Jack’s Hymn

BY ELIZABETH OLMIS

Chapter One.

ST. INNOCENT’S HOSPITAL for children has, besides its spacious wards, its airy rooms, and its countless appliances for the comfort of its inmates, also pleasant nooks where the convalescents love to gather. In one of these, on a certain spring afternoon, several boys were sitting. The sunshine poured in through the great west window, tingeing with a brighter green the leaves of the tall plants which nearly screened the little group from observation. It filled the whole place with a kind of glory. The lads had been there but a short time when the sound of a crutch and of a halting step was heard approaching. Soon a golden head appeared around the corner of the leafy wall, and a slight figure came slowly toward them. The newcomer did not speak; he only smiled, and lay down on a low couch near Tom Grey’s wheeled chair.

The boys all smiled in return. They were fond of “Quiet Jack,” in spite of his being so silent and strange. They went immediately on with the conversation which his entrance had, for the moment, interrupted.

“I tell yer it’s the same one I’ve heered tell of afore,” asserted Teddy Reilly, positively. “Once when I wor a leetle chap I got this ‘ere same arm broke,” he glanced down at his empty coat-sleeve, pinned across his breast, “an’ I wor took to a ‘orspetel, an’ a young leddy comed ther’ and fetched us flowers and red to us jes’ like them dow that’s bin here to-day. An’ she telled us ‘bout a man who could make us all wel ag’in ‘thout no med’cin’.  She wore a cross, too; not on her gown like these ‘ere silv’ry ones is, but tied ‘round her neck. ‘Twor all yelled an’ shinin’—gold, mebbe. She said as how this ‘ere man could make even deaders alive ag’in, and—”

“That there’s a good un, Ted,” burst out old Bill Brady, with a scornful laugh. Bill was the largest of the boys. “How c’ud that be, I’d like ter hev yer tell? You’re a silly to swaller all the stuffin’ yer git, sonny.”

Teddy flushed. Before he could answer, a soft voice from the corner made them all turn that way.

“It’s all true, Billy,” said little Donald Bliss. “I know, ‘cause Mamma told me so.”

The angry color died away from Teddy’s face. Bill bent over and laid his rough, red hand on Donald’s head.  No one but the child knew how gentle this touch could be.  All who could moved nearer to the cot where Donald lay nestled among the pillows. They knew how tender had been the tie between his mother and himself. They all remembered how sweet and kind she had been to them when she came every day to see him. They had not forgotten the morning when they learned that she would never come again. Their warm hearts were full of a deep sympathy for the little fellow. He could not walk, and every day when he was free from pain and felt strong enough, they begged to be allowed to push his low couch out to the place where they loved to meet and talk.

“Could ye tell us jest how yer Momma said ‘t was, Donnie, lad?” asked Teddy, softly.

Donald’s great blue eyes grew very earnest. He raised himself and leaned against Bill’s shoulder. It was very still as they listened to the “sweet story of old”—the story of Jesus, narrated in clear, childish tones. To most of them it was unfamiliar, save as they had heard it in the hospital.

“I wish’t He was here to-day,” said Tom, with a sigh, when Donald had ended; “I’d ask Him to make my hip ease up.”

“Do you think He could be better to us than Doctor John is?” asked the small boy, who had not spoken before.

Loyal Donald hesitated.

“Doctor John is as good as he can be to all of us,” he said at last, “but Mamma said that He could make blind people see and dumb people talk and lame people walk, and make everybody good, too.”

No one noticed how eagerly “Quiet Jack” was drinking all this in. They were so used to his seldom speaking that they almost forgot that he could hear.  He leaned nearer to Donald. His brown eyes were fixed intently upon him.

“To-morrow will be Easter,” Donald went on. “You know that wicked people killed Him, but He made Himself alive again on Easter Day. And so everybody is glad then. All the churches are full of flowers, and there is the sweetest music. I used to go with Mamma.”

There was a sudden break in his voice. Memories awakened by the words he had spoken came thronging too quickly into his lonely little heart. He lay back upon his pillow, sobbing. Again Bill’s hand smoothed back the curls.  Silently the boys looked down at their companion; they felt big lumps in their throats. Presently Donald clasped his thin fingers about Bill’s large ones. He smiled through his tears.

“Don’t mind me, boys,” he said, “I couldn’t help it for a minute. Bring the books now, and let’s sing the Easter hymn Miss Lillie taught us to-day.”

Teddy and Bill rushed off and soon came back with half a dozen books. The place was quickly found, and the young voices, led by Donald’s clear treble, joined in the grand rejoicing—“Christ the Lord is risen today.” At the first sound of the singing, Jack started. He put both hands to his head, then clasped them over his crutch, and closing his eyes, lay motionless as a statue.

Over and over again the boys sang the sweet old carol, until the corridor rang with its music.  One by one, others gathered near and joined in.  Those farther away caught up the refrain, and faintly from a distance came the echoing melody. When they had finished, twilight shadows were falling around them.  They bade Donald good night.  Bill and Teddy pushed his light cot back to his room. Jack alone did not stir. He seemed to be sleeping. After a while he got up and slowly limped down the long corridor.  He met white-capped nurses carrying trays and going on various errands.  He greeted them with his usual polite and pleasant smile.  He kept on until he came to Doctor John’s “den,” as it was called—a small room just off the office—a place to which very few people were admitted. Jack was one of these few, for he and Doctor John were great friends. Jack’s face lighted up with pleasure when he saw the doctor sitting in a big easy-chair before the open fire. He stepped quickly to his side.

“Ah, Jack, old fellow!” said Doctor John, affectionately. “Come for our evening chat, eh?”

He lifted the child to his knee; and Jack nestled down into the strong, kind arms in a way which showed how much at home he was there. One of Doctor John’s hands was held tightly between both of Jack’s, the other passed to and fro over the golden head which rested against his shoulder. They often sat in this way, without speaking, during the whole of the doctor’s “rest hour.” This is what he called their “evening chat.”

But to-night Jack had something to say. “Doctor John, please tell me about Easter.

The boys were talking, but I—I forgot so soon. I try so hard to remember, but it all seems to go away out of my head.”

There was a quiver in his voice.

“Does your head ache to-night, Jack?” asked Doctor John, quietly; “Let me rub it—so.”

“Yes, it aches some. It always does. But not so very hard now, except when I try to remember.  Sometimes, Doctor John, it almost seems to me as if I could, and— then—I forget again.”

Doctor John’s heart beat quickly. Could it be possible that what he had been hoping for and so patiently awaiting for many months was near at hand? That the strangely afflicted brain of this dear child was about to burst the fetters which had bound it? He spoke to Jack in his usual cheery way.

“So you want to know about Easter? Fix yourself comfortably, and I’ll tell you.”

In simple, graphic words Doctor John then told the story which had fallen from Donald’s lips.  Jack listened with close attention. He did not stir until his friend had finished speaking. Then he sat erect.

“Thank you, Doctor John,” said the boy then. “I am tired now.”

“And no wonder, laddie. It is supper-time this minute. Come, I’ll get it for you to-night and put you to bed, too.”

This was a special treat of which Jack was very fond.  He smiled happily, but was too weary to talk about it. Doctor John laid him down among the cushions on his own comfortable lounge.  Then he rang for a nurse, and when she had gone for the supper he took from his cabinet the prettiest china-bowl in the world, and a little plate, also covered with tiny blue flowers. These he placed on a small round table close to his big chair. Soon nurse came with milk and crackers; and Jack, again on Doctor John’s knee, was being fed by his friend’s hand.

“That was good,” he said, looking up into the kind face when the last spoonful had been eaten. “Now, please sing. Sing what Miss Lillie sang to-day.”

He cuddled down again contentedly. He heard the low, rich tones of the doctor’s voice as he softly sang the Easter hymn. At first the same eager look overspread his face as when he listened to the boys; but gradually the lids drooped over the dark, bright eyes; the soothing melody quieted him; he was fast asleep.

Doctor John carried him to his little bed, dressed the slender form and laid it gently down. He stood for a moment looking at the peaceful face. He stooped and kissed it before he went away to his office for a long evening of study.

Nearly a year before this, Doctor John had gone to the mountains of New Hampshire for a short vacation. It was his old home, and he thought that he could rest better there than anywhere else. One day, when calling on some friends, he had seen Jack and had learned of his story.

“You remember the terrible collision on the X. and K. railroad last spring?” one of his friends had asked. “George and I were on the train, and escaped almost miraculously. We helped care for the injured as best we could. I remember the one lady who was nearly crazed with grief over the death of her only son, a little fellow eight or nine years old. His features were disfigured beyond recognition and his clothes burned to shreds; but she found a peculiarly-shaped knife of which he was very fond tightly clasped in his hand, and by this she was able to identify him. She was badly hurt, too, and was taken to a hospital in H. on the first train which was sent for our relief. I shall never forget the pitiful way in which she kept her eyes fixed on the place where she had lost her son as they were carrying her into the car.

We found another little boy who was severely injured; and who bore suffering so bravely that he won our hearts. He was not burned, but had been hit by something which made him nearly helpless. A day or two passed and no one claimed him. I said to George, ‘We cannot go on and leave him to be sent to a hospital. If his friends do not come within a week let us take him home with us. Just suppose it was our Hal!’

So we waited, and then brought him here. We left our address with the physician, and one day a gentleman came who thought Jack must be his nephew, supposed to have been coming East on that train; but he found him quite another boy.  No one else has ever appeared, strange as it may seem, and we now look upon Jack as our own boy the most affectionate, thoughtful, and lovable little fellow in the world, in spite of his loss of memory; for he seemed to have absolutely no recollection of anything previous to the accident, with the exception of the single word ‘Jack,’ which we suppose to have been his name. He is entirely well, and is slowly regaining the use of his left limb, which was for a long time useless.”

Doctor John saw a great deal of Jack during his stay, and when he was ready to return he broached the matter upon which he had set his heart the first day he saw the boy. Mrs. Bernard was reluctant to even consider his proposition for a moment, but by degrees she was led to see that such a course must ultimately result only in the child’s best good. She finally consented that he might spend a year in the Children’s Hospital under Doctor John’s special care. At first there had been slight change in him; but slowly, with increasing bodily vigor, came stronger mental action, and the doctor had great hopes of a perfect restoration of brain activity.