``You see,'' said Bessie Bell gently, as she softly patted the lady's
hand, ``you see, you do look something like a Sister,--but,'' said
Bessie Bell, ``I believe you do look more like a Mama.''

``Little girl,'' said the lady, ``what do you mean?''

And she still looked as if she might cry.

``Yes,'' said Bessie Bell, for she had begun to think very hard,
``Alice has a mama. Robbie has a mama. Lucy has a mama. Everybody
has a mama. Never mind, Bessie Bell will find a mama--''

``Little girl,'' said the lady, ``why do you say, Bessie Bell--?''

When the lady said that it seemed to Bessie Bell that she heard
something sweet--something away off beyond what the band was
playing, so she just clapped her hands and laughed out loud, and
said over and over as if it were a little song:

``Bessie Bell! Bessie, Bessie, Bessie Bell!''

But the lady at her side looked down at the child as if she were
afraid. Bessie Bell knew how sorrowful it was to be afraid, so she
stopped patting her hands and laughing,--for she didn't know why she
had begun to do it--and she laid her hand again on the lady's hand,
just because she knew how sorrowful it was to be afraid.

But Bessie Bell could not see anything to be afraid of: the band was
playing just as gaily as ever, and the children, and the nurses, and
the babies, and the parasols were as gay as ever.