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…

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“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…

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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.

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