but she does not belong there,--we have learned that from the
doctors. They say decisively that she is curable, but that she needs
very delicate treatment. My opinion is that we have a lovely bit of
rescue-work sent directly into our hands in the very nick of time.
All those in favour of opening the garden gates a little wider for
Marm Lisa respond by saying "Ay!"'

There was a shout from the neophytes that shook the very rafters--
such a shout that Lisa shuttled across the room, and, sitting down on
a stool at Mistress Mary's feet, looked up at her with a dull,
uncomprehending smile. Why were those beloved eyes full of tears?
She could not be displeased, for she had been laughing a moment
before. She hardly knew why, but Mistress Mary's wet eyes tortured
her; she made an ejaculation of discomfort and resentment, and taking
the corner of her apron wiped her new friend's face softly, gazing at
her with a dumb sorrow until the smile came back; then she took out
her string and her doll and played by herself as contentedly as
usual.

It was thus that heaven began to dawn on poor Marm Lisa. At first
only a physical heaven: temporary separation from Atlantic and
Pacific; a chair to herself in a warm, sunshiny room; beautiful,
bright, incomprehensible things hanging on the walls; a soft gingham
apron that her clumsy fingers loved to touch; brilliant bits of
colour and entrancing waves of sound that roused her sleeping senses
to something like pleasure; a smile meeting her eyes when she looked
up--oh! she knew a smile--God lets love dwell in these imprisoned
spirits! By-and-by all these new sensations were followed by
thoughts, or something akin to them. Her face wore a brooding,
puzzled look, 'Poor little soul, she is feeling her growing-pains!'