In the first ward of the Children's Hospital the next afternoon, No. 20
lay very still--strangely still for a nine-year-old boy--watching the
door. He had watched it all day, although he knew that visitors' hours
were from two to four, and none would be admitted earlier. No. 18 in the
next cot asked him a question once, but No. 20 only shook his head
wearily. Some of the children had books and games, but they soon tired
of them, and lay idly staring about the long, sunny room, or looking out
at the sky and the trees, or watching the door. Sometimes mothers or
fathers came through that door, and if you hadn't any of your own, at
any rate you could look at those that came to see other fellows, and
sometimes these mothers had a word or a smile for others as well as
their own boys. No. 20, however, didn't want any other fellow's mother
to smile down at him--no indeed, that was the last thing in the world he
wanted--yet. He wished sometimes, just for a moment, that there weren't
any mothers to come, since the _one_ could never come to him again. But
they did come and smile at him, and pat his head--these mothers of the
other boys--came drawn by the hungry longing in his eyes--and he set his
teeth and clinched his hands under the bedclothes, and when they went
away gulped down the great lump that always jumped into his throat, all
in a minute--but he never cried. One day when a kind-hearted nurse asked
him about his mother, he bore her questioning as long as he could, and
then he struck at her fiercely and slipped right down under the
bedclothes where nobody could see him; but he didn't cry, though he
shook and shook for a long time after she went away.
But--Miss Laura--she was different. She didn't kiss him, nor pat him,
nor ask fool questions. She just talked to him--well, the right way. And
she'd promised to come again to-day. Maybe she'd forget though; people
did forget things they'd promised--only somehow, she didn't look like
the forgetting kind. And she was awful pretty--most the prettiest lady
he had ever seen. But hospital hours were so dreadfully long! Seemed
like a hundred hours since breakfast. Ah! He lifted his head and looked
eagerly towards the door--somebody was coming in. O, only some other
fellow's mother. He dropped down again, choking back an impatient groan
that had almost slipped out. When the next mother came in he turned his
back on the door, but soon he was watching it again. A half-hour dragged
wearily by; then a crowd of girls fluttered through the doorway. No. 20
gazed at them listlessly until one behind slipped past the others; then
his eyes widened and his lips twitched as if they had almost a mind to
smile, for here was the pretty lady coming straight to him.
"Jim" she said, shaking hands with him just as if he had been a man,
"I've brought some of my girls to see you to-day. I hope you are glad to
see us all, but you needn't say you are if you are not."
Jim didn't say--and Rose Anderson laughed softly. Jim flashed a glance
at her, but he saw at once that it wasn't a mean laugh--just a girly
giggle, and he manfully ignored it.
"I have to speak to Charley Smith over there," Miss Laura went on, "but
I'll be back in a few minutes."
As she crossed to the other cot, Frances Chapin slipped into the chair
by Jim's--there was only one chair between each two cots. "I think you
are about nine, aren't you, Jim?" she asked.
"Goin' on ten," Jim corrected stoutly.
"I've a brother going on ten," she said.
Jim looked at her with quick interest. "Tell about him," he ordered.
"What's his name?"
"David Chapin. He's in the sixth grade----"
"So'm I--I mean I was 'fore I came here," Jim interrupted. "What else?"
"--and he's--he's going to be a Boy Scout as soon as he's twelve."
Jim's plain little face brightened into keen interest. "That's bully!"
he cried. "I'm going to be a Scout soon's I'm big enough--if I can." The
wistful longing in the last words brought a mist into Frances's eyes,
but Jim did not see it. He was looking at the other girls. "Any of the
rest of you got brothers?" he demanded.
"I have one, but he's a big fellow, twice as old as you are," Alice
Reynolds said.
"And I've six," Mary Hastings told him. "Two of them are Scouts."
"Fine!" exulted Jim. "Say--tell me what they do, all about it," he
pleaded, and sitting down on the edge of his cot, Mary told him
everything she could think of about the scouting.
When Miss Laura came back Jim's face was radiant. "She's been telling me
about her brothers--they're Boy Scouts," he cried eagerly, pointing a
stubby finger at Mary. "I wish," he looked pleadingly into Mary's eyes,
"I do wish they'd come and see me; but I guess boys don't come to
hospitals 'thout they have to," he ended with a sigh.
"I'll get them to come if I can," Mary promised, "but----"
"I know," Jim nodded, "I guess they won't have time. There's so many
things for boys to do outdoors!"
"Jim," said Miss Laura, "there are so many things for you to do outdoors
too. You must get well as fast as you can to be at them."
Jim's lips took on a most unchildlike set, and his eyes searched her
face with a look she could not understand. "I--I d'know----" he said
vaguely.
He could not put into words his fear and dread of the time when he must
go out into some Home where he would be only one of a hundred boys and
all alone in a big lonesome world. That was the black dread that weighed
on Jim's heart night and day. He had seen that long procession of girls
and boys from the Orphan Asylum going back from church on Sundays, the
girls all in white dresses, the boys in blue denim suits, all just alike
except for size. He had peeped through knotholes in the high fence that
surrounded the Asylum yard too, and had seen the boys playing there on
weekdays; and some not playing, but standing off by themselves looking
so awful lonesome. Jim had always pitied those lonesome-looking ones.
More than once he had poked a stick of chewing-gum through a knothole to
one of them--a little chap with frightened blue eyes. Jim felt that he'd
almost rather die than go to the Asylum; and he'd heard the nurse tell
Charley Smith's mother that he'd have to go there when he got well. That
was why Jim was in no hurry to get well.
The girls all shook hands with him before they went off to search the
other wards for their blue-eyed baby. Miss Laura did not go with the
girls; she stayed with Jim, and somehow, before long, he was telling her
all about the Asylum boys and how he dreaded to get well and go there to
live till he was fourteen. And, unconsciously, as he told it all, his
stubby little fingers crept into Miss Laura's hand that closed over them
with a warm pressure very comforting to Jim.
And then--then a wonderful thing happened, for Miss Laura put her head
down close to his and whispered, "Jim, you shall never go to the Asylum,
I promise you that. If you will try very hard to get well, I'll find a
home for you somewhere, and I'll take care of you until you can take
care of yourself."
Jim caught his breath and his eyes seemed looking through hers deep into
her heart, to see if this incredible thing could be true. What little
colour there was in his face faded slowly out of it and his lips
quivered as he whispered, "You--you ain't--jest foolin'? You mean it,
honest Injun?"
"Yes, Jim--honest."
He struggled to a sitting posture. "Cross your heart!" he ordered
breathlessly.
She made the sign that children make. "Cross my heart, Jim. You are my
boy now," she said.
With a long, happy breath Jim fell back on his pillow. His eyes began to
shine, and a spot of red burned in each thin cheek. "O gee!" he cried
exultantly, and again, "O _gee_! I'll get well in a hurry now, Miss
Laura." Then eagerly, "Where'll I live?"
"I don't know yet. I'll find a place," she promised.
He nodded, happily content just then to leave that in her hands.
"An' I'll grow big soon," he crowed, "and I can earn a lot of money when
I'm well, carryin' papers an'--an' other ways. An' you'll let me be a
Boy Scout soon's I'm big enough, an' a soldier when I get over being
lame?"
Laura nodded, and again Jim drew a long rapturous breath. When Laura
went away his eyes followed her, and as from the door she looked back at
him, he waved his hand to her and then settled down on his pillow to
dream happy waking dreams. He was somebody's boy once more.
Laura found the girls waiting for her in the reception room.
"Did you find your blue-eyed baby?" she asked.
"We found one----" Alice Reynolds began, and Rose broke in,
"But, O Miss Laura, her mother was with her and she wouldn't hear of
giving her up. I don't wonder--such a darling as she is!"
"You can try at the Orphan Asylum," Miss Laura said, the words sending
her thoughts back in a flash to Jim.
"Miss Laura, I wish we could have Jim. I think he's a dear!" Mary
Hastings said as they left the hospital.
"Jim's pre-empted. He's my boy now," Laura answered quickly.
"O Miss Laura, I wanted him too for our Camp Fire child," Frances said.
"Are you really going to adopt him--have him live with you?"
"I don't know, Frances, about the living. When I found that he was
fairly dying of loneliness and dread of the Orphan Asylum, I just had to
do something; so I told him he should be my boy and I would take care of
him. I know my father won't mind the expense, but he may object to
having the boy live with us. Of course, if he does I shall find a good
home for him elsewhere."
"But, Miss Laura, why can't we all 'adopt' him?" Frances pleaded. "I'd
so much rather have him than any baby. And there are always people ready
to adopt pretty blue-eyed baby girls, but they don't want just
boys--like Jim."
"That's true," Alice Reynolds agreed. "My mother is a director at the
Orphan Asylum, and she says nine out of ten who go there for a child to
adopt, want a pretty baby girl."
"But you can find some other boy for the Camp Fire," Miss Laura
returned.
"Not another Jim. Please share him with us, anyhow, Miss Laura," Alice
urged.
"I don't want to be selfish about it," Laura replied, "but somehow Jim
has crept into my heart and I thought I would take him for my own
special Camp Fire 'service.' And perhaps the other girls won't be
willing to give up their pretty baby."
"I--I'd hate to, though I like Jim too," Rose admitted.
"You couldn't make pretty lacey dresses for Jim," Laura reminded her
with a little laugh. "Rose is hankering for a live doll to dress, girls,
so you'd better wait and see what the others say about it."
"When can Jim leave the hospital?" Alice inquired.
"To judge from his face when I left him, he will get well quickly, now,"
Miss Laura answered.
And he did. The next time she went to see him, he welcomed her with a
beaming smile. "I'm getting well," he exulted. "She says I can sit up
to-morrow," he nodded towards the nurse.
"He is certainly getting better," the nurse agreed. "He has seemed like
another boy since Sunday. How did you work such magic, Miss Haven?"
Laura looked at Jim and his eyes met hers steadily. "Hasn't he told
you?" she asked the nurse.
"He has told me nothing."
Laura smiled at him as she explained, "Jim is my boy now--we agreed on
that, Sunday. When he leaves the hospital he is coming to me."
"Jim, I congratulate you. You are a lucky boy," said the nurse, who knew
all about Judge Haven and his daughter.
"I think I too am to be congratulated," said Laura quickly, and the
nurse nodded.
"Yes, Jim is a good boy," she answered. Then she went away and left the
two together. This time Jim did not talk very much. It was enough for
him to have his pretty lady where he could look at her, and be sure it
was not all a dream.
Not many days later, after a telephone conference with the nurse, Laura
went to the hospital again. She found the boy lying there with a look of
patient endurance in his eyes, but they widened with half-incredulous
joy when she told him that she had come to take him away.
"Not--not _now_!" he cried out, with a little break in his voice.
"Yes, now--just as you are. We are going to wrap you in a blanket and
put you into a carriage, and before you have time to get tired we shall
be home."
"Home!" echoed Jim, his eyes shining.
"What makes you look so sober?" Miss Laura asked him as they drove away.
"You aren't sorry to leave the hospital?"
"Sorry?" Jim gave a shaky little laugh, then suddenly was grave again.
"Yes, I'm sorry, but it's for all the other fellows that nobody's coming
for," he explained.
"I wish I could have taken them all home with us," Laura answered
quickly. "I'll tell you what we'll do, Jim. If you'll get well very
fast, maybe you and I can give a little Christmas party in your ward, to
those other boys who have to stay there."
"Hang up stockin's an'--an' a tree an' all?" Jim questioned
breathlessly.
"Yes. Wouldn't you like that?"
"_Gee!_" was Jim's rapturous comment. "You bet I'll get well fast--if I
can," the afterthought in a lower tone.
The room Laura had prepared for the boy had been a nursery, and had a
frieze, representing in gay colours the old Mother Goose stories. Jim
was put on a cot beside the open fire, where he lay very still, but it
was not the dull hopeless stillness of the hospital. Now he was resting,
and his eyes travelled happily along the wall as he picked out the old
familiar characters.
"Makes me feel like a little kid--seeing all those," he said, pointing
at them.
The thin white face and small figure under the bedclothes looked like a
very "little kid" still, Laura thought. The gray eyes swept over the
large sunny room and then back to Miss Laura's face, and suddenly Jim's
lips trembled.
"I--I--I think you're _bully_!" he broke out, and instantly turned his
face to the wall and was still again. Laura slipped quietly out of the
room. When she returned a few minutes later, she brought a supper tray.
"You and I are going to have supper here to-night, Jim," she announced
cheerfully, "because my father is away, and I should be lonesome all
alone downstairs and you might be lonesome up here. You must have a
famous appetite, you know, if you are to get well and strong for that
Christmas party at the hospital."
"I'm hungry, all right," Jim declared, his eyes lingering on the
tempting food so daintily served; but after all he did not eat very
much.
After supper he lay quietly watching the leaping flames for a long time.
Suddenly he broke the silence with a question.
"I'll be back there then?"
"Back where, Jim? I don't understand," Miss Laura said.
"At the hospital--when we have that Christmas party."
"Oh. Why, yes, of course, you and I will both be there."
"Yes, but I mean--I mean----" Jim's eyes were very anxious, "will I be
back there to stay, or where will I be stayin'?"
Laura's hand dropped softly over one of his and held it in a warm clasp.
"No, Jim, you won't go back there to stay--ever--not if you do your best
to get well, as of course you are going to. I told you I would find a
good home for you and I will, but there's plenty of time to think of
that before your two weeks here are over."
"You're the--the best ever, Miss Laura," Jim said. "I--I didn't s'pose,"
he stumbled on, trying to put his feeling into words, "ladies like you
ever--cared about boys that get left out of things--like I have."
Laura longed to put her arms about him and hold him close, but there was
something about the sturdy little fellow that warned her, so, waiting a
moment to steady her voice, she answered, "O yes, there are many that
care and do all they can; but you see there are so very many little
fellows that--get left out, Jim."
Jim nodded, his face very sober. "I wonder why," he said, voicing the
world-old query.
When she had settled him for the night, she stood looking down at the
dark head on the pillow. "Shall I put the light out, or leave it?" she
asked.
"Just as you like, Miss Laura," he said, but she thought there was a
little anxiety in his eyes.
"It makes no difference to me, of course. I want it whichever way you
like best. I know you are not afraid of the dark."