“Do you like it here at the hospital?” Polly questioned adroitly.
No smile now, only an added wistfulness. Then courtesy brought a soft response.
“I like it evenings, when daddy comes.”
“It’s nice you have him to come to see you. I used to wish I had somebody. There was only Aunt Jane, and I guess she was too busy.”
“Were you sick, too?” The sky-blue eyes showed interest.
“I was hurt, and they brought me here. I lived in the hospital ever so long.”
“Weren’t you lonesome?”
“No, only once in a while, when I saw other folks having company. I was in the ward, you know. After I got acquainted with father—he wasn’t my father then—I didn’t mind. Don’t you just love father? Everybody does!”
“Yes; he’s nice,” smiled the boy. “How did he come to be your father?”
“He and mother adopted me. My own papa and mamma are in Heaven.”