Part 23 (2/2)

graves. She kept such a very respectable place, the law never meddled with her.

Dilsey Quinn lay on her hospital pallet delirious, but never violent, and lapsing into unconsciousness. She had a dislocated shoulder, two broken ribs, and sundry bruises; but it was the years of hard work, foul air, dark rooms, and unsanitary conditions that the doctors had to fight against blindly. Her bruised and swollen face, her stubby, red-brown hair that had been cut short, her wide mouth and short nose, made no appeal in the name of beauty. She was merely a ”case.”

Her nurse was a youngish, kindly woman, used to such incidents. Beaten wives and children were often sent to her ward. In the early part of her experience she had suffered with them. Now she had grown-not unsympathetic, but wiser; tender she would always be.

Now and then there was something so wistful in the child's eyes that it touched her heart. She lay so patient and uncomplaining, she made so little trouble.

But sometimes the woman wondered why they were brought into the world to suffer, starve, and die. What wise purpose was served?

XI-WHEN HE AND SUMMER COMES

One morning Dilsey Quinn looked slowly and curiously around the ward, and then asked the nurse how she came there.

She lay a long while, piecing out the story, remembering what was back of it.

”As you did not die, your mother will come out of the Island early in June. I suppose it was a sort of accident. Was she used to beating you?”

A flush went over the pallid face.

”No,” she replied quietly.

”Do you want to go back to her?”

”O, no, no!” with a note of terror in the voice. ”I couldn't live with her no more.”

”Have you any friends?”

There was a hesitating look, but the child did not answer. Had she any friend? Yes, Patsey.

”How would you like to go to some of the Homes? You would be well treated and taught some trade,” the nurse ventured kindly.

”I can work for myself,” returned Dil, with quiet decision. ”I can keep house, an' tend babies, an' wash an' iron.”

”Would you like a nice place in the country?”

”I want to stay in the city,” she said slowly. ”There's some one I want to see. It's 'bout my little sister that's dead. I can soon get some work.”

”How old are you?”

”I shall be fifteen long in the summer, a spell after Fourth of July.”

”You are very small. Are you quite sure?”

”Oh, yes. Why, you see, I was fourteen last summer. Jack was next to me.

Then Bess. She was 'leven, but she hadn't grown any 'cause she was hurted.”

”Hurt? How?” the nurse asked with interest. The children told their stories so simply.

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