. . all sick persons, and young children._"--THE LITANY.
"I love my love with a H'aitch, because he's 'andsome--"
Tilda turned over on her right side--she could do so now without pain--
and lifting herself a little, eyed the occupant of the next bed.
The other six beds in the ward were empty.
"I 'ate 'im, because--look 'ere, I don't believe you're listenin'?"
The figure in the next bed stirred feebly; the figure of a woman,
straight and gaunt under the hospital bedclothes. A tress of her hair
had come uncoiled and looped itself across the pillow--reddish auburn
hair, streaked with grey. She had been brought in, three nights ago,
drenched, bedraggled, chattering in a high fever; a case of acute
pneumonia. Her delirium had kept Tilda--who was preternaturally sharp
for her nine years--awake and curious during the better part of two
night-watches. Thereafter, for a day and a night and half a day, the
patient had lain somnolent, breathing hard, at intervals feebly
conscious. In one of these intervals her eyes had wandered and found
the child; and since then had painfully sought her a dozen times, and
found her again and rested on her.
Tilda, meeting that look, had done her best.
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