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Page 12
"'The paper boat was rocking up and down; sometimes it turned round so
quickly that the Tin Soldier trembled; but he remained firm, he did not
move a muscle, and looked straight forward, shouldering his musket.'"
"Ah, Miss MacLean, may I speak with you a moment?" It was the voice of
the Meanest Trustee.
The nurse in charge rose quickly and met him half-way, hoping to keep
him and whatever he might have to say as far from the children as
possible.
The Meanest Trustee continued in a little, short, sharp voice: "The
cook tells me that the patients in this ward have been having extra
food prepared for them of late, such as fruit and jellies and scones
and even ice-cream. I discovered it for myself. I saw some pineapples
in the refrigerator when I was inspecting it this afternoon, and the
cook said it was your orders."
Margaret MacLean smiled her most ingratiating smile. "You see," she
said, eagerly, "the children in this ward get fearfully tired of the
same things to eat; it is not like the other wards where the children
stay only a short time. So I thought it would be nice to have
something different--once in a while; and then the old things would
taste all the better--don't you see? I felt sure the trustees would be
willing."
"Well, they are not. It is an entirely unnecessary expense which I
will not countenance. The regular food is good and wholesome, and the
patients ought to feel grateful for it instead of finding fault."
The nurse looked anxiously toward the cots, then dropped her voice half
an octave lower.
"The children have never found fault; it was just my idea to give them
a treat when they were not expecting it. As for the extra expense,
there has been none; I have paid for everything myself."
The Meanest Trustee readjusted his eye-glasses and looked closer at the
young woman before him. "Do you mean to say you paid for them out of
your own wages?"
The nurse nodded.
"Then all I have to say is that I consider it an extremely idiotic
performance which had better be stopped. Children should not be
indulged."
And he went away muttering something about the poor always remaining
poor with their foolish notions of throwing away money; and Margaret
MacLean went back to the book of faery-tales. But as she was looking
for the place Sandy grunted forth stubbornly:
"A'm no wantin' ony scones the nicht, so ye maun na fetch them."
And Peter piped out, "Trusterday, ain't it, Miss Peggie?"
"Yes, dear. Now shall we go on with the story?"
She had read to where the rat was demanding the passport when she
recognized the President's step outside the door. In another moment he
was standing beside her chair, looking at the book on her knee.
"Humph! faery-tales! Is that not very foolish? Don't you think, Miss
Margaret, it would be more suitable to their condition in life if you
should select--hmm--something like _Pilgrim's Progress_ or _Lives of
the Saints and Martyrs_? Something that would be a preparation--so to
speak--for the future." He stood facing her now, his back to the
children.
"Excuse me"--she was smiling up at him--"but I thought this was a
better preparation."
The President frowned. He was a much-tried man--a man of charitable
parts, who directed or presided over thirty organizations. It took him
nearly thirty days each month--with the help of two private secretaries
and a luxurious office--to properly attend to all the work resulting
therefrom; and the matters in hand were often so trying and perplexing
that he had to go abroad every other year to avoid a nervous breakdown.
"I think we took up this matter at one of the business meetings," he
went on, patiently, "and some arrangement was made for one of the
trustees to come and read the Bible and teach the children their
respective creeds and catechisms."
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