“In his delirious talk does he say nothing of his past life?”
“Yes, he rambles on about an elopement, and of disobedience to parents, and of the regret and misery which was its punishment, and of his bringing someone to poverty, and of a long, weary walk, and of a terrible fright, and of a key, which is, I suppose the one we found in his pocket; but he whispers most of the time, and we cannot understand him.”
The matron unlocked a drawer in her desk, placed the box within, locked it, and then the two sat down to the tea, toast and other edibles which the maid placed upon the table.
“Do these Flint children fret much for their parents?” asked the guest, as she sipped her tea.
“The boy is a cheery little soul, and has never shed a tear; and I do not believe that the girl grieves for them, although she has long spells of crying in some corner away from the other children. Once Diana Strong put her arm around her and asked why she wept, and received a slap in the face, and an angry request to attend to her own affairs.”
“Is Diana the girl who is intending to be a trained nurse?”
“Yes, and if ever one was born to that calling Diana is that one. She is gentle, patient, quiet, watchful, can do with little sleep and is never happier than when in the sick-room of the asylum waiting upon someone that is ailing.”
“When will she begin her training?”
“When she is fourteen. As you know, the children here do nearly all the work of the institution, and in this way, beside getting a good common education, they learn housework, cooking and sewing. If the girls and boys show aptitude for any special trade or occupation, they can leave the asylum at the age of fourteen to learn it; the boys returning here as their home until they are eighteen, and the girls until they are twenty. That little Jerusha will, I am sure, wish to learn dressmaking.”
“Is she fond of sewing?”