When Sarah opened her eyes, early the next morning, it was scarcely more than light. She was accustomed to spring out of bed before she was fully awake; there had been very little time in her life for the last, delicious nap of early morning. There was always the stock to be fed, the cows to be milked, and the milk to be taken to the creamery, and afterwards the twins to be roused and fed and sent to school. Since Laura's advent, life had been vastly easier, but the feeling of responsibility had not altogether vanished from Sarah's mind.
There was something about the happenings of the night before that sent her hurrying out of bed as she hurried when the fear of Uncle Daniel hung over her, when she used to get up before daybreak to assure herself that the twins and Albert and the farm property were all safely in place.
She could not at first make out where she was; then the prodigious chaos of the room recalled yesterday's experiences. And here was her own bed, pushed out a little from the wall, its covers all awry. She remembered now distinctly what had happened last night.
Ellen and Mabel slept peacefully in their double bed; and as she remembered her sudden downfall and their lack of sympathy, her face flushed. Snatches of their whispered talk, heard in drowsiness, came back to her, and she began slowly to guess that it was neither the carelessness of the school bedmakers nor her own light weight which had sent the spring and mattress tumbling to the floor. She felt a pang of fright as she remembered the stern teacher in the flowered gown. But surely, they would not punish her for an accident! Presently a faint smile lifted the corners of her mouth. There was no doubt that it had been funny. But the girls might have waited until she was a little more at home.
When she was dressed she sat down by the window. There was not a soul to be seen on the quiet campus, and not a sound to be heard. It was almost six o'clock, and she began to be hungry. She had forgotten to ask the breakfast hour.
After a while there were faint noises, the opening of a distant door, the sound of sweeping down on the walks, and then the ringing of a great hand-bell. Sarah heard it first in a far corner of the building, then it drew nearer and nearer, and she heard the swift steps of Eugene, who carried it. As it went past the door, she put her hands over her ears. She smiled again, thinking that a bell like that might wake even Albert and the twins.
She began to be a little alarmed when she saw that neither Ellen nor Mabel stirred. She thought that Mabel's eyes opened, but they closed again at once. Had the girls grown suddenly deaf, or were they ill? Sarah tiptoed toward the bed and stared at them. Both were breathing regularly. But it was time to get up, and they would not wish to be late for breakfast. Sarah laid her hand on Ellen's shoulder.
"Stand up. It belled. Ach!" No, thank fortune, they had not heard. Sarah took a deep breath and amended her speech. "The bell rang," she called. "It is time to get up."
Still Ellen did not respond, and she went to the other side of the bed and tried to rouse Mabel.
"It is time to get up!"