I wish that we could give her a little spot that she could call her own, and shut the door on, and feel alone.

But it cannot be," she added, with a sigh.

"It taxes our strength to the utmost to give them all even a bare home." By this time they had reached the cot, over the head of which hung a card, bearing the number "Thirty-one." "Here is a little friend to see you, grandmother," said Sister Denisa, placing a chair by the bedside, and stooping to smooth back the locks of silvery hair that had strayed out from under the coarse white night-cap.
Then she passed quickly on to her other duties, leaving Joyce to begin the conversation as best she could.

The old woman looked at her sharply with piercing dark eyes, which must have been beautiful in their youth.
The intense gaze embarrassed Joyce, and to break the silence she hurriedly stammered out the first thing that came to her mind.
"Are you ill, to-day ?" The simple question had a startling effect on the old woman.

She raised herself on one elbow, and reached out for Joyce's hand, drawing her eagerly nearer.