the great danger of overturning the tray, as the boy proudly
displayed his biceps and expanded his chest, both of which were
very fine for a lad of his years. “If I’d been on my legs, he
wouldn’t have dared to insult me, and it was cowardly to hit a
fellow when he was down.
Mrs. Minot wanted to laugh at Jack’s indignation, but the bell rang,
and she had to go and pull in the basket, much amused at the new
game.
Burning to distinguish herself in the eyes of the big boys, Jill had
sent over a tall, red flannel night-cap, which she had been making
for some proposed Christmas plays, and added the following verse,
for she was considered a gifted rhymester at the game parties:
“When it comes night,
We put out the light.
Some blow with a puff,
Some turn down and snuff;
But neat folks prefer
A nice extinguisher.
So here I send you back
One to put on Mr. Jack.”
“Now, I call that regularly smart; not one of us could do it, and I
just wish Joe was here to see it. I want to send once more,
something good for tea; she hates gruel so”; and the last despatch
which the Great International Telegraph carried that day was a
baked apple and a warm muffin, with “J. M.’s best regards.”
Chapter 4 WARD NO. 2.
“I do believe the child will fret herself into a fever, mem, and I m
clean distraught to know what to do for her. She never used to
mind trifles, but now she frets about the oddest things, and I can’t
change them. This wall-paper is well enough, but she has taken a
fancy that the spots on it look like spiders, and it makes her
nervous. I’ve no other warm place to put her, and no money for a
new paper. Poor lass! There are hard times before her, I’m fearing.
Mrs. Pecq said this in a low voice to Mrs. Minot, who came in as
often as she could, to see what her neighbor needed; for both
mothers were anxious, and sympathy drew them to one another.
While one woman talked, the other looked about the little room,
not wondering in the least that Jill found it hard to be contented
there. It was very neat, but so plain that there was not even a
picture on the walls, nor an ornament upon the mantel, except the
necessary clock, lamp, and match-box. The paper was ugly, being
a deep buff with a brown figure that did look very like spiders
sprawling over it, and might well make one nervous to look at day
after day.
Jill was asleep in the folding chair Dr. Whiting had sent, with a
mattress to make it soft. The back could be raised or lowered at
will; but only a few inches had been gained as yet, and the thin
hair pillow was all she could bear. She looked very pretty as she
lay, with dark lashes against the feverish cheeks, lips apart, and a
cloud of curly black locks all about the face pillowed on one arm.
She seemed like a brilliant little flower in that dull place for the
French blood in her veins gave her a color, warmth, and grace
which were very charming. Her natural love of beauty showed
itself in many ways: a red ribbon had tied up her hair, a gay but
faded shawl was thrown over the bed, and the gifts sent her were
arranged with care upon the table by her side among her own few
toys and treasures. There was something pathetic in this childish
attempt to beautify the poor place, and Mrs. Minot’s eyes were full
as she looked at the tired woman, whose one joy and comfort lay
there in such sad plight.
“My dear soul, cheer up, and we will help one another through the
hard times,” she said, with a soft hand on the rough one, and a look
that promised much.
“Please God, we will, mem! With such good friends, I never
should complain. I try not to do it, but it breaks my heart to see my