A kind-hearted woman, who
lived near by, ran in now and again to see the baby and to take it
scraps of food and give it some care. She could not adopt it, for she
and her husband were scarce able to feed the many mouths in their own
family.
So alone this tiny little girl of three lived in the mud hut through
the long days and the longer and darker nights. There was no mother's
knee at which to kneel; no one to teach her to lisp her first prayer;
no one to tuck her snugly into a little white bed; no one to kiss her
before she slept. O, how lonely she must have been! Think of those
chilly Labrador nights, when she huddled down on the floor in the
ragged blanket that was her bed! How many nights she must have cried
herself to sleep with loneliness and fear!
Here, in the mud hut, Doctor Grenfell found her one day. She was
sitting on the earthen floor, talking to herself and playing with a
bit of broken crockery, her only toy. He gathered her into his big
strong arms and I have no doubt that tears filled his eyes as he
looked into her innocent little face and carried her down to his boat.
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