The Argosy — page 244: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

My Saturdays. 227 her empty heart so filled and warmed, but I foresaw all sorts of perplexities. Meanwhile, the child’s question was pertinent. Lena looked at me. Nobody ventured to suggest the infirmary. ‘*Mayn’t he sleep in my bed?” she said. ‘‘ He is as clean as any other child now, and I can sleep on the floor.” However, I had a little bed, which I kept for my sister’s children when she brought them with her on a visit, and this I moved into Lena’s room. ‘There the little fellow, whose name proved to be Tim, was soon settled, and prepared to go to sleep again. He much astonished us by proposing to say his prayers. ‘“‘T always said my prayers to Sister Lucy,” he observed simply. “JT haven’t forgot them one bit.” And he rattled off one of his childish prayers in a high sing-song. “Good-night, little Tim,” said Lena, tucking him up. ** Good-night, Sister Lena,” said little Tim, sleepily. Of course we talked about our little guest while we were having our tea, speculated upon his history, wondered at his partial civilisa- tion, exchanged commonplaces on the benefits of hospitals, and drifted into a discussion on sisterhoods. But what was to become of little Tim, either to-morrow or afterwards, was a question of which we carefully steered clear as long as cups and saucers and edibles restricted the conversation to conventionalities. When we went into the drawing-room, Lena sat down to the piano, and played several of the sweetest of the Lieder ohne Worte, until a sound up- stairs called her away to see to her charge. After a time, she returned. ‘‘He was awake then,” she said, “and just coughed once or twice, but not nearly so badly as he did before. I am sure he is better already. He only wants food and warmth and care.” ‘Just what he has never had.” ** He shall have them in future, then.” *¢ My dear, how are you going to secure that ?” I will take care of him. I have enough ior both of us,” ** But his mother may come back and claim him.” ‘It is not likely ; she seems to have deserted him. And as soon as he is well I will take him back to London, and if she does come back for him, you need not give her my address.” “Why, you want to make me an accomplice in kidnapping a child from its mother !” ‘Mother! She does not deserve the name. What sort of a mother can she be who leaves a little thing like that? Oh, indeed! I ought not to say a word, I know. I don’t forget: no wonder you don’t think me fit to have the charge of him.” She broke down, and covered her face with her hands. “My dear,” I said, ‘‘I did not mean that in the least. I think you are perfectly fit to have the charge of the child, as far as care goes; my only fear would be that you might spoil him. But I do feel afraid of your setting your heart upon what may not be COMmicboo! SS (GO