"This year the souls and the safety of the living, as well as the repose
of the dead, will need all our prayers," said Sister Teresa. "There
seems no doubt of the war with the Shawnees. Ah me, ah me! And the Cold
Plague growing worse every day!"
"But Doctor Colbert is curing that," said Ruth, eagerly.
"As God wills, my daughter," said the Sister, making the sign of the
cross. "More recover, certainly, since he came. Before, the little ones
always died."
"He told me that three babies were coming to you yesterday. Are they
here? The poor, poor little things! And may I see them, Sister? I should
like to help take care of them, if I might," Ruth said timidly, not
knowing that her pink cheeks bloomed into blush roses.
The Sister led the way into the other room--the first orphan asylum in
the wilderness--and Ruth smiled and talked to the desolate little waifs
of humanity as brightly as she could with dim eyes and quivering lips.
She, herself, and David, also, had been like this. He had followed her
into the room, and was now standing by her side, so that she could clasp
his hand and hold it close.
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