My name is Mary Cary. I live in the Yorkburg Female Orphan Asylum. You
may think nothing happens in an Orphan Asylum. It does. The orphans are
sure enough children, and real much like the kind that have Mothers and
Fathers; but though they don't give parties or wear truly Paris clothes,
things happen, and that's why I am going to write this story.

To-day I was kept in. Yesterday, too. I don't mind, for I would rather
watch the lightning up here than be down in the basement with the
others. There are days when I love thunder and lightning. I can't flash
and crash, being just Mary Cary; but I'd like to, and when it is done
for me it is a relief to my feelings.

The reason I was kept in was this. Yesterday Mr. Gaffney, the one with
a sunk eye and cold in his head perpetual, came to talk to us for the
benefit of our characters. He thinks it's his duty, and, just naturally
loving to talk, he wears us out once a week anyhow. Yesterday, not
agreeing with what he said, I wouldn't pretend I did, and I was punished
prompt, of course.

I don't care for duty-doers, and I tried not to listen to him; but
tiresome talk is hard not to hear--it makes you so mad. Hear him I did,
and when, after he had ambled on until I thought he really was
castor-oil and I had swallowed him, he blew his nose and said:

"You have much, my children, to be thankful for, and for everything you
should be thankful. Are you? If so, stand up. Rise, and stand upon your
feet."