the same intrepid lady not only boldly explained but also stuck a bit of holly in his button hole. Not only that, but she wished him a merry Christmas with such a face full of smiles that the crabbed old doctor felt himself giving in very fast and bolted out again, calling Christmas a humbug. He predicted that over the thirty emetics he would have to prescribe on the morrow, but indignant denials followed him down the hallway. And when all was done, everybody agreed with Joe when he said, "I think we are coming to Christmas in great style; things look so green and pretty, I feel as I was settin' in a bower."
Pausing to survey her work, Miss Hale saw Sam looking as black as any thundercloud. He bounced over on his bed the moment he caught her eye, but she followed him up and, gently covering the cold shoulder he evidently meant to show her, peeped over it, asking, with unabated gentleness:
"What can I do for you, Sam? I want to have all the faces in my ward bright ones today."
"My box ain't come; they said I should have it two, three days ago. Why don't they do it, then?" growled Ursa Major.
"It is a busy time, you know, but it will come if they promised, and patience won't delay it, I assure you."
"My patience is used up, and they are a mean set of slow coaches. I'd get it fast enough if I wore an officer's straps. As I don't, I'll bet I shan't see it till the things ain't fit to eat, the news is old, and I don't care a hang about it."
"I'll see what I can do; perhaps before the hurry of dinner begins someone will have time to go for it."
"Nobody ever does have time here, but folks who would give all they are worth to be stirring 'round. You can't get it, I know. It's my luck, so don't you worry, Ma'am."
Miss Hale did not worry, but worked, and in time a messenger was found, provided with the necessary money, pass, and directions, and dispatched to hunt up the missing Christmas box. Then she paused to see what came next, not that it was necessary to look for a task, but to decide which, out of many, was most important to do first.
"Why, Turner, crying again so soon? What is it now? The light head or the heavy feet?"
"It's my bones, Ma'am. They ache so I can't lay easy any way, and I'm so tired I just wish I could die and be out of this misery," sobbed the poor ghost of a once strong and cheery fellow. Miss Hale's kindly hand wiped his tears away and gently rubbed the weary shoulders.
"Don't wish that, Turner, for the worst is over now; and all you need is to get your strength again. Make an effort to sit up a little; it is quite time you tried. A change of posture will help the ache wonderfully and make this 'dreadful bed,' as you call it, seem very comfortable when you come back to it."
"I can't, Ma'am, my legs ain't a bit of use, and I ain't strong enough even to try."
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