When it was light enough Johnsy, the merciless, commanded that the shade be raised.
The ivy leaf was still there.
Johnsy lay for a long time looking at it. And then she called to Sue, who was stirring her chicken broth over the gas stove.
«I've been a bad girl, Sudie,» said Johnsy. «Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me how wicked I was. It is a sin to want to die. You may bring me a little broth now, and some milk with a little port in it, and—no; bring me a hand–mirror first, and then pack some pillows about me, and I will sit up and watch you cook.»
An hour later she said.
«Sudie, some day I hope to paint the Bay of Naples.»
The doctor came in the afternoon, and Sue had an excuse to go into the hallway as he left.
«Even chances,» said the doctor, taking Sue's thin, shaking hand in his. «With good nursing you'll win. And now I must see another case I have downstairs. Behrman, his name is—some kind of an artist, I believe. Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man, and the attack is acute. There is no hope for him; but he goes to the hospital to–day to be made more comfortable.»
The next day the doctor said to Sue: «She's out of danger. You've won. Nutrition and care now—that's all.»
And that afternoon Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, contentedly knitting a very blue and very useless woolen shoulder scarf, and put one arm around her, pillows and all.