She lay very still while the light came in more and more broadly through the window, which was open at the top. There was a fresh, delicious breeze filling the long dormitory, and Peggy could hear the other four girls snoring. They snored in a sort of concert, each taking a distinct and different note. Peggy burst out laughing.
“Why thin, it’s bad manners they have in their slape,” she said aloud.
Then one of the snorers awoke, and listened to the words of wild Peggy. Moving very softly, she stood on her bed and glanced for a minute at Peggy over the curtain which divided the two cubicles. This girl’s name was Hannah Joyce. She was a good-humoured, plain sort of girl; her face was thickly powdered with freckles, and her hair was of a brilliant red.
Peggy, absorbed in her own thoughts, did not see her, but presently a fresh bit of laughter on the part of the Irish girl caused Hannah to giggle delightedly, and Peggy looked up and caught sight of her. “Whativer be ye a-doin’ there?” she asked.
“Looking at you,” replied Hannah.
“A cat may look at a king,” responded Peggy. “I’m goin’ to have a bit more slape.” She turned on her pillow and closed her eyes.
“No, don’t do that,” said Hannah, “I want you to laugh again. Whatever were you laughing at?”
“At all of yez, to be sure.”
“Whatever did we do to make you laugh?”
“Shnored an’ shnored an’ shnored.”