xcept for occasional little moans, coming from little beds. But from one bed there came something besides a moan: a childish voice half whispered the word "Kate."
"Yes, dear," came from the next bed, in a low voice, "what is it?"
"Do you feel better, dear Kate? and would my doll help you to bear the pain?"
Kate smiled gently. "I do feel a little better; and I am getting rather big for a doll. But tell me, what is your name, dear? What am I to call you?"
"My name is Frances," said the little girl.
Kate shuddered, and tried to turn her head away.
"Is anything the matter?" asked the little voice, as Kate did not speak.
"No, nothing," said poor Kate, not very truthfully--and then to change the subject--"Where are your people? Where do you live?"
"I have five, up in heaven, waiting for me," said Frances slowly, "and I live with my aunt. She keeps a baker's shop, and when I am not at school, I clean the floors, and mind the little ones, and I go to bed when th
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