"
"Nurse!"
Miss Farwell turned quickly. The girl on the bed was watching her with
wide wondering eyes. She forced a smile. "Yes, dear, what is it? Did you
have a good sleep?"
"I was not asleep. I--oh nurse, is it true?"
Hope laid a firm, cool hand on the hot forehead, and looked kindly down
into the wondering eyes.
"You were awake while the minister was here?"
"Yes I--I--heard it all. Is it--is it true?"
"Is what true, child?"
"That you care, that anyone cares?"
Miss Farwell's face shone now with that mother-look as she lowered her
head until the sick girl could see straight into the deep gray eyes. The
poor creature gazed hungrily--breathlessly.
"Now don't you know that I care?" whispered the nurse, and the other
burst into tears, grasping the nurse's hand in both her own and with a
reviving hope clinging to it convulsively.
"I'm not bad, nurse," she sobbed. "I have always been a good girl even
when--when I was so hungry. But they--they talked so about me, and made
people think I was bad until I was ashamed to meet anyone. Then they put
me out of the church, and nobody would give me work in their homes, and
they drove me away from every place I got, until there was no place but
this, and I was so frightened here alone with all these negroes in the
house. Oh nurse, I didn't want to do it--I didn't want to do it. But I
thought no one cared--no one."
"They did not mean to be cruel, dear," said the nurse softly.
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