A Sham Princess by Eglanton Thorne

BERT'S cure was complete. The outside bandages were removed. He was pronounced fit to go home.

The nurse wondered what kind of home he had, as she helped him to don the ragged garments he had worn when he was brought into the hospital. She was sorry to part with her good little patient. He was still more sorry to leave her.

"You'll be able to find your way home alone? " she said.

"Rather," replied Bert, with an expressive nod.

"You've neither father nor mother, I think you told me?"

Bert nodded again.

"Then what relation to you is that old man who used to come to see you?"

"No relation at all. He is my friend," said Bert, with some pride.

"Then have you no one belonging to you?"

"I have a sister," said Bert proudly.

"Older than you?"

"Yes, older and better-altogether different. You'd never believe how clever Prin is, and pretty too-I call her the Princess."

"I hope she is good to you?"

"I should think she is," said Bert stoutly; "when she is at home," he added, as an afterthought.

The claims of duty prevented the nurse from pursuing her inquiries. She hastily bid Bert good-bye, and he walked away with a very serious face, striving hard to keep the tears from his eyes.

A pleasant sense of freedom came to him, however, when he found himself outside the walls of the hospital. After all it was good to be able to move about and go where he listed. Bert was not conscious of weakness. A broken bone is not like a disease; he had eaten and slept well during his stay in the hospital, and having had much more nourishing food than he was able to provide for himself, he had gained rather than lost strength since his accident. He felt in no hurry to reach the miserable street in which he lived, though he anticipated with pleasure the welcome he would receive from the old sailor.

Had he known the hour of his dismissal, Mr. Corney might have come to the hospital to fetch Bert; but probably the old man would have found it impossible to leave his sister, whom he needed to watch constantly, if he would save her from the intemperance that threatened to prove fatal to her.

It was in the afternoon that Bert came out of St. George's Hospital, and the gay traffic which distinguishes Hyde Park Corner was at its greatest height. He stood for a while to watch the smart equipages that went by, half expecting to catch sight of Prin seated in one of them. Presently, he crossed the road and examined with interest the place where his accident had occurred.

"It was just here I caught sight of the Princess," he said to himself. "I could hardly believe my eyes, at first, and even now it seems to me like a dream. I wonder where she is. Is she still in London? Surely if she were, she would try to see me."

With the thought, a sudden fear smote Bert.