Standing in the doorway, she looked all around the freshly furnished
room, that glowed with the same soft, warm pink that colors the heart
of a shell.
"How beautiful!" cried Joyce, glancing from the rose on the
dressing-table to the soft curtains of the windows, which all opened
towards the morning sun. "What a change it will be from that big bare
dormitory with its rows of narrow little cots." She tiptoed around the
room, admiring everything, and smiling over the happiness in store for
poor old Number Thirty-one, when she should find herself in the midst of
such loveliness.
Joyce's cup of pleasure was so full, that it brimmed over when they
turned to leave the room. Cousin Kate slipped an arm around her, and
kissed her softly on the forehead.
"You dear little fairy tale lover," she said. "Do you know that it is
because of you that this desert has blossomed? If you had never made all
those visits to the Little Sisters of the Poor, and had never won old
Madame Desire's love and confidence by your sympathy, if you had never
told Jules the story of the giant scissors, and wished so loud that you
could fly to her rescue, old monsieur would never have known that his
sister is living. Even then, I doubt if he would have taken this step,
and brought her back home to live, if your stories of your mother and
the children had not brought his own childhood back to him.
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