"Not a gleam," answered the woman sadly. "The buildings are jammed so closely together, and the windows are so small that not a ray of sunlight can penetrate a quarter part of the musty, dingy little rooms."
"Is that here—in Martindale?" inquired Cherry in shocked tones.
"Yes, on the North Side."
"What is the little girl's name?" asked Allee, awed into whispers by this sad recital.
"Sadie Wenzell."
"How old is she?" was the next question.
"Just the age of Peace."
"O, a little girl!" exclaimed Cherry. "Will she ever get well again?"
The sweet-faced woman hesitated an instant. How could she tell the eager listeners that long neglect had made poor Sadie's case well-nigh hopeless? Then she answered slowly, "We are giving her every possible chance now, dearies. The Aid Society found her by accident, and got her into the Children's Ward of the City Hospital. She cried with happiness because the bed was so soft and white and clean; and when the nurse carries up her breakfast or dinner, it is hard to persuade the little thing to eat,—she is so charmed with the dainty appearance of the tray."