CHAPTER XIX.
A CHAMBER OF MEMORIES.
"How is she now, Dora?" asked Karl, softly opening the door of the
rosy-room.
"Better. You can come in if you want to. Have you got the broth?"
"Yes: here it is."
"That's nice. Now hold her up, please, this way, while I feed her.
See, little Sunshine! here is some nice broth for you. Take a
little, won't you?"
The pale lips slightly opened, and Dora deftly slipped the spoon
between them. The effect was instantaneous; and, as the half-starved
child tasted and smelled the nourishing food, she opened wide her
eyes, and, fixing them upon the cup, nervously worked her lips, and
half extended her poor little hands, wasted and paled by even two
days of privation and fatigue.
"I tell you what, Dora, this child has had a mighty narrow chance of
it," said Karl aside, as Dora patiently administered the broth,
waiting a moment between each spoonful.
"Yes," replied she softly. "I am so glad I met her! it was a real
providence."
"For her?"
"For me as much," returned Dora simply. "It is so pleasant to be
able to do something again!"
"You miss your wounded and invalid soldiers, and find it very dull
here," said Karl quickly, as he glanced sharply into the open face
of the young girl.
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