You know what that is, of course."
Still Lloyd looked puzzled. She shook her head. "No, I nevah heard of
it. Is it something Swiss or French?"
"Never heard of it!" repeated the Major. He spoke in such a surprised
tone that his voice sounded gruff and loud, and Lloyd almost jumped. The
harshness was so unexpected.
"Think again, child," he said, sternly. "Surely you have been told, at
least, of your brave countrywoman who is at the head of the organization
in America, who nursed not only the wounded of your own land, but
followed the Red Cross of mercy on many foreign battle-fields!"
"Oh, a hospital nurse!" said Lloyd, wrinkling her forehead and trying
to think. "Miss Alcott was one. Everybody knows about her, and her
'Hospital Sketches' are lovely."
"No! no!" exclaimed the Major, impatiently. Lloyd, feeling from his tone
that ignorance on this subject was something he could not excuse, tried
again.
"I've heard of Florence Nightingale. In one of my books at home, a
_Chatterbox_, I think, there is a picture of her going through a
hospital ward. Mothah told me how good she was to the soldiahs, and how
they loved her. They even kissed her shadow on the wall as she passed.
They were so grateful."
"Ah, yes," murmured the old man. "Florence Nightingale will live long in
song and story. An angel of mercy she was, through all the horrors of
the Crimean War; but she was an English woman, my dear.
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