Part 18 (1/2)

If any one had come in just then and told Effie that one day she was to own a doll far more beautiful than the shabby treasure she so coveted, and that the person to give it her would be the future Queen of England,--why, first it would have been needful to explain to her what the words meant, and then she certainly wouldn't have believed them.

What a wide, wide distance there seemed from the wretched alley where the little, half-clad child crouched behind the post, to the sunny palace where the fair princess, England's darling, sat surrounded by her bright-faced children,--a distance too wide to bridge, as it would appear; yet it was bridged, and there was a half-way point where both could meet, as you will see. That half-way point was called ”The Great Ormond Street Child's Hospital.”

For one day a very sad thing happened to Effie. Sent by her mother to buy a quartern of gin, she was coming back with the jug in her hand, when a half-tipsy man, reeling against her, threw her down just where a flight of steps led to a lower street. She was picked up and carried home, where for some days she lay in great pain, before a kind woman who went about to read the Bible to the poor, found her out, and sent the dispensary doctor to see her. He shook his head gravely after he had examined her, and said her leg was badly broken, and ought to have been seen to long before, and that there was no use trying to cure her there, and she must be carried to the hospital. Mrs. Wallis made a great outcry over this, for mothers are mothers, even when they are poor and drunken and ignorant, and do not like to have their children taken away from them; but in the end the doctor prevailed.

Effie hardly knew when they moved her, for the doctor had given her something which made her sleep heavily and long. It was like a dream when she at last opened her eyes, and found herself in a place which she had never seen before,--a long, wide, airy room, with a double row of narrow, white beds like the one in which she herself was, and in most of the beds sick children lying. Bright colored pictures and texts painted gaily in red and blue hung on the walls above the beds; some of the counterpanes had pretty verses printed on them. Effie could not read, but she liked to look at the texts, they were so bright. There were flowers in pots and jars on the window-sills, and on some of the little tables that stood beside the beds, and tiny chairs with rockers, in which pale little boys and girls sat swinging to and fro. A great many of them were playing with toys, and they all looked happy. An air of fresh, cheerful neatness was over all the place, and altogether it was so pleasant that for a long time Effie lay staring about her, and speaking not a word. At last, in a faint little voice, she half whispered, ”Where is this?”

Faint as was the voice, some one heard it, and came at once to the bedside. This somebody was a nice, sweet-faced, motherly looking woman, dressed in the uniform of Miss Nightingale's nurses. She smiled so kindly at Effie that Effie smiled feebly back.

”Where is this?” she asked again.

”This is a nice place where they take care of little children who are ill, and make them well again,” answered the nurse, brightly.

”Do you live here?” said Effie, after a pause, during which her large eyes seemed to grow larger.

”Yes. My name is Nurse Johnstone, and I am _your_ nurse. You've had a long sleep, haven't you, dear? Now you've waked up, would you like some nice milk to drink?”

”Y-es,” replied Effie, doubtfully. But when the milk came, she liked it very much, it was so cool and rich and sweet. It was brought in a little blue cup, and Effie drank it through a gla.s.s tube, because she must not lift her head. There was a bit of white bread to eat besides, but Effie did not care for that. She was drowsy still, and fell asleep as soon as the last mouthful of milk was swallowed.

When she next waked, Nurse Johnstone was there again, with such a good little cupful of hot broth for Effie to eat, and another slice of bread.

Effie's head was clearer now, and she felt much more like talking and questioning. The ward was dark and still, only a shaded lamp here and there showed the little ones asleep in their cots.

”This is a nice place I think,” said Effie, as she slowly sipped the soup.

”I'm glad you like it,” said the nurse, ”almost all children do.”

”I like you, too,” said Effie, with a contented sigh, ”and _that_,”

pointing to the broth. She had not once asked after her mother; the nurse noticed, and she drew her own inferences.

”Now,” she said, after she had smoothed the bed clothes and Effie's hair, and given the pillow a touch or two to make it easier, ”now, it would be nice if you would say one little Bible verse for me, and then go to sleep again.”

”A verse?” said Effie.

”Yes, a little Bible verse.”

”Bible?” repeated Effie, in a puzzled tone.