“‘Carry my tig
To Poynton Brig—’
“and Erneburg gave me a tig, and I can’t give it back. Mo—other Gaillarde won’t le-et me!” with a fresh burst of sobs.
“Now, whatever is all this fuss?” asked Mother Gaillarde, from the other end of the room. “Sister, do keep these children quiet.”
But Mother Ada came to us.
“What is the matter?” she said in her icicle voice.
Little Damia was crying too much to speak, and I had to tell her that the children had been playing at a game in which they touched one another if they could, and it was deemed a terrible disgrace to be touched without being able to return it.
“What nonsense!” said Mother Ada. “They had better not be allowed to play at such silly games. Go to sleep immediately, Damia: do you hear? Give over crying this minute.”
I wondered whether Mother Ada thought that joy and sorrow could as easily be stopped as a tap could be turned to stop water. Little Damia could not stop crying so instantly as this: and Mother Ada told her if she did not, she should have no fruit to-morrow: which made her cry all the more. Mother Gaillarde then marched up, and gave the poor child an angry shake: and that produced screams instead of sobbing.
“Blessed saints, these children!” said Mother Gaillarde. “I wish there never were any! With all reverence I say it, I do think if the Almighty could have created men and women grown-up, it would have saved a world of trouble. But I suppose He knows best.—Damia, stop that noise! If not, I’ll give thee another shake.”
Little Damia burrowed down beneath the bed-clothes, from which long-drawn sobs shook the bed at intervals: but she did contrive to stop screaming. Mother Gaillard left the dormitory, with another sarcastic remark on the dear delight of looking after children: and the minute after, Mother Alianora entered it from the other end. She came up to where I stood, by Damia’s bed.