“Now, I call that regularly smart; not one of us could do it, and I just wish Joe was here to see it.  I want to send once more, something good for tea; she hates gruel so;” and the last despatch which the Great International Telegraph carried that day was a baked apple and a warm muffin, with “J.  M.’s best regards.”

Chapter IV

Ward No. 2.

Things were not so gay in Ward No. 2, for Mrs. Pecq was very busy, and Jill had nothing to amuse her but flying visits from the girls, and such little plays as she could invent for herself in bed.  Fortunately, she had a lively fancy, and so got on pretty well, till keeping still grew unbearable, and the active child ached in every limb to be up and out.  That, however, was impossible, for the least attempt to sit or stand brought on the pain that took her breath away and made her glad to lie flat again.  The doctor spoke cheerfully, but looked sober, and Mrs. Pecq began to fear that Janey was to be a cripple for life.  She said nothing, but Jill’s quick eyes saw an added trouble in the always anxious face, and it depressed her spirits, though she never guessed half the mischief the fall had done.

The telegraph was a great comfort, and the two invalids kept up a lively correspondence, not to say traffic in light articles, for the Great International was the only aerial express in existence.  But even this amusement flagged after a time; neither had much to tell, and when the daily health bulletins had been exchanged, messages gave out, and the basket’s travels grew more and more infrequent.  Neither could read all the time, games were soon used up, their mates were at school most of the day, and after a week or two the poor children began to get pale and fractious with the confinement, always so irksome to young people.

“I do believe the child will fret herself into a fever, mem, and I’m clean distraught to know what to do for her.  She never used to mind trifles, but now she frets about the oddest things, and I can’t change them.  This wall-paper is well enough, but she has taken a fancy that the spots on it look like spiders, and it makes her nervous.  I’ve no other warm place to put her, and no money for a new paper.  Poor lass!  There are hard times before her, I’m fearing.”

Mrs. Pecq said this in a low voice to Mrs. Minot, who came in as often as she could, to see what her neighbor needed; for both mothers were anxious, and sympathy drew them to one another.  While one woman talked, the other looked about the little room, not wondering in the least that Jill found it hard to be contented there.  It was very neat, but so plain that there was not even a picture on the walls, nor an ornament upon the mantel, except the necessary clock, lamp, and match-box.  The paper was ugly, being a deep buff with a brown figure that did look very like spiders sprawling over it, and might well make one nervous to look at day after day.