"He doesn't care for toys," whispered Santa Claus; "he loves that pink geranium by his side." And a gaily painted watering-pot was placed next to his flowering possession. "How white in comparison with the blossom the suffering, pinched little face looks on the pillow!" thought Nancy; "he will be pleased." Before they left, Santa Claus filled the can with water from the cracked toilet jug.
In the large house across the way were sounds of bright music—a party was going on.
"I'm afraid it's too early to go there yet," said Santa Claus, consulting his great watch. "However, we'll go and see; it's really high time for all youngsters to be in bed." In the night-nursery were two cots. Both were empty. "I must call on my way back," he said.
Just then the door opened, and childish voices were heard shouting: "Santa Claus! We'll catch him if we're quick!"
And there was only just time for the two travellers to disappear before the lights were turned up and the owners of the cots rushed in.
"Nearly caught that time!" exclaimed Santa Claus, as they proceeded on their way (it was extraordinary how alert and agile he was for such an old and portly gentleman), and he burst out into a loud laugh, and only recovered from it as they entered a long room full of small beds. It was decorated with holly and mistletoe. A light burned at one end, where sat a pleasant-looking nurse half-screened in the corner by the fire.
Nancy followed Santa Claus's movements with breathless interest as he flitted to each little sleeping occupant of the hospital ward—for such it was—placing here a toy horse of skin and harness with a long wavy tail; there a lovely picture-book with a green cover, on which the title was printed in large gold letters.
Twice only did Nancy heave a little sigh, quickly repressed, and her eyes filled with longing: once when a skipping-rope was loosely tied round the clasped hands of a little girl who was convalescent, and was going to leave, as Santa Claus explained; and once again when, creeping on tiptoe, he placed under the chair of the dozing nurse a very smart workbox, with the name engraved on top.
Every now and then Santa Claus would linger to smooth the look of pain from a little suffering face into a smile, or touch with his cool palm a little fevered hand.
As she trotted round with him, tears of pity and happy sympathy filled Nancy's eyes, and she tried to give Santa Claus a good hug—only she couldn't reach half-way round—while he tenderly wiped those tears on his big cuff, and carried her off, a long way, to a very poor cottage. There they peeped round from behind the door.