Sallie Calkins sat in a common little rocking-chair and rocked; and
while she rocked she sewed, setting neat stitches in a brown coat which
was already patched and darned and was threadbare in many places. There
was a look of deep content on Sallie's face. There were many reasons for
it.

Dr. Everett had that morning pronounced Mark's broken limb to be healing
rapidly. He had also reported that Mark's place was to be held open for
him by his employers. At this present moment, Mark, arrayed in a clean
shirt, was resting on a very white sheet, his head reposing on a real
feather pillow dressed in white and frilled. Over him was carefully
spread another of those wonderful sheets, and to make the crowning
glory, a white quilt, warm and soft, tucked him in on every side. How
could Sallie but rejoice? All about the room there had been changes. A
neat little table stood at the bed's side. It was covered with a white
cloth, and a china bowl set thereon with a silver spoon beside it; a
delicate goblet and china pitcher also, both carefully covered with a
napkin. Did Mrs. Roberts know how homely Sallie gloried in the thinness
of that china and the fineness of that napkin? How does it happen that
some of the very poor seem born with such aesthetic tastes? Mrs. Roberts
had intuitions, and was given to certain acts, concerning which she
could not give to others satisfactory explanations. Therefore, she
sometimes left china where others would have judged the plainest
stoneware more prudent and sensible.

A bit of bright carpet was spread at the side of the bed. A fire glowed
in the neatly-brushed stove. A white muslin curtain hung at the window;
and the chair in which Sallie rocked and sewed was new and gayly