Hokey stood at the foot of my bed, holding a single flower up for my inspection, fully conscious that this was some splendid thing she had to offer. It was an uncanny flower with a pouchy body as big as a pigeon’s egg. It was yellow, splotched with brown-red. At the top it had a five-point purple crown. Live little veins of red laced its pouchy body. Not only was it unusual, there was…
“Go cheer the child in the next room, Mammy. Bad lung case—overwhelmingly homesick—name, Jenny.” I found a straight-haired little girl, a child of twelve—pointed chin, big eyes, flushed cheeks, hollows under their pink, eyes too bright, set deep. “Hello! I’m your neighbour; Doctor said I could visit you. You are Jenny, aren’t you?” “Yes, are you the Bird Lady?” “The baby thrushes and blackbirds are mine.” “I have never seen a baby bird. I come…
My lungs being healthy I was not of much interest to Dr. Bottle. Once in a while I received an apathetic visit. On one of these occasions she said, “There is a possibility I may be going out to Canada; tell me about the climate in the West. Western Canadian yourself aren’t you?” I told and Dr. Sally listened, her head a little on one side, calculating the effect of such a climate on lungs.