"Not so hard a case as little Letty's," said the kind Doctor. "Those bruises never came from falling down stairs, Mrs. Finley; that child has been cruelly abused. I may tell of it, and I may not,—that depends upon whether she lives or dies; but I am going to take her home to my own house, and see what good doctoring can do for her. She looks like my little dead Mary, and for her sake I'll be a father to her."
So Letty was carried on a litter to Doctor Harris' house; and there, for a great many weeks, she lay in her little bed, quite crazy—her beautiful hair shaved off, and her little head blistered to make her well. The Doctor's wife was a sweet, kind lady;—she thought, too, that "Letty looked like her little dead Mary," and often, when she held her little burning hand, the tears would come to her eyes, and she would pray God to let her live, for she had no child to love now, and she wanted Letty for her own little girl.
Well, after a long, long while, Letty's senses came slowly back. She put her little hand to her forehead and tried to remember what had happened;—she didn't know what to make of the nice, pretty room, and soft bed with its silken curtains;—she thought she was dreaming, and rubbed her eyes and looked again, and then hid her face in the sheet for fear she should see Mrs. Finley, or John, or the police-man;—and then Mrs. Harris put her finger on Letty's lip and told her not to talk now, because she was sick and weak, but that she was always going to live with her, and be, not her servant, but her own dear little girl; and then Letty kissed Mrs. Harris' hand, and shut her eyes, and went to sleep as quietly as if she were on her mother's bosom.
By and by, little by little, she got strong and well again; her checks grew plump and rosy; her hair came out in little black, curls all over her head, and she was just the happiest little girl—as happy as you are when you climb on your mother's lap and kiss her, as if you never wanted to stop.
She had a little room of her own, close by her new mother's, with a cunning little bed, and wash-stand, and bureau, and rocking chair. She had plenty of playthings, too,—(not little Mary's, for mothers can't give away their little children's playthings when they are dead.) Letty had playthings of her own;—but sometimes, Mrs. Harris would unlock a little trunk, and show her a little cake, all dried up, with the marks of tiny little teeth in it; and a slate on which was a word left unfinished by little Mary; and a little chest of doll's clothes, with such nice little womanly stitches in them; and a little fairy thimble; and then the tears would fall into the trunk as she locked it up again, and then Letty would throw her arms about her neck and say, "Don't cry—Letty loves you."
And now, my little darling readers, there is one verse in the Bible which Aunt Fanny wants you to remember; it is this:
"When thy father and thy mother forsake thee, then the Lord will take thee up."
"Joseph," said his mother, "I want you to run over to Aunt Elsie's and borrow a pair of flat-irons; she said she would lend them to me, till I could get some from the settlement."