"Ef you please, ma'am, I'd like fur you to fetch me that bit of sky blue
ribbon, as you 'ave in yer box at 'ome."
"What do you want it for, dearie?"
"Oh! to tie hup my 'air with. I wants fur to look nice fur the Queen.
The Queen is comin' to pay me a wisit, and then I'll get well."
"But, my child, the Queen cannot make you well."
"Oh! no, but she can pray to God. The Queen's werry 'igh up, you knows,
and maybe God 'ud 'ear 'er a bit sooner than me."
"No, indeed, Flo, you wrong Him there. Your heavenly Father will hear
your little humble words just as readily and just as quickly as any
prayer the Queen might offer up to Him."
"Well, then, we'll both pray," said Flo, a smile breaking over her white
face. "The Queen and me, we'll both pray, the two of us, to God--He'll
'ave 'er big prayer and my little prayer to look hout fur; so you'll
fetch me the ribbon, ma'am dear."
Mrs Jenks did so, and from that day every afternoon Flo put it on and
waited in eager expectancy to see the Queen, more and more sure that
when they both--the poor little London child and the greatest woman in
the world--sent up their joint petitions to Heaven, strength would
return to her languid frame, and she could go back, to be a help and
comfort to her dear Mrs Jenks.
At last the auspicious day arrived, a day long to be remembered by the
poor of the East End. How gay the banners looked as they waved in the
air, stretching across from housetop to housetop right over the streets!
At the eastern boundary of the City was a great band of coloured canvas
bearing the word "Welcome." And as the Royal procession passed into
Whitechapel High-street the whole thoroughfare was one bright line of
Venetian masts, with streamers of flags hanging from every house, and of
broad bands of red, with simple mottoes on them.
But better to the heart of the Queen of England than any words of
welcome were the welcoming crowds of people. These thronged the
footways, filled the shop-windows, assembled on the unrailed ledges of
the house-fronts, on the pent-houses in front of the butchers' shops,
and stood out upon the roofs.
Yes, this day would long be remembered by the people in the East End,
and of course most of all by those in the great Hospital which the Queen
was to visit.
But here, there was also disappointment. It was discovered that in the
list of wards arranged for Her Majesty to see, the Buxton Ward in the
Alexandra Wing was not mentioned. More than one nurse and more than one
doctor felt sorry, as they recalled the little face of the gentle, dying
child, who had been waiting for so many days full of hope and longing
for the visit which, it seemed, could not be paid to her.