"You can have the potato and the meat," Dil whispered softly. That travelled down red lane, and still seemed to leave a hollow behind. It was like the hungry boys at home, and she smiled.

She sat under the tree again, and Miss Mary tried to persuade her to go and play, but she was gently obstinate.

"Miss Lawrence asked me specially to look after her," she said to another of the attendants. "She looks like a little ghost; but whether she is really ill, or only dead tired out, I can't decide. It's so natural for children to want to play, but she doesn't seem to care to do anything but mope. Yet she speaks up so cheerful."

"Poor children! How hard some of their lives are," and her companion sighed.

Dil's supper tasted good; and she was so sorry she couldn't eat more, as she glanced up and caught Miss Mary's eye.

"I'm ever so much better," she said in her soft, bright manner. "I'm glad; for the boys wanted me to get well an' fat, an' have red cheeks.

I'll try my best, you're all so good. An' it's such a beautiful place. I wonder what made-some one-think 'bout the little mothers? But the babies ought to be here too."

"That wouldn't give the little mothers much rest. Are there many babies in your family?"

"There ain't any, but-but some that come in. Other people's babies."

"And does your mother keep a nursery?"

"I ain't got any mother now. I took the babies 'cause I liked them."

"But where do you live?"

"With my brother an'-an' the boys. I keep house."

How unchildishly reticent she seemed. And most of the children were ready to tell everything.

The little household was called in for their evening singing.

XIV-VIRGINIA DEERING

Wednesday's visitor was a tall, slim girl with an abundance of soft, light hair, that fell in loose waves and dainty little curls. Her gown was so pretty, a sort of grayish-blue china silk with cl.u.s.ters of flowers scattered here and there. Her wide-brimmed, gray chip hat was just a garden of crushed roses, that looked as if they might shake off.

There was a charm about her, for the children who had seen her the week before ran to her with joyful exclamations. They kissed her white hands, they caught hold of her gown, and presently she dropped on the gra.s.s and they all huddled about her. She told them a story, very amusing it must have been, they laughed so. Sadie Carr, the little deformed girl, seemed to lay instant claim to her.

Dil had a strange, homesick yearning to-day. She longed so to see the boys. Her eyes overflowed with tears as she thought of them and their warm, vital love. She seemed almost to have lost Bess. Could she see her again at Cent'l Park she wondered? She would ask Patsey to take her there as soon as she went home.

A great hay wagon had come and taken a load of the children down to the meadows. Three were in disgrace for being naughty, and had to spend an hour sitting on the stoop. Some were reading. The German girl was crocheting.

Dil sat out under the old branching apple-tree, whose hard red apples would be delightful along in the autumn. She was counting up the days.

To-night they would be half gone. Would they let her go on Sat.u.r.day she wondered? She looked at her poor little hands-they hadn't grown any fat.

"Who is that little girl? and why does she keep apart from the others?"

asked Miss Deering.

"I don't know. She seems strange and hard to get on with. But she looks so weakly that even sitting still may do her good. Go and see what you can make of her, Miss Virginia."

Miss Deering had several roses in her hand. She sauntered slowly down to Dil, and dropped the roses in her lap on the thin white hands.

"Oh, thank you!" Dil exclaimed gravely. She did not pick them up with the enthusiasm Miss Deering expected.

"Don't you care for flowers?" Miss Deering seated herself beside the quiet child, and studied the face turned a little from her.

"Yes, I like thim so much," glancing at them with a curiously absent air. Her manner was so formal and old-fashioned, and she roused a sense of elusiveness that puzzled the young lady.

"I think I must have seen you before. I can't just remember-"

Dil raised her soft brown eyes, l.u.s.trous still with the tears of longing that were in them a moment ago. The short curved upper lip, the tumbled hair, the gravely wondering expression-how curiously familiar it seemed.

"I hope you are happy here?" she said gently.

"I like it better home," Dil returned, but with no emphasis of ungraciousness. "I'm used to the boys, 'n' they're so good to me. But they wanted me to come an' get well. I wasn't reel sick only-Patsey don't like me to look like a skiliton, he says. Everybody here's so nice."

"And who is Patsey-your brother?"

She seemed to study Virginia Deering in her turn. It was a proud face, yet soft and tender, friendly. It touched the reticent little soul.

"No; Owen's my brother. There's some more boys, an' we keep house.

Patsey is-Patsey's alwers been good to me an' Bess."

There was a touching inflection in her tone.

"Who is Bess?" with a persuasive entreaty that found its way to the lonely heart.

"Bess is-Bess was"-The voice trembled and died out. Virginia Deering slipped her arm about the small figure with a sympathetic nearness. Dil made another effort.

"Bess was my poor little hurted sister. I didn't ever have no other one."

"Don't you want to tell me about her? I should so like to hear. How did she get hurt?"

Virginia Deering had of late been taking lessons in divine as well as human sympathy. She was willing to begin at the foundation with the least of these.

Dil looked across the sunny field to the shaded, waving woods. There had never been any one to whom she could tell all of Bess's story. Mrs.

Brian, tender and kindly, had not understood. A helpless feeling came over her.

"I wonder if she loved roses? Did she ever have any?" Miss Deering laid her finger on those in Dil's hand, then felt under and clasped the hand itself.

Dil was suddenly roused. The grave face seemed transfigured. Where had she seen it-under far different auspices?

"She had some wild roses wunst. Oh, do you know what wild roses is? I looked in the woods for some yest'day."

Wild roses! She had set herself to bear her lot, bruised and wrecked in an evil moment, with all the bravery of true repentance.

"Yes," in a soft, constrained tone. "I have always loved them. And last summer where I was staying there were hundreds of them."

"Oh," cried Dil eagerly, "that was jest what _he_ said. It was clear away to las' summer. Patsey was up to Grand Cent'l deepo'. He carried bags an' such. An' a beautiful young lady gev him a great bunch. Casey made a grab fer thim, but Patsey s.n.a.t.c.hed, an' he's strongest, 'n' he gev it to Casey good till a cop come, 'n' then he run all the way to Barker's Court an' brought thim to Bess an' me."