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Page 24
"Ye shut up, Michael! Who did ye ever hear say that?"
"Mine fader." And Michael spat in a perfect imitation thereof.
"Well, don't ye ever say it ag'in--do ye hear? Miss Peggie's American,
and so's the House Surgeon, an' it's the next best thing to bein'
Irish--which every one can't be, the Lord knows. Now them trusters is
heathen, an' they don't know nothin' more'n heathen, an' we ought to be
easy on 'em for bein' so ignorant."
"They ken us 'll nae mair be gettin' weel," said Sandy, mournfully.
"Aw, ye're talkin' foolish entirely. What do ye think that C on the
door means?"
A silence, significant of much brain-racking, followed.
"C stands for children," announced Susan, triumphantly.
"Aye, it does that, but there be's somethin' more."
"Crutches," suggested Pancho, tentatively.
"Aw, go on wid ye," laughed Bridget. "Ye're 'way off." She paused a
moment impressively. "C means 'cured.' '_Childher Cured_,' that's
what! Now all we've got to do is to forget trusters an' humps an'
pains an' them disagreeable things, an' think o' somethin' pleasant."
"Ain't nothin' pleasant ter think of in er horspital," wailed John, the
present disheartenment clouding over all past happiness.
"Ain't, neither," agreed James.
"Aye, there be," contradicted Sandy. "Dinna ye ken the wee gray woman
'at cam creepity round an' smiled?"
"She was nice," said Susan, with obvious approval. "Do ye think, now,
she might ha' been me aunt?"
A chorus of positive negation settled all further speculation, while
Bridget bluntly inquired. "Honest to goodness, Susan, do ye think the
likes o' ye could belong to the likes o' that?"
Pancho broke the painful silence by reverting to the original topic in
hand. "Mi' Peggie pleasant too," he suggested, smiling adorably.
"But we've not got either of 'em no longer, so they're no good now,"
Peter unfortunately reminded every one.
"Don't ye know there be's always somethin' pleasant to think about if
ye just hunt round a bit, an' things an' feelin's never get that bad ye
can't squeeze out some pleasantment. Don't ye mind the time the
trusters had planned to give us all paint-boxes for Christmas, an' half
of us not able to hold a brush, let alone paint things, an' Miss Peggie
blarneyed them round into givin' us books? Don't ye mind? Now we've
got somethin' pleasant here, right now--" And Bridget smiled.
"What?"
"May Eve."
"What's that?"
"'Tain't nothin'," said Susan, sliding back disappointedly on her
pillow.
"Sure an' it is," said Bridget; "it's somethin' grand."
"'Tain't nothin'," persisted Susan, "but a May party in Cen'ral Park.
Every one takes somethin' ter eat in a box, an' the boys play ball an'
the girls dance round, an' the cops let you run on the grass. I knows
all about it, fer my sister Katie was 'queen' onct."
"We couldn't play ball, ner run on the grass, ner anything," said
Peter, regretfully.
"'Tisn't what Susan says at all," said Bridget, by way of consolation.
"If ye'll harken to me a minute, just, I'll be afther tellin' ye what
it is."
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