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 her best arm, eagerly she cried, "You know him—oh, you know Frank?"
Regretfully Mrs. Holmes answered, "No, dear, I don't know him."
"But," persisted Omassa, "you know him, or how could you speak his name?"