Chapter VI: Phil Quits the Hospital

SISTER KATHLEEN had been over-sanguine in her hope of influencing Moll Dutton. That loud-voiced, strong-armed virago was not to be persuaded to relinquish her rights. She came to the hospital bent on regaining possession of the boy, of whose baby face and yellow curls she had made capital. At first, she professed to be moved by motherly affection, and even attempted to fondle Phil. But the boy shrank in terror from her caresses.

"Has he not the more need of his mother's care since he is a cripple?" she asked. "Who could look after him and nurse him like his own mother? It was cruel of any one to wish to take from her her poor lame boy."

But when Sister Kathleen carefully set before her the advantages Phil would enjoy at St. Oswald's Farm Home, and urged her for her child's sake to consent to what was so obviously for his good, Moll's stubborn will asserted itself, and she flatly refused to yield. She abandoned her assumption of maternal feeling, and without shame revealed her true motives.

"Give up little Phil!" she cried. "Give him up now! Not for anything you may say. He'll be worth a mint of money to me, now that he's lost his leg. His baby face and blue eyes, along of that little crutch, will draw the money from folk's pockets. It's rare luck to have him as he is."

"Do you mean to say," exclaimed Sister Kathleen, aghast, "that you can rejoice to make profit out of your child's misfortune? It is horrible, monstrous that you should feel so!"

Moll gave a coarse laugh.

"Maybe, lady, maybe. We poor folks can't afford to have fine feelings, nor to pick and choose our words. I'll make so bold as to remind you that Phil's my child, and you've no right to keep him from me. If he's ready, I'd like to be going, for I can't afford to waste my time."

Without attempting further remonstrance, Sister Kathleen left her in the outer room and went into the ward to summon Phil. Never would she forget the pitiful, beseeching look Phil gave her when she told him that he must get ready to accompany his mother. It was as if he implored her to save him from his mother. But what could she do? She could not keep him against his mother's will.

"I cannot help you, my poor Phil," she whispered; "you must go with your mother. But I know where she lives, and as soon as possible I will come and see you. And you know that the Good Shepherd will be with you. He will watch over you, my helpless lamb. You must pray to Him every day, Phil."

"I will," said Phil earnestly. Then a thought struck him which brought a gleam of hope to his little white face.

"He can do everything, can't He, Sister? Will He make mother die, if I ask Him?"

"Oh, Phil, Phil!" exclaimed Sister Kathleen, inexpressibly shocked. "You do not know what you are saying. It is dreadful that you should think of such a thing."

"Is it naughty?" faltered the child.

"Yes, it is very wrong to wish that any one should die. Pray God to have mercy on her and make her a better woman, but do not pray that she may die."

Phil looked puzzled and thoughtful for a few moments, then he said, "Would it be wrong to ask God to take her quite away, and to give me another mother—a good, kind mother? I don't want her to die, if only she might go right away, so that I should never see her again. May I ask that?"

"Perhaps," said Sister Kathleen, hardly knowing how to reply to the childish question,—"perhaps you may, Phil. God our Father answers our prayers, not according to our requests, but according to our needs. He may not answer as you expect, but He will hear your prayer none the less. And, Phil, whenever you pray, ask for the gift of the Holy Spirit to give you right thoughts and feelings, and to teach you how to pray."

"I will," said Phil again. And then, as she kissed him, he threw his arms about her neck and clung to her, sobbing as if his heart would break.

"Come, come, Phil; this will not do," she said; "you must be brave."

Presently he raised his head and tried to smile at her, but the smile was sadder than his tears.

When it was known that he was going, nurses and little patients crowded round him to bid him goodbye, for Phil had become a great favourite in the ward. One of the nurses gave him a pair of warm mittens she had knitted for him. Phil showed little pleasure at the gift. He held them in his hand for a few moments, looking at them with a very rueful expression.

"Thank you," he said; "they're very pretty, but it's no good giving them to me. She wouldn't let me wear them. The people wouldn't give me any money, don't you see, if I didn't look poor and ragged."

There were tears in many eyes as Phil, moving along wearily by the help of his crutch, quitted the ward.

"Now then, look sharp, young Phil!" cried his mother roughly, as he approached her. "No snivelling, mind. I'm your mother, and you've got to come with me. So make haste, and let me see how fast you can get over the ground with that fine crutch of yours, which is going to bring us such luck."

Without a word, Phil followed her as quickly as his lameness would permit. She caught him in her arms at the head of the stairs and carried him down the long flight. Thus, he disappeared from Sister Kathleen's gaze.