She closed the window, and then went over to the bedside. Joyce lay there, with the sheet huddled about her so that only the top of her rough, bright head was visible. Mrs. Holland touched her shoulder.
“Wake up, child!” she said.
She forced herself to stand there and to greet Joyce cheerfully on this last morning.
“Here’s your breakfast, you lazy little thing,” she added.
Joyce sat up, dazed and heavy-eyed. Mrs. Holland held out a dressing gown, and the girl slipped her arms into it with a childlike passivity.
“It’s a beautiful day,” said Mrs. Holland. “You couldn’t have a better day.”
Suddenly Joyce awoke. Her dark eyes widened, and over her face stole a shadow—a look so tender, so lovely, that Mrs. Holland was obliged to turn away to bend over the tray.
“Don’t let the toast get cold, child,” she said.
Joyce did not speak, and when Mrs. Holland turned toward her again she saw tears in her child’s steady, shining eyes.
“Joyce,” she said, “my dear, my dear, let’s make this a very happy, a very wonderful day!”