Daddy Long Legs

The first Wednesday in every month was a Perfectly Awful Day – a

day to be awaited with dread, endured with courage and forgotten with

haste. Every floor must be spotless, every chair dustless, and every bed

without a wrinkle. Ninety-seven squirming little orphans must be scrubbed

and combed and buttoned into freshly starched ginghams; and all ninetyseven reminded of their manners, and told to say, “Yes, sir,” “No, sir,”

whenever a Trustee spoke.

It was a distressing time; and poor Jerusha Abbott, being the oldest

orphan, had to bear the brunt of it …

“Je-ru-sha Ab-bott, you are wanted in the of-fice, and I think you’d

better hurry up!”

Tommy Dillon, who had joined the choir,

came singing up the stairs and down the corridor,

his chant growing louder as he approached room

F. Jerusha wrenched herself from the window and

refaced the troubles of life.

“Who wants me?” she cut into Tommy’s

chant with a note of sharp anxiety.

“Mrs. Lippett in the office, and I think she’s

mad!”