The soft scent of cinnamon and oats drifted from the kitchen as Miss Hopkins stirred a bubbling pot of porridge over the cast iron stove. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, dancing on the copper pots and faded tile. She added a bit of honey—just enough to make the morning feel special.
From the sitting room, the sound of quiet coos could be heard. Mrs. Penley sat nearby in her rocking chair, gently cradling the baby, humming a soft lullaby. Every so often, she peeked up from the bundle in her arms to cast a watchful eye on the hallway.
"Tommy, don't forget to sweep under the stairs!" she called out. "And Ellie—I saw that, back to dusting!"
"Yes, Mrs. Penley," came the singsong replies from various corners of the house.
Mr. Thistle, clipboard in hand, was checking chores off the schedule posted on the hallway wall. The older children were already bustling about—some tidying the reading room, others feeding the hens outside or fetching water from the well.
The baby, still content and warm in her blanket, blinked lazily up at Mrs. Penley, who smiled and whispered, "You've brought a bit of sunshine, haven't you, little one?"
Soon, the clatter of dishes being set and the scrape of chairs filled the dining hall. Miss Hopkins carried in the large pot of porridge, setting it down on the table with practiced grace.
"Hands washed, everyone!" she announced, ladling steaming portions into mismatched bowls. "And remember, no complaints about porridge unless you've made it yourself!"
Giggles broke out as the children scrambled into seats. Some added a touch of jam or raisins from a shared dish passed around the table.
"Did you see her eyes?" whispered Ellie, scooting closer to Rosie on the bench. "They're like... like moonlight."
"She smiled at me," Rosie replied, her eyes wide as saucers. "I swear she did! When I leaned over her basket, she reached out a little."
"She grabbed Miss Hopkins's hand last night, you know," added George between spoonfuls of porridge. "Didn't even cry much after that."
"She's magic," Ellie declared with quiet certainty, licking a bit of honey from her spoon. "Maybe she came from the stars."
"Or she's a princess!" piped in Max, nearly tipping his bowl in excitement. "Abandoned at our doorstep to protect her from a great evil!"
Mrs. Penley chuckled from where she was settling the baby into a wicker cradle near the window. "Now, now, no scaring yourselves into fairy tales. She's just a baby, and she needs care and love, not titles."
"But she is special," whispered Rosie, now tracing little circles on her bowl with her finger. "You can feel it. Like when the chapel bell rings and everything goes quiet."
The chatter continued, warm and full of wonder, as the children dug into their breakfast. Miss Hopkins moved around the table, topping up bowls and gently nudging the daydreamers to eat before their porridge went cold.
"Eat up, Clara," she said softly, smoothing a lock of hair from the little girl's face. "You'll need your strength to run around after your brothers."
"Do you think she has a name already?" asked Tommy.
"I imagine she does," said Mr. Thistle thoughtfully as he poured himself a mug of tea. "But until we learn it, I suppose she's our Little Star."
"Little Star," several of the children echoed, smiling.
The baby let out a soft yawn from her cradle, stretching one tiny fist toward the light. Ellie was the first to jump up.
"Can I sit with her after breakfast? Please, Miss Hopkins? Just for a little while?"
"Me too! I can read her a story!" Max offered, nearly knocking over his chair in his eagerness.
"One at a time," Miss Hopkins laughed, raising a hand. "She's still very small. But yes, after breakfast and after your chores, you may spend a bit of time with her."
This spurred the children to finish their meal more quickly, eager to be the first in line for baby duty. A few boys raced to the sink with their bowls, splashing as they scrubbed under Mrs. Penley's supervision.
The rest of the children headed into the courtyard or the common room, their laughter echoing through the halls. Miss Hopkins lingered for a moment, watching the way their excitement lifted the entire orphanage.
Then she turned to the cradle, gently stroking the baby's forehead. "What a stir you've caused already," she whispered. "And we don't even know your name."
The baby blinked slowly up at her, as if she understood.
Outside, the day had fully bloomed, the sky a pale gold.
---
Later that morning, the children gathered in small circles across the playroom, their conversations buzzing with excitement about the mysterious baby.
"I heard she was left by a cloaked man," whispered Tommy, bouncing a worn rubber ball between his hands. "Maybe he's a wizard or a spy!"
"You're being silly," Rosie said with a soft laugh. "She looked too peaceful for that. I bet it was someone who really loved her."
"Hmph," muttered Clara, crossing her arms as she leaned against the windowsill. "I don't get what the fuss is about. It's just another baby."
The room went quiet.
"Clara!" Ellie said, shocked. "How can you say that? Look at her! She's adorable!"
"She hasn't even done anything yet," Clara mumbled, avoiding everyone's gaze. "Everyone's acting like she's some miracle."
"She doesn't have to do anything," George chimed in, frowning. "She was left alone in the cold and didn't even cry much. That's brave."
"And maybe she is a miracle," Rosie added gently. "Even if she isn't magic, she made everyone smile today. That counts."
Clara pouted but said nothing. Ellie gave her a nudge and passed her a ginger biscuit from her pocket.
"You'll warm up to her," she said cheerfully. "You always do."
Clara took the biscuit with a small shrug, though the corner of her mouth twitched like she was holding back a smile.
As the chatter resumed, the baby let out a soft coo from her cradle. Instantly, half the children rushed over.
"She moved!"
"I think she likes the singing!"
"Maybe she wants a story!"
Clara stayed back, nibbling her biscuit thoughtfully as she watched the others surround the cradle, their eyes glowing with affection.
And though she wouldn't admit it out loud, even to herself, something in her chest fluttered—a tiny flicker of curiosity for the little girl who had managed to turn their world a little brighter in just one morning.
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