Brookhollow

The mother, shading the candle with her work-worn hand, looked down at
the child in silence. The subdued light fell on a freckled cheek where
dark lashes rested, on a slim neck and thin shoulders framed by a mass
of short, curly chestnut hair.

Though it was still dark, the mill whistle was blowing for six
o'clock. Like a goblin horn it sounded ominously through Ruhannah's
dream. She stirred in her sleep; her mother stole across the room,
closed the window, and went away carrying the candle with her.

At seven the whistle blew again; the child turned over and unclosed
her eyes. A brassy light glimmered between leafless apple branches
outside her window. Through the frosty radiance of sunrise a blue jay
screamed.

Ruhannah cuddled deeper among the blankets and buried the tip of her
chilly nose. But the grey eyes remained wide open and, under the faded
quilt, her little ears were listening intently.

Presently from the floor below came the expected summons: "Ruhannah!"

"Oh, please, mother!"

"It's after seven----"

"I know: I'll be ready in time!"

"It's after seven, Rue!"

"I'm so cold, mother dear!"

"I closed your window. You may bathe and dress down here."

"B-r-r-r! I can see my own breath when I breathe!"

"Come down and dress by the kitchen range," repeated her mother. "I've
warm water all ready for you."