Peggy from Kerry by L.T. Meade

When Peggy awoke the next morning she could not for a long time make out where she was or what had happened to her. She raised her head and looked around her. The light had hardly yet begun to break, and Peggy, accustomed all her life to wake at five o'clock, could not yet get over the habit. It is true that it was now very nearly six o'clock; but even so, six o'clock towards the latter end of September meant but a very faint degree of light. The girl's first wish was to spring out of bed, to open her tiny attic window, and call to the little "hins" and the "turkey poults" the welcome intelligence that Peggy was coming; but, alack and alas! she was far, very far away from the hens, the turkeys, the geese of her happy childhood. It occurred to her for a wild minute that she was in bed in her large, luxurious, and hateful room at Preston Manor; from there she had at least the consolation of getting on the roof and making for the farmyard. But the window just opposite to her bed was longer and more severe-looking, and the little cubicle in which her bed reposed was plainly, though neatly, furnished.

"Ah wurra! " sighed Peggy, "I'm at school at long last, and it's the bitter day for me-the bitter, bitter day for me!"