CHAPTER V
“I WILL TAKE CARE OF PARADISE WARD”
ON the top floor of the Children’s House of Joy was the most beautiful hospital ward in the whole world. When Mrs. Gresham was completing her plans for the institution Polly Dudley was often called into consultation, and it was decided to give the prettiest ward to those children that were ill with incurable diseases. Mrs. Gresham had ordered many appurtenances which Dr. Dudley called foolish extravagance, but in which she and Polly reveled, anticipating the delight of the little unfortunates for whom they were devised.
“What shall we call it when it is done?” Mrs. Gresham had said one day, as she and Polly were overseeing the final touches to the wonderful apartment.
“If I have my way,” Polly had declared, “it shan’t have one letter of ‘incurable’ in its name.”
“You can have your way,” Mrs. Gresham had asserted. “And you must hit upon something soon, if I’m to get any sleep. Last night I lay awake full three hours muddling my brain over it, and then I couldn’t think of anything half pretty enough.”
“Something has just come to me!” Polly had cried; “but maybe you won’t like it. What do you say to ‘Paradise Ward’?”
At that Mrs. Gresham’s delicate hands had clapped the softest of applause, and the ward was named.
Paradise Ward was indeed a marvel of beauty, from the fairy stories in fresco upon the walls to the dainty little fountains that sent music and perfume throughout the apartment. There were the cushioned rolling chairs with the dearest little tables and pockets that held dolls and toys and picture books of just the right size for frail little hands. There were cages of charming love birds that never wearied one with piercing songs. There were the little white-and-gold beds, with lilies and roses at head and foot, blooms that never faded or grew limp with age; there were small bookcases that one might whirl and whirl and find the very book that was wanted; there was a glass-doored cupboard that held the loveliest of little and middling-sized china plates and cups and saucers, just big enough for small people to eat from, and they had wreaths of pansies and sprays of checkerberries, for one to look at while eating. Then, there were the dearest, littlest dishes for the dollies, too, so that they could eat their dinners with their mammas—oh, wonderful things could be found in those pretty cupboards! Plants and vines grew and bloomed all over the big room, and clocks!—such delightful clocks! In one lived a cuckoo that came outside every half-hour, just long enough to tell its name. And there was a bigger clock upon which perched an owl, and the owl would say, “Tu-whoo!” or “Tu-whoo! whoo! whoo!” according to whether it was one o’clock or three. And all the little folks that lived in Paradise Ward knew it was the loveliest place in the world, for nobody ever told them that the reason they were brought to so beautiful a home was because they would never be well again as long as they lived.
Polly Dudley had not seen David or heard from him since the night of Patricia’s birthday fête. That was eight days ago. It might as well have been eight months or eight years—so Polly felt. She was weary with the ache of it. She wondered for the thousandth time if she had done right to leave him so abruptly. Perhaps she had been too harsh. She could not decide, and as the days numbered more and more, her sorrow and restlessness increased. Her father and mother were in hearty accord with the stand she had taken, yet even their sanction did not bring her peace.