five o'clock
DAYBREAK . Long before it was light , little feet were passing up and down those great stone stairs , little voices whispered in the corridors , little night-dresses rustled by the superintendent 's door . She did not think of sleeping , for though the moon still hung in the sky , it was Christmas morning -- five o'clock on Christmas morning at the Orphanage ; and the little ones had everything their own way on Christmas Day . So she sat up in bed , with the candle lighted beside her , bending her head over a book she held in her hand , and often smiling to herself as she listened to the sounds that revealed the children 's joy . She was a grey-headed woman , with a face that might have been stern if the lines about the mouth had not been so gentle ; a face , too , that was care-worn , yet full of peace . A tall night-cap surmounting her silvery grey hair gave her a quaint , even laughable appearance ; but the orphan children reverenced the nightcap because they loved the head that , night after night , bent over them as a mother 's might have done .