Bethea took a few of the flowers out, and went round to the different beds offering one or two, shyly, until she came to a thin pale boy—a new patient, whom she had never seen before.
"He's only been here a fortnight," said the woman in a whisper, "and we can't get him to take any interest in anything—I don't know what we're going to do with him!"
"Is he very ill?" asked Bethea, wistfully.
"No, not so bad as some. A crooked leg, that will get well in time if only we can wake him up a little."
"I'm so sorry I have nothing but this flower left," said Bethea, as she stooped over the boy's curly head, and gave him the small purple pansy.
"Oh, I wish I was more beautiful!" sighed the little dark flower. "Now would be an opportunity to do some good in the world!"
The boy turned wearily, but his face lighted up as he saw the pansy. His eyes brightened and he seized it eagerly.
"Heartsease! Oh, it's like home. We've lots of that growing in our garden. I always had some on Sundays!" he cried. "Do let me keep it. It seems just a bit of home—a bit of home—a bit of home."
He murmured it over and over again, as if there was rest and happiness in the very sound of it.
"I'll keep fresh as long as ever I can," said the pansy, "It's the least I can do for him, poor fellow!"