arrival of the tormentors!" She slipped out upon the floor,
exclaiming how tired she was and how all her bones ached, till Bessie's
heart ached too for pity of the delicate, sensitive morsel of humanity.
They had soup for breakfast, greasy, flavorless stuff loaded with
vegetables, and bread sour with long keeping. This was terrible to
Bessie. She sipped and put down her spoon, then tried again. Miss
Foster, at the same table, partook of a rough decoction of coffee with
milk, and a little rancid butter on the sour bread toasted.
After breakfast the two girls were told that they were permitted to go
into the garden. They spent the whole morning there, and there Mr.
Carnegie and Harry Musgrave found Bessie when they came to take their
final leave of her. It was good and brave of the little girl not to
distress them with complaints, for she was awfully hungry, and likely to
be so until her dainty appetite was broken in to French school-fare.
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