Elsa’s and Betty’s eyes filled with tears; the children’s grace touched Alice’s and Ben’s hearts into tenderness, too, although the twins had heard it before; then they all dried their eyes, smiling through joyful tears, as the children began to eat their supper.
“Sometimes we have gingerbread for supper,” said a sweet-faced child who was lying on a go-cart near the visitors, and whom one of the nurses was feeding.
“Tum aden,” cried the bright-eyed little girl who, as the visitors turned to go, was hugging an old china doll, and patiently waiting her turn to be fed.
“You cunning baby!” said Elsa, stooping to kiss the battered doll, once her own.
So half-laughing, half-crying, the children passed out, their hearts overflowing with a kind of painful pleasure.
They kept unusually quiet for the first few moments as they walked away. Elsa was the first one to speak. “I want to come again,” she said in a wistful voice. It had been hard for her to leave her precious old doll behind; and besides, the children interested her greatly.
“So do I,” Betty joined in quickly. “It makes me feel queer, but I like it.”
“I love to come,” said Alice. “Sometimes we take things out to the children; and you’d be s’prised the way they give up to each other. Mamma says they are the most unselfishest children she ever saw.”
Ben was trotting along ahead, jumping every now and then into the air. Suddenly he stopped and said in a serious voice: “I am glad my two legs are whole! My,—but it’s hard for those boys, though.”
“It’s just as hard for the girls,” exclaimed Betty.