It was very early when Marjorie awoke the next morning.  Indeed, the sun had not yet risen, but the coming of this event had cast rosy shadows before.  The east was cloudily bright, where the golden beams were trying to break through the lingering shades of night, and the scattering clouds were masses of pink and silver.

When Marjorie opened her eyes, she was so very wide awake that she knew she should not go to sleep again, and indeed had no desire to.  The days at Grandma’s would be few and short enough anyway, and she meant to improve every shining minute of them, and so concluded to begin before the minutes had really begun to shine.

She hopped out of bed, and, not to wake Kitty, went very softly to the window, and looked out.  Across the two wide lawns she could see dimly the outlines of Stella’s house, half-hidden by trees, and beyond that she could see the chimneys and gables of Molly’s house.  She watched the sun poking the tip edge of his circumference above a distant hill, and the bright rays that darted toward her made her eyes dance with sympathetic joy.

“Kitty,” she whispered, not wanting to wake her sister, yet wishing she had somebody to share with her the effect of the beautiful sunrise.

“You needn’t speak so softly, I’m wide awake,” responded Kitty, in her matter-of-fact way; “what do you want?”

“I want you, you goosey!  Hop out of bed, and come and see this gorgiferous sunrise!”

Slowly and carefully, as she did everything, Kitty folded back the bedcovers, drew on a pair of bedroom slippers, and then put on a kimona over her frilled nightgown, adjusting it in place and tying its blue ribbon.

“Gracious, Kit!  What an old fuss you are!  The sun will be up and over and setting before you get here!”

“I’d just as lieve see a sunset as a sunrise, anyway,” declared Kitty, as she walked leisurely across the room, just in time to see the great red gold disc tear its lower edge loose from the hill with what seemed almost to be a leap up in the air.

But once at the window, she was as enthusiastic in her enjoyment of the breaking day as Marjorie, though not quite so demonstrative.

“Put on a kimona, Midget,” she said at last; “you’ll catch cold flying around in your night dress.”

“Kit,” said her sister, unheeding the admonition, and sitting down on the edge of her bed as she talked, “I’ve the most splendiferous plan!”

“So’ve I,” said Kitty; “mine is to go back to bed and sleep till breakfast time.”

“Pooh! you old Armadillo!  Mine’s nothing like that.”

“Why am I an Armadillo?” asked Kitty, greatly interested to know.

“Because you want to sleep so much.”

“That isn’t an Armadillo, that’s an Anaconda.”

“Well, you’re it anyway; and it ought to be Armadillo, because it rhymes with pillow!  But now, you just listen to my plan.  Seem’s if I just couldn’t wait any longer to see Molly and Stella, and I’m going to dress right, straight, bang, quick! and go over there.  Come on.”