He is my father--God help me to think the best of him.
THIRTEENTH CHAPTER
At half past six in the morning I was awakened by the loud ringing of
the getting-up bell, and as soon as I could rouse myself from the deep
sleep of childhood I saw that a middle-aged nun with a severe face was
saying a prayer, and that all the girls in the dormitory were kneeling
in their beds while they made the responses.
A few minutes later, when the girls were chattering and laughing as they
dressed, making the room tingle with twittering sounds like a tree full
of linnets in the spring, a big girl came up to me and said:
"I am Mildred Bankes and Sister Angela says I am to look after you
to-day."
She was about fifteen years of age, and had a long plain-featured face
which reminded me of one of my father's horses that was badly used by
the farm boys; but there was something sweet in her smile that made me
like her instantly.
She helped me to dress in my brown velvet frock, but said that one of
her first duties would be to take me to the lay sisters who made the
black habits which all the girls in the convent wore.
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