Читать книгу The Haven Children; or, Frolics at the Funny Old House on Funny Street онлайн

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A little farther on, tiny rose-bushes adorn the graves of kittens numberless whose life’s tales had been very short. Two tiny tablets mark the graves of a lovely bullfinch and a rare canary, whose last resting-places have been moistened by true mourners’ tears.

In the attic, a miniature house may be seen. Daisy alone keeps the key, and rarely allows visitors to enter. Peeping through the little windows, the invalid chairs and snow-white beds reveal the fact that this is the “Doll Hospital.” Incurables are admitted too, for there is a headless doll, apparently standing to look out of the window. There lies a patient with an abscess or hole in her side. I can guess what young surgeon’s knife explored there. By this poor, thin dolly sits another, with bandaged head slightly turned on one side. In the male ward there are no end of patients, one-legged, no-legged, armless, toothless, eyeless, noseless.

“Ah, it is pitiful!

In this whole housefull,

Sound-limbed—not one.”

A little vase of flowers on a white covered table, and various other little tokens plainly show that the little “Sister of Mercy’s” visits to the Hospital are very frequent.