quilt, shut out the sunlight, and, smiling kindly back at her,
left Omassa, who obediently fell asleep--partly because her life was one
of obedience, and partly because there was nothing else to do.

And then began the acquaintance between Mrs. Helen Holmes, nurse, and
Omassa, Japanese acrobat. The other nurses teased Helen Holmes about
her pet patient, saying she was only a commonplace, Japanese child
woman; but Mrs. Holmes would exclaim, "If you could only see her light
up and glow!"

And so they came to calling Omassa "the lantern," and would jestingly
ask "when she was going to be lighted up"; but there came a time when
Mrs. Holmes knew the magic word that would light the flame and make the
lantern glow, like ruby, emerald, and sapphire; like opal and
tourmaline.

The child suffered long and terribly; both arms were broken, and in
several places, also her little finger, a number of ribs, her
collar-bone, and one leg, while cuts were simply not counted. During her
fever-haunted nights she babbled Japanese for hours, with one single
English name appearing and reappearing almost continually,--the name of
Frank; and when she called that name it was like the cooing of a pigeon,
and the down-drooping corners of her grave mouth curled upward into
smiles. She spoke English surprisingly well, as the other members of the
troupe only knew a very little broken English; and had she not placed
the emphasis on the wrong syllable, her speech, would have been almost
perfect.

Generally she was silent and sad and unsmiling, but grateful,
passionately grateful to her "nurse-lady," as she called Mrs. Holmes;
yet when, that kind woman stooped to kiss her once, Omassa shrank from
the caress with such repugnance as deeply to wound her, until the
little Japanese had explained to her the national abhorrence of kissing,
assuring her over and over again that even "the Japan ma'ma not kiss
little wee baby she love."

Mrs. Holmes ceased to wonder at the girl's sadness when she found she
was absolutely alone in the world: no father, no mother; no, no sister,
no brother, "no what you call c-cousine?--no nothing, nobody have I got
what belong to me," she said.

One morning, as her sick-room toilet was completed, Mrs. Holmes said
lightly:--

"Omassa, who is Frank?" and then fairly jumped at the change in the
ivory-tinted, expressionless face. Her long, narrow eyes glowed, a pink
stain came on either cheek, she raised herself a little on he