Why, in the hospital in Montreal they take the very greatest care to air and change the sheets every day.

You see so much poison comes through the pores of the skin." "Do you hear that now ?" said Kirsty, amazed.

"Indeed, I would be often hearing that those French people are just full of poison and such, and indeed, it is no wonder, for the food they put inside of them." "O, no, " said Mrs.Murray, "it is the same with all people, but especially so with sick people." Kirsty looked as doubtful as was consistent with her respect for the minister's wife, and Mrs.Murray went on.
"So you will just get the sheets ready to change, and, Kirsty, a clean night-shirt." "Night-shirt! and indeed, he has not such a thing to his name." Kirsty's tone betrayed her thankfulness that her brother was free from the effeminacy of a night-shirt; but noting the dismay and confusion on Mrs.
Murray's face, she suggested, hesitatingly, "He might have one of my own, but I am thinking it will be small for him across the back." "I am afraid so, Kirsty," said the minister's wife, struggling hard with a smile.

"We will just use one of his own white shirts." But this scandalized Kirsty as an unnecessary and wasteful luxury.
"Indeed, there is plenty of them in the chist, but he will be keeping them for the communion season, and the funerals, and such.

He will not be wearing them in his bed, for no one will be seeing him there at all." "But he will feel so much better," said Mrs.Murray, and her smile was so sweet and winning that Kirsty's opposition collapsed, and without more words both sheets and shirt were produced.
As Kirsty laid them out she observed with a sigh: "Aye, aye, she was the clever woman--the wife, I mean.