When the wheel-tray appeared in the door of the Children's Ward and Aunt
Jane--with her arms overflowing--close behind it, there was silence for
a breath, and then a cry----
"Look there!"
"My goodness!"
"See the flowers!"
They leaned forward with eager hands, or raised themselves on a hand or
elbow, as she went down between the beds, pushing the wheel-tray before
her.
She smiled and nodded and came to a full stop by the big table in the
centre of the ward. She laid her armful of flowers carefully on the
table and turned to the tray.
The room was in a joyful bubble. "Where did they come from? Look at the
roses. My!"
They reached out hands to her--"Where'd they come from, Aunt Jane?"...
"Who sent them to us?"... "My! Look at the vi'lets!"
She smiled and heaped the blossoms on the table and disclosed the three
boxes beneath. There was a hush of expectancy. There were always flowers
in the ward--a bunch or two here and there--but not such a feast as
these!
They waited, impatient.
Aunt Jane took her time. She polished her glasses and returned them to
her nose and adjusted them carefully. Then she took up one of the boxes
and read the florist's name printed on the top--"J. L. Parker & Co. He
always sends nice flowers," she said heartily.
"Did he send them to us?"
"Well, they came from his greenhouse. He raised them--planted them and
took care of them, and so on." Her fingers were busy with the tape,
untying it. "But another man _sent_ them--a man by the name of--Herman."
"Mr. Herman sent them!" They waited.
She lifted the cover and held out the box and a little cry went up from
the ward, half repressed and full of awed delight.... It was a happy
thing to see a great trayful of blossoms come rolling in; and it was a
still more beautiful thing to have the cover lifted from the box, and
all that color and fragrance leap out!
They watched with eager eyes.
Aunt Jane lifted a card from the top of the flowers and looked at it and
tucked it away in the pocket of her big apron. The card had a narrow
black edge.
"What did it say, Aunt Jane? What was on it?"
Aunt Jane looked at them over her glasses. "Just the name," she said.
"The name of the one that sent them. People always send names with
flowers, don't they?" She lifted a handful of the blossoms and shook
them loose till they filled and overflowed the box. "They send names--so
you'll know who it was sent them."
"Mr. Herman sent these, didn't he?"
"Yes, Mr. Herman sent them and you're going to each have one for your
own. I'm going to let you choose."
There was laughing and chatter and a happy stir as Aunt Jane carried the
boxes from bed to bed.
She watched the hands reach to the choosing--and hesitate--and the eyes
fill with light--and little smiles come as they sank back contented....
She had a sudden glimpse of Herman Medfield in his blue-and-gold Chinese
coat, waving them away.
"Seems a pity he can't see them," she thought, watching the faces.
"They're all different--just as different as the flowers be!"
For some of them held the flowers in both hands; and some of them laid
them on the pillows and some were smelling them and some were only
looking; and one blossom was caught into the iron framework of a bed
where the sun fell on it and the child was looking at it with
wonder-filled eyes.... It was her own--her flower--that some one had
sent--a crimson rose with soft dark color clear to the heart of it where
the sun went in. It nodded down to her.
Aunt Jane, looking at her, thought of the people who had sent the
flowers to Herman Medfield.
"I guess they didn't any of them think anything quite as nice as this
would come of their flowers!" she said to the nurse who had brought the
vases and jars for the flowers and was standing beside her at the
table.
The nurse glanced down the ward. "They like them, don't they? But it
seems a pity, almost, not to have them in water. They fade so soon!"
"Well, I don't know"--Aunt Jane surveyed the room slowly--"I guess
they're doing about as much good now as they ever will. There's
something about a flower--about holding it right in your hand--that does
something to you. It isn't the same thing as having it in water."
"I don't see why not." The nurse glanced again, a little puzzled, down
the room.
"Well, I don't know why _not_," said Aunt Jane. "Seems as if it would be
the same.... But it isn't! When it's in water somehow you know it's
safe--_your_ rose.... You know it's going to keep--just as long as it
can; and you look at it--kind of on the outside. But when you have it in
your hand--it's all there! Maybe you know it can't last very long and
you just take it in all over----"
The nurse laughed out.
"Yes, I know that sounds foolish," Aunt Jane nodded. "But we don't any
of us know just what happens to us." She was looking down the ward as
if she saw something beyond the beds and the sun shining in on them.
The nurse gathered up the bits of leaves and the stems and litter from
the floor and table and threw them on the wheel-tray and pushed it from
the room.
The children's eyes watched it go and returned to their blossoms.
Jimmie Sullivan had clumped over to Aunt Jane, carrying his carnation.
His new leg worked better to-day. He reached up an arm and Aunt Jane
bent her ear.
She listened and shook her head. "No, I can't tell stories to-day. I'm
going to hold Susie a little while, and then I've got my work to do. I
can't be bothering with you children all the time!"
She went over to the bed where the crimson rose was and held out her
arms. The child climbed into them and laughed. She was a gay little
thing--not four years old. To-morrow she would be sitting up and the
next day she would go home.
Aunt Jane knew the home.... The father and mother drunk, perhaps. The
child had been broken, between them, and had come to the House of Mercy
for repairs.... She held her in her arms and rocked a little--and
thought.... Something must be done to protect the child.... Dr. Carmon
must do something. He always did things--if he had to. Aunt Jane rocked
back and forth, thinking. She must take him when he was in good
humor--to-morrow morning perhaps.
The child raised her hand to Aunt Jane's face. "You don't smile!" she
said imperiously.
Aunt Jane looked down at her severely.
The child laughed out, and nestled close and presently they were playing
a game. It was not a new game in the ward; other children played it
sometimes. But you were only allowed to play it if you had been very ill
and were getting well; or perhaps if you were going home--day after
to-morrow, and father and mother might be drunk and might break tables
and chairs--and perhaps a child's arm if it got in the way of their
playfulness.... The game was to catch Aunt Jane off guard and take off
her spectacles and cap--and see how she looked.
The child reached up a quick hand and laughed.... Aunt Jane dodged and
shook her head, and escaped the hand. And then--perhaps because Susie
was going home day after to-morrow--she had caught off the spectacles
and Aunt Jane's cap lay on the floor and the hair was escaping from its
pins and coming down all about her face and shoulders--and the child was
lying back against her arm, looking at her and laughing happily.
The door from the corridor swung silently, and Dr. Carmon stood looking
into the room.
The children in the beds turned merry eyes to him.
But his hand made a gesture and they held their breath, laughing as he
came down between the beds and stood looking sternly at the figure in
the big chair.
Aunt Jane was groping at the tumbled hair and she was laughing gently,
watching the child's face.