But she was so weary and sleepy that her curiosity and capacity for
any other emotion was blunted. She had become simply a little,
tired, sleepy animal. She let herself be undressed; she was not even
moved to much self-pity when the lady discovered the cruel bruise on
her delicate knee, and kissed it, and dressed it with a healing
salve. She was put into a little night-gown which she knew dreamily
belonged to that other child, and was laid in a little bedstead
which she noted to be made of gold, with floating lace over the
head.

She sleepily noted, too, that there were flowers on the walls, and
more floating lace over the bureau. This room did not look so
strange to her as the others; she had somehow from the treasures of
her fancy provided the family of big bears and little bears with a
similar one. Then, too, one of the neighbors, Mrs. George Crocker,
had read many articles in women's papers relative to the beautifying
of homes, and had furnished a wonderful chamber with old soap-boxes
and rolls of Japanese paper which was a sort of a cousin many times
removed of this. When she was in bed the lady kissed her, and called
her darling, and bade her sleep well, and not be afraid, she was in
the next room, and could hear if she spoke. Then she stood looking
at her, and Ellen thought that she must be younger than Minnie
Swensen, who lived on her street, and wore a yellow pigtail, and
went to the high-school. Then she closed her heavy eyes, and forgot
to cry about her poor father and mother; still, there was, after
all, a hurt about them down in her childish heart, though a great
wave of new circumstances had rolled on her shore and submerged for
the time her memory and her love, even, she was so feeble and young.