in it."

Hildegarde could not quite follow this sentence, which seemed to be only
half addressed to her; so she only nodded sagely, and turned her
attention to the ferns by the roadside.

It was less than an hour's trip to Fairtown, nor was the walk long
through the pleasant, elm-shaded streets. The hospital was a brick
building, painted white, and looking very neat and trim, with its
striped awnings, and its flagged pathway between rows of box. One saw
that it had been a fine dwelling-house in its day, for the wood of the
doorway was cunningly carved, and the brass knocker was quite a work of
art.

Jeremiah knocked; and when the door was opened by a neat maidservant, he
brought the box of flowers, and laid it on a table in the hall. "Miss
Bond's niece!" he said, with a nod of explanation and introduction.
"Thought she'd come herself; like to see the young ones. I'll be back
for ye in an hour," he added to Hildegarde, and with another nod
departed.

After waiting a few minutes in a cool, shady parlor, where she sat
feeling strange and shy, and wishing she had not come, Hildegarde was
greeted by a sweet-faced woman in spotless cap and apron, who bade her
welcome, and asked for Miss Bond. "It is some time since she has been
here!" she added. "We are always so glad to see her, dear lady. But her
kindness comes every week in the lovely flowers, and the children do
think so much of them. Would you like to distribute them yourself
to-day? A new face is always a pleasure, if it is a kind one; and yours
will bring sunshine, I am sure."

"Oh, thank you!" said Hildegarde, shyly. "It is just what I wanted, if
you really think they would like it."

Mrs. Murray, as the matron was called, seemed to have no doubt upon this
point, and led the way upstairs, the servant following with the flowers.
She opened a door, and led Hildegarde into a large, sunny room, with
little white beds all along the wall. On every pillow lay a little
head; and many faces turned toward the opening door, with a look of
pleasure at meeting the matron's cheery smile. Hildegarde opened her
great box, and taking up three or four bouquets, moved forward
hesitatingly. This was something new to her. She had visited girls of
her own age or more, in the New York hospitals, but she was not used to
little children, being herself an only child. In the first cot lay a
little girl, a mite of five years, with a pale patient face. She could
not move her hands, but sh