"You a Daisy?" he said, standing before her, with both hands in his pockets. "Fiddlesticks! you're nothing but a white mouse. Mercy's a mistake—it's Mousie;" and Mousie he persisted in calling her.
THE NEW DAISY.
It was not long before she began to catch up the little story she heard so often about her own cot, and "My lady, my tind lady," became her great interest and topic of conversation. She tied up her handkerchief into something like a doll, and called it "my pitty lady," and she would lie and talk to it by the hour together in low cooing tones. Her picture, in its daisy frame, was a great delight too; she had a name for each of the fleecy lambs, and wished them all "dood-morning" as soon as she awoke, in that clear ringing voice of hers. So sweet a voice it was, and so like a bird's, that the Sisters used to declare it was like listening to an angel to hear her sing grace; and you would sometimes see a Sister in white cap and apron speeding down a passage with suspiciously wet eyes, murmuring "Bless her!" as the last "Amen" sounded through the wards.
Christmas-eve came, and with it a grand stir and bustle in the hospital: something was going to happen, though nobody quite knew what. Many and varied were the surmises. "I guess it's going to be real bears and lions from the show," said one girl, who was blessed with a rich imagination; but several nervous little patients shrieked so energetically at the idea that she hastily added, "But perhaps they'll be dead and stuffed." Curiosity had full swing, for each bed had been carefully shut in all day by its own folding-screen, and not a glimpse could be got, even through the cracks, of what was going on in the middle of the room.
DR. SANTA CLAUS.
But at last, when the gas was lit, the Doctor's voice was heard to give a word of command, and all the screens were folded up as if by magic, while a cry of wonder and delight burst from every mouth. The walls were all festooned with evergreens and paper roses, and in the midst there rose a Christmas tree, the most magnificent and imposing tree any of them had ever beheld, lit up with countless brilliant candles, hung with toys and beautiful glittering things, and presided over by— Could it be the Doctor? Oh no; it was a real Santa Claus, who had borrowed the Doctor's voice for that evening only. And with what delightful jokes and funny speeches did he unfasten the strange, beautiful fruit from its tree, and distribute it to the rows of eager, excited little people! There was a present for everybody—even the Sisters were not forgotten; and when all the laughing and rejoicing had begun to subside, and tea came in on the tiny wooden trays, there was not only the usual mug of milk and the well-known pile of bread and butter, but real poached eggs, and actual baked apples too!
As for the little Daisy, she had, besides the toys from the tree, a box of great golden oranges, and a perfectly lovely doll, with eyes that opened and shut, and a head that turned round; and box and dolly were labelled, "For the Daisy Cot, from E. M. B."; and as she had already begun to know from past experience of similar gifts, "E. M. B." was "my tind lady."