“She keeps talkin’ in her delirium about dyin’, and the poor baby a goin’ to an orphan asylum, and somehow she connects that with a hospital. But if she dies, which she probably will, that’s what’s got t’happen, for none of us neighbors could take care of ’er!”
A groan escaped from the lips of the sick woman, as if she were conscious of the portent of their conversation, and a pathetic little sob seemed to come as an echo from the baby. Daisy’s tender heart was touched immediately; she crossed the room and leaned over the bed.
“Mrs. Trawle!” she said, softly. “Please, listen!”
The invalid wearily responded, though she hardly looked capable of taking in what Daisy was about to say.
“We girls will take care of your baby if you will go to the hospital—really we will! Promise me you’ll go!”
The woman’s face brightened for a moment; she seemed to know instinctively that she could trust Daisy. But she shook her head, as another thought crossed her mind.
“But what if I die?” she asked, in a hoarse whisper.
Daisy stretched out her fresh young hand and touched Mrs. Trawle’s wasted one, trying to put comfort and assurance into the grasp.
“Then we will care for the baby.”
“Thank God!” sighed the woman, fervently. “Then I will go to the hospital—the one around the corner. You will take little Betty with you—now?”