The sunshine in the Children's Ward glinted happily; it touched on bits of brass here and there and gleamed, and slipped across the skylight, making shadows in the room. The white-capped nurses had finished their work. Every bed was freshly made, picture-books and toys were scattered through the ward. Flowers stood on the little stands by the beds; and a great bunch of roses was on the table in the centre, under the skylight.
Aunt Jane standing at the door of the ward, looked in, touching the arm of the man beside her. "Those are your roses over there—the ones that came yesterday— They look nice, don't they?" She spoke in a half-whisper—not to attract the attention of the children.
She had wanted him to see the ward like this; and she had wanted him to see JimmieSullivan's new leg. And, most of all, she had wanted a good excuse for persuading Herman Medfield to try his strength a little.... If Dr. Carmon's new patient was to have Suite A on Friday, there was no time to waste; and Herman Medfield had been obstinate in refusing to exert himself.
"I'm very comfortable where I am!" he had declared. And he had refused to budge, or to wear anything except the æsthetic, blue quilted gown.
It was only by deep guilelessness that Aunt Jane had succeeded in bringing him as far as the door of the Children's Ward.
Herman Medfield's glance followed the motion of her hand and rested on the roses. It grew interested as it travelled slowly through the ward to the faces of the children. He was taking in the clean, cool look of the place and the sunlight coming in and the happiness that shone everywhere. It was not what he had imagined the Children's Ward in a hospital would be.... And he had a suspicion that all Children's Wards were not like this—a suspicion that the woman beside him had more to do with the quiet charm of theroom than one might have guessed from the unconcerned look of her face.
Beyond the ward, opening out through big doors and the low, wide windows, he had a glimpse of a balcony—with growing plants along its edge and a striped awning; and drifting clouds and the blue sky beyond the awning. His glance came back to his roses in the centre of the room. They were a great bunch of the choicest ones that grew in his garden. They looked very well there, he admitted.
"But I did not intend them for the Children's Ward—" he said, turning and looking down at her.
"I told them Mr. Herman sent them," said Aunt Jane. "I knew you'd like them to have 'em. They take comfort with 'em, you see." She nodded to a child who was lying with her eyes fixed on the flowers. There was a patient look in the small, shrewd face.
"She likes 'em," said Aunt Jane. "They'll do her a world of good!"
She avoided Herman Medfield's eye. She had been a little surprised to find that it was difficult to meet his gaze.... He was almostlike a stranger—dressed in the gray business suit and looking down on her with keen, clear eyes.... She had forgotten that Herman Medfield was tall. As she had remembered him, that first day when she went into the waiting-room with his card in her hand, he had not been so tall. She seemed to remember that she had looked down on him and had put him in his place—easily.... Perhaps his thinness made him seem taller—or was it the little triumphing twinkle that had crept into his eyes.
Aunt Jane refused to see the twinkle. She felt sorry for Herman Medfield—somewhere in the back of her mind.
"There's Jimmie Sullivan!" she said. "That's your leg—the one you got for him!"
"Looks like his own," commented Medfield.
Aunt Jane opened the door—and a child looked up from her picture-book.
"Aunt Jane's come!" The ward took it up.
Aunt Jane looked up at Herman Medfield, half apologizing for the commotion they made.
"It helps them get well," she said.
He nodded. "I know all about that."
They went slowly down the ward to the big chair by the table. She stopped by it. "You can sit down here and rest if you want to— You've done first-rate. You'll be well enough to go, Friday, I guess."
She arranged the chair for him and he sat down. "I'm pretty well tired out!" he remarked.
"That's natural enough— You see how nice Jimmie gets around on your leg? Come here, Jimmie, and make your manners to Mr. Herman."
Jimmie came up proudly, hardly limping at all as he approached the man sitting in the big chair. He stood very straight on his frame leg, his hands in his pockets, and looked him in the eye.
"I thank you for my leg!" he said. "It's fine!"
"You are welcome." Medfield was smiling.
"Show him how it walks, Jimmie."
Jimmie strutted off, swinging it proudly.
"You see—it hardly shows at all!" she said, as they watched him cross the room. "And the older he gets, the better he'llmanage. You've made a man of him!" She beamed approval on Medfield and on Jimmie and the frame leg and on the whole ward.
Medfield, leaning back in his chair, smiled at her whimsically.
"You spoil everybody!" he said.
She ignored it. "You sit there and rest a spell—till I'm ready to go."
She moved to a bed near by and leaned over to the child and said something. The girl put up a quick hand and listened and glanced at the man in the big chair and nodded happily.
"That's him!" said Aunt Jane looking back to the child and smiling as she went to the next bed.
"We like your flowers, Mr. Herman." The child was speaking softly to him.
Medfield started and turned.
"We like them very much!" said the child, regarding him gravely.
"Yes, we do like them!" came from the next bed. "We like them!" "We do like them!" The call was from farther off. "They're fine, you know!"
It came from all sides now! Medfield glanced from one to the other, a little bewildered and touched.
"We like Mr. Herman's flowers!" they called out.
"I told you they liked 'em," said Aunt Jane. She had come back and was standing smiling at the children. "I thought you'd just like to see how it was yourself!"
"You have them well trained!" replied Medfield, "—all but the name," he added.
"The name doesn't matter—I thought you'd like it better?"
"I do!" He got up, half embarrassed. "I'd better hide somewhere! I never had such an ovation—for a few flowers!"
He turned toward the balcony that opened from the side of the room—with its flower-boxes, and the striped awning covering it from the sun.
He stepped out into the balcony. Below him were the roofs of houses; and the city stretched away in the distance to a sunny haze.
Medfield looked back into the ward. The children had returned to their picture-books and toys. They were not thinking of Mr. Herman any more. The quiet look had returned to the room.
"That was very pretty," he said. "Thank you!" His eyes were gentle, and a little moist, as they met hers for a moment.
"Don't thank me!" said Aunt Jane hastily. "I didn't do anything!"
"Didn't you tell them to do it?"
"I didn't tell them anything, except that you were Mr. Herman. They did the rest themselves.... Children generally do things—nice things, if you let 'em alone—and don't meddle too much."
"You better go out and preach that doctrine to the world," said Medfield laughing. He was looking out over the city.
"I haven't time to preach," said AuntJane.... "Sometimes I wish I had—I've got a good many things I'd like to say!" Her eyes twinkled swiftly.
He nodded. "I've heard them—some of them—when I was cantankerous."
"You're doing pretty well, now," responded Aunt Jane.
"Fair." His tone was cautious. He was not to be inveigled into acknowledging complete recovery—yet. His glance travelled out over the roofs—and he started and leaned forward.
"I believe that is my place—over there!" He was pointing off into the haze where a greenhouse caught the sun on its glass and flashed back from the distance.
She nodded toward it. "That's your place, yes. I was noticing it the other day—when Julian and Mary Canfield went out there. I happened to be up here—and looked off and saw it." She regarded the flashing glass in the haze.
"It's quite a ways off," she said.
"Not very far—with a machine." His tone was aggressive and a little masterful. It seemed to pick her up and whirl heraway through distance. Aunt Jane's face was meek.
"I'm glad you've got along so fast," she replied.
He regarded her suspiciously.
"And having your own car so—you won't mind the trip——"
"I'm not going!" said Medfield. He was chuckling a little.
She turned a distressed face to him. "I don't see how we're going to manage—if you don't!"
"I am not in anybody's way," said Medfield.... "I'll be good!" He was watching her expressive face.
"Yes, you're good! You are always good!" Aunt Jane's diplomacy was at its best.
He laughed out.
"You see—we need your room—your suite."
"What for?— I pay as much as anybody, don't I?" He turned on her quickly.
"You pay more.... Don't you remember I told you about that?"
"Yes." He recalled the facts. "I'm to pay for a Mrs. Pelton, too."
"That's it. I let you pay for her——"
"Thank you"—a little ironical and smiling.
"Shewants to thankyou," said Aunt Jane quietly. "I told her you'd let her."
"Keep her away!" He put out his hand to ward it off. "I've made out a check for her—you remind me to give it to you."
"A check?"
"You said she could use a hundred dollars," he replied.
"Now, wasn't that good in you!" She beamed on him and on his goodness.
He received it complacently. "I only wish there were something more I could do—for you." He said it carefully. He did not look at her now. He wanted to be sure she took it in—and he did not want to flustrate the meek quiet of her face.
A little light crept into the face—half guilty. "I've been planning to ask you for something," she said, "kind of screwing up my courage."
"Ask away—what is it?" He looked at her as Ahasuerus may have looked on Esther.
"You sit down, Mr. Medfield," said Aunt Jane.
"Is it as bad as that?" He laughed and sat down, regarding her quizzically.
"Go ahead!"
"It's a new wing—" said Aunt Jane.
"One of yours worn out?" Pretended astonishment and happiness was in the tone and she smiled at him tolerantly.
"It's for contagion— It will cost fifty thousand dollars— I thought maybe you'd like to give it." She flung the words at him. She had been meaning to do it all day—"screwing up her courage" to it.... She fired her bomb and she watched, waiting for it to go off. She sat alert and anxious.
He chuckled. "I'm glad I have enough!"
She wheeled quickly— "You're going to do it?"
"I'm going to think about it—look into it," said the man of business. A little keen look had come into his face, breaking its lazy quiet.
Aunt Jane regarded it without fear. She was her tranquil self again. "If you look into it, you'll find we need it pretty bad," she said.
He had taken out his pencil and was making a note. "All right. I may give youtwowings ... if you reallyneedthem!" The tone was teasing again.
"I don't need two," said Aunt Jane composedly. "Of course, we may need another—some time," she added thoughtfully.
His laugh was happy.
"You'll let me stay now, won't you?" He put back his pencil and settled reposefully in his chair and watched her.
She turned on him. "Now you are being selfish!—and spoiling everything!" It was full of reproach, but tinged with the happiness of the new wing....
"You see it's a child!" said Aunt Jane.
"A child?" He sat up. "Put her in there!" He motioned to the ward.
She shook her head. "She can't be put there at first—not right off. Her mother's coming with her— Your suite is the only place we've got." She gazed out over the balcony-rail—not to disturb his feelings—but he stirred uncomfortably.
"Of course the mother'll go home in a day or two," went on Aunt Jane. "They generally do go home.... They come here thinking nobody can do for their childrenbut themselves—and then, somehow—in a day or two, they go home." She sat looking at him and beaming, and Medfield laughed.
"And you're proud of it!" he said.
"I'm not proud—exactly," said Aunt Jane. "But I do take comfort, doing for them—and knowing they're all happy—as happy as they can be, with their sufferings.... They are coming Friday afternoon, along about four. So if you could be ready to go at three——"
"I'm not going!"
She regarded him mildly.
"You can have your old suite for them—" He was like a boy, laughing at her. "But I won't go home!"
"There isn't any other place for you," said Aunt Jane calmly. "I told you about it—we haven't any other room."
He looked about him. "I'll sleep anywhere—! I'll sleep in the Children's Ward!" He waved a hand.
Aunt Jane's face was vexed. Of course, he was going to give the wing—and it softened her austerity a little. But he was a grown man. He ought to behave better.She got up quickly. "I can't have you upsetting everything!" she said.
She went into the ward, leaving him in solitary state.
He watched the plump figure moving among the beds, and the faces turned to it; and he smiled whimsically.... "I mean to upset things a good deal more for you—before I'm done, Aunt Jane!" he said softly.
He sat looking out over the city and dreaming contentedly. When Aunt Jane appeared again in the door, he turned to her.
"I've decided," he said.
She came out.
"I'll go," he said, looking up at her. "I'll go—if you will go with me."
Up above them they could hear the awning flapping a little in the wind, and the children's voices from the ward.
Aunt Jane's gaze travelled out over the roofs, to the greenhouse and its glass flashing back the sunlight. She sighed.
"Well—I'll go. I'm too busy, and I ought not to take time.... I don't see how I can spare time to go. But you're so obstinate—" She looked at him appealingly.
He shook his head.
"Well—I'll go with you—" said Aunt Jane. "It won't take long—going in a car."
And Herman Medfield smiled, looking out across the roofs to his home.
At last Herman Medfield was ready to leave the Berkeley House of Mercy. He stood on the top step, looking contentedly down at the car that waited for him.
The chauffeur glanced up and caught sight of him and sprang up the steps.
"Can I help you, sir?" He offered a helpful arm. But Medfield motioned it aside.
"I'm all right, Buckman.... I'm quite myself, thank you. I am waiting for some one——"
He glanced toward the door. "Some one is coming—with me."
The chauffeur returned to his car, standing immovable, and the master of the car waited on the steps.... There had been a dozen things to do. Aunt Jane had insisted on his seeing Mrs. Pelton, and there had been delays. And at the last minute, Aunt Jane had disappeared in her office for something. He turned toward the door.
She was coming.
The door opened and Aunt Jane stood in it, smiling and competent—in her cap.
He flashed a look at it. "You're not coming?" It was disappointed and vexed.
"Yes, I'm coming." Her face was pleased.
"You've forgotten your bonnet," he laughed.
"Oh—I don't need a bonnet." She went slowly down the steps. "I never wear a bonnet when I go with a patient." She looked back to him. "You want me to help you?"
He came quickly down with a laugh and placed her in the car. "I don't want anything—except to get home!" he said exultantly.
The chauffeur slammed the door.
Aunt Jane beamed on her patient. "I thought you'd be ready to go—when the time came," she said philosophically.
"I'm happy. I don't want anything but what I've got—right here!" He was looking at the face in its cap.
Aunt Jane transferred her gaze to the window, watching the houses slide by, and thelong, smooth roll of streets. "I do like a car!" she declared with a sigh. "I always feel as if I owned the whole earth when I go in a car—kind of on top, you know!"
And the car bore her onward without a jolt or jar, as she sat competently erect; and Herman Medfield, leaning back against the cushions, relaxed to the motion, and watched her pleasure, happily.... There were many things he could give her. He was glad he was a rich man.
The car flashed them through the maze of streets and in through the great gate that formed the entrance to the Medfield estate; and Aunt Jane looked out, with pleased eyes, on trees and shrubs and on a wide soft greenness of turf, and little open vistas shining out as they passed them. "I always heard it was a nice place!" she said contentedly.
"I knew you would like it!" replied Medfield.
Aunt Jane turned her glance on him. "Anybody would be pretty hard to please that didn't like this," she said simply and returned to her window.
He smiled a contented, thoughtful smile.
"Here we are! Home at last—!" He held up a hand to her as she stepped out. "It has been a long time!" He was looking toward the entrance.
"Yes— You've been away a good while." She moved tranquilly beside him, up the low steps into the hall. "Now, I'll make you comfortable." She was looking about her. "And then I must go back. We'd better tell the man to wait—" she turned toward the door.
"We'll call him up," said Medfield quickly. "He's gone— And I want to give you tea and show you my rose-garden—we'll have tea out there——"
"If it isn't too damp," said Aunt Jane.
"What do I care!" He was impatient.
"Dr. Carmon said you'd have to be careful." She spoke the name with authority and a look of vexation crossed Medfield's face.
"Bother! Well—I shall be careful! You won't let me do anything rash!"
"No, I'll try not to—you don't think you'd better go to bed, do you?"
"I do not!"
And he took the situation into his own hands and showed Aunt Jane through the house; and she admired it all, and liked the flowers growing in little pots in the drawing-room windows.
"This would be a good place to have your tea," she remarked.
"We are going outdoors," he said obstinately—and there was a long, low rumble somewhere— "What's that?" He had started.
"Sounds like thunder," said Aunt Jane. She moved over to the window. "Yes—looks as if we were going to have a shower—a hard one. I thought I felt like it." She sat down placidly.
Lightning played through the room, with fantastic touches on the chairs and tables and on the little growing plants in the windows.
"I guess we'll have tea indoors." She beamed on him.
He laughed out with vexation and rang the bell and ordered tea and had a fire made on the great open hearth. He drew up a chair before it for Aunt Jane and made her comfortable.
There was nothing of the invalid in the slim, quick-moving, aristocratic figure. He was playing the host with happy face.
"I declare—you look real well!" said Aunt Jane, watching him.
"Oh, I'm well—I'm happy!" he replied.
Something in the voice arrested her, and she turned away.
"I wouldn't be too happy—not the first day or so," she said softly.
"Do you mean to spoil it?" He came and stood by the fire and looked down at her sternly.
"No—I shan't spoil anything—" A crash of thunder filled the air, and the room grew dark. Little sulphurous lights played in it—and withdrew, dancing across the potted plants.
"Here's your tea!" said Aunt Jane out of the subsiding din.
"Put it here, Henry." Medfield rolled a little table in front of Aunt Jane and watched the man as he set it down. He ran an eye over the tray——
"That's all right. I'll set it out. You draw the curtains and light the candles."
He motioned the man aside and arranged the dishes himself, setting the toast in front of the fire and placing the cups and plates with swift touch.
"There you are!" He had taken the chair opposite her and he looked across with happy eyes. "This is all right!" he said.
The man had left the room; the crashing thunder was shut behind the heavy curtains, the candles shone down on them, and the firelight played across the table. It shone on Aunt Jane's face.
"You have a nice home," she said safely. She lifted a napkin from her plate.
"Mercy—what's this!" She peered at the thin blue strip of paper that fluttered from under the napkin. She took it up and read it—and laid it down hastily. "It's for the wing!" she said.
He nodded quietly, watching her. "You guessed right—the first time!"
Her face looking down at the check was thoughtful and sweet.
"Are you going to pour my tea?" said Medfield.
"Ah!—This is comfortable!"
He had taken his tea from her and was sipping it slowly. He looked about the great room, lighted with high candles in the massive silver sticks, and at the soft folds of curtains that shut out the storm.
"You don't know what a lonely place it is!— With no one here!" He shivered, and then looked contentedly at Aunt Jane drinking her tea.
"Places generallyarelonely," she responded. "It takes folks—not to be lonely.... Most of usneedfolks, I guess."
"Ineed them!" said Medfield emphatically. "And I didn't know it—how lonely I was.... I knew I was beastly unhappy!" He leaned forward and seemed to be looking at his unhappiness in the fire that glowed on the hearth and danced in the flames and flew away up the chimney.
"That's over!" he said. He leaned back happily in his chair, watching the flames.
"Yes. You're going to have a family now——"
He turned on her with a little amused stare.
She nodded. "You'll have Julian here, and Mary Canfield——"
"Oh—Romeo and Juliet!" The tone dismissed the youthful lovers, and laughed at her.
Aunt Jane received it. "They're only two—I know—and two isn't a family—exactly—but there'll be little ones—you see! They'll be all over the place, I expect."
Her eyes seemed to be watching the children playing in the great room. "They'll look nice, won't they!"
He shook his head. "I wasn't thinking of Julian and Mary—nor of children— Never mind!" He put it aside. "I'll tell you sometime."
Aunt Jane had taken up the check from beside her plate, and was folding it in slow fingers.
"You don't know what that is going todo," she said slowly. "But I can see it—plain as if I was right there now—the folks that will get well with this, and be like folks again!... It's hard to be poor!" She opened the bag that hung at her side, and put in the check, and closed it softly.
He sat up and leaned an elbow on the table, resting his head on it and looking across to her under the shading hand. "There's one thing I wanted to ask you."
"Yes?" Aunt Jane's response was veiled. But the good-will in her face shone through. "I'll tell you anything I can. There's a good many things I don't know." Her cap was whimsical.
"You know this!" He laughed. "It's about your old hospital!" He motioned toward the little bag with its check.
"Oh—I know the hospital— It's 'most all I do know!"
"You feel as if you owned it, don't you!" His tone teased her gently. Then he left it—and leaned forward——
"What I was thinking was this: Isn't there something that you would like for the hospital—not just contagion—not a wholewingful!" He twinkled at it. "But something you have seen that is needed. Isn't there something?" He folded his arms on the table, and looked across the teacups at the thoughtful little lines that came and went in her face.
"Is there?" he said.
The lines took it in—and held it wistfully. "You don't mean tea-strainers and such things—you mean something worth while?"
He nodded. "Something worth while, yes. I mean anything.... Think of it—not for yourself, perhaps—" His face grew intent. "Think of it as if some other woman were there."
Aunt Jane sat up. "I can't hardly think of any other woman running my hospital!" she said dryly.
He waved it off. "But if there were?"
She accepted it. "Well—if there was—there's one thing she could make a good deal of use of—if she had it. I've thought about it——"
"Yes— That's what I want!"
"It's expensive," said Aunt Jane.
"We can talk about that later."
She sighed. "It seems kind of ridiculous!... I don't suppose you'll understand, maybe?" She looked up at him.
"I'll try—I don't think there are many things you could say that I should not understand," he said softly.
Aunt Jane's glance hastily sought the teacups. "It's a kind of little home for me." She looked at him as if begging him not to make fun of her.
"You don't mean you want to leave your hospital!" It was half amused and wholly alert, and the question darted at her.
She caught it with a quick shake of the muslin cap. "I don't ever want to live anywhere except in the House of Mercy," she said.
"Oh!" The crestfallen word slipped across to her, and Aunt Jane's face relaxed.
"It's kind of a wing I was thinking of——"
"But I gave you your wing!"
"This is a little one—a kind of place of my own—where I could have them—when they were dismissed, you know—well enough to go home but not quite ready—in their minds, maybe.... I don't know as you everthought—that it takes courage to start?" She regarded him mildly.
"I can imagine it—yes." His tone was dry.
She nodded. "I'd like to have a little home—not belonging to the hospital, but just to me, close by—where I could take 'em in, for a visit-like, till their courage had time to grow."
"I see—a cucumber frame for courage."
She looked up to see if he were making fun. But he was gazing thoughtfully into a teacup.
"Poor folks have to get their courage somehow—and it's hard work—wastes a good deal," she said practically.... "And then sometimes, there's rich folks that don't want to go—when the time comes—" Her eyes twinkled with it. "I'd like to ask them to visit me sometimes."
He was silent, looking into his teacup.
"Have you finished?" he asked. "Is that all?" The little irony of the words danced across to her kindly.
She sighed, and leaned back in her chair. "You made me tell you! I've never toldanybody, before. I know it sounds foolish—having a home of my own!"
He got up from his chair, and went toward a big desk. Then he paused and came back and stood by her chair, with one hand on it, looking down at her.
"I never think anything you do is foolish! You know that!"
Aunt Jane jumped a little. "Well—I think I'm foolish—a good many times!"
He smiled and went over to the desk and drew out his check-book. "How much will it cost, do you suppose?" He looked over his shoulder to her.
"I could get along with a little one," she said meekly.
He smiled again, and filled in the check. "Make it ten thousand for a start." He blotted it carefully. "If it isn't enough, there's more where it came from." He patted the check-book with just a little happy touch of pride, and came across and laid the blue slip in her lap.
"It is for another woman, you know," said Medfield.
He moved across and stood by the fireplace, looking at her with frankly happy eyes.
"What do you mean—by that?" said Aunt Jane. Her fingers seemed a little afraid of the blue slip in her lap.
"Just that!" His face was quiet with the happiness shining in it—ready to break through at a word. "Just that. If some other woman comes to the House of Mercy, she is to have it—otherwise I take it back."
Aunt Jane's fingers abandoned the check. It slipped to the floor.
He came over and picked it up and placed it on the table beside her, and bent a little to her. "I want to give you a larger home, Jane. I want to give you all I have.... Won't you come and live with me?"
"Oh—dear!" said Aunt Jane.
"That's what I meant." He was smiling, but the shadow crossed his face.
"I can't!" said Aunt Jane. She pushed the check from her, and opened the little bag, searching—with half-blinded fingers for the other.
"I can't take 'em!" she said.... "And we do need the wing for contagion—" Her fingers had found the slip and she took it out longingly, and laid it beside the other on the table and glanced up at him with a little,tremulous shake. "I can't take it—if you were offering it to me just because you thought you were—in love with me!"
She looked at it regretfully. "I did hope it wasn't that!" she said softly.
"But it is!" The tone was grave, with a little line of hope running through. "Take it, Jane!" he said gently. "I am not asking anything. It's yours, you know!"
She shook her head. "It seems as if it wouldn't be quite—fair— And we do need the new wing for contagion—the worst way!"
He took up the two checks and folded them in his thin, quiet fingers and lifted the little bag.
"You will take them," he said. He slipped them into the bag and closed it. "Money is only good for what it will buy— Mine does not seem able to buy anything better worth while at present.... Besides"—he dropped the little bag and crossed the hearth—"I shall not spoil your life—or mine! You're going to ask me to visit you, you know, in your little home!"
He was smiling at her.
"You're tired!" she said with quick remorse.
But he lifted a hand. "I'm all right. I'm not going to play on your sympathies that way!" He sat down. "I'm all right!"
"You're going to bed!" said Aunt Jane. She got up and rang the bell.
Then she came and stood by his chair and looked at him and hesitated....
And he smiled at her. "It's all right, Jane."
"I'm old enough to be your mother," she said ruefully.
"Nonsense!"
"Well, Ifeelold enough! I feel like a mother to everybody, I guess!" She bent to him.... "And I'm sorry!" she said swiftly. She kissed him on the cheek—a full, loving, motherly kiss—and drew back from the detaining hand.
"Now you are going to bed," she said practically. "Here's Henry!" She crossed to the man and gave directions for Herman Medfield's comfort; she looked regretfully at the figure sitting in the big chair before the fire as she gave them. She crossed to it again.
"Good-by," she said.
He took the cool, firm fingers in his, and held them close and lifted them to his lips.
"Good-by," he said.
Aunt Jane went quietly from the room.
Henry, with discreet face, was removing the tea-things. He lifted the tray and then set it down and went to the window, pushing back the heavy curtains. "The storm is over, sir," he said.
The fresh, full light flooded in. Henry put out the candles one by one and took up his tray. "Mr. Julian sent word as he'll be home to dinner, sir—with a young lady—" He paused. "Shall I lay the table for her?"
"Yes—she will stay to dinner. She will be here often now," said Herman Medfield.
"Very good, sir. Thank you, sir." Henry took up his tray and went out.
Herman Medfield sat alone by his fire, with the memory of a white-capped face across the hearth and a little thought stirring in him of children playing in the great room, among his art treasures—with the light coming in softly, as it was coming now, across the little potted plants in the windows.
"Where have you been, all the afternoon!" Dr. Carmon was fuming in the office. He got up as Aunt Jane came in.
"Where have you been?" he demanded. "I've needed you! They looked everywhere for you!"
She came calmly in. "I went home with Mr. Medfield." She took up the little tablet slate on her desk and consulted it absently. "He needed me—he thought he needed me."
"What for?" The tone was brusque. "He was well enough whenIsaw him. Couldn't he go home without upsetting the whole hospital!"
"He didn't like to go without me," said Aunt Jane. "In fact, he wouldn't go," she added. She put down the little tablet. "I'm sorry you needed me.... I don't very often go out."
"Well"—his tone was mollified—"we managedto pull through without you. But I like to feel you're around—when I need you."
"I generally mean to be," she said placidly.
He glanced at her suspiciously. She was unusually meek.
"What have you been doing all the afternoon? It didn't take four hours to go out to Medfield's place and back!"
"We had tea—and we talked some."
"Umph! Well, we've gothimoff our hands!"
"Yes—we've got him off our hands," assented Aunt Jane. "He's a good man," she added.
"He's got money," said Dr. Carmon, without enthusiasm. "I never heard of his doing much good with it."
She opened her little bag and took out the two blue slips and looked at them. Then she returned one of them to the bag and handed the other to him, without comment.
He received it blankly and read it—and readjusted his glasses and read it again. He took off the glasses and held them in the tight clutch of one hand, resting on his knee, and surveyed her keenly.
"I suppose you know what it is!"
"Fifty thousand," she said meekly.
"He's given you fifty thousand dollars!" He shook the little blue slip scornfully.
"It isn't for me— It's for us!"
"What!" he said sharply. He put on his glasses again. "For the hospital, is it?" He took it up.
She nodded. "For the new contagion wing."
"We need it badly enough!" He fingered the check absently. "I didn't suppose we should ever have it, though!"
"I told him we needed it," she said casually.
"You begged it of him, I suppose!" A little trace of annoyance ran in the words.
She received it equably. "I didn't do any begging, I guess. I just told him we wanted it."
"So he handed it out!"
"Well—not right then. He said he'd think it over— He gave it to me this afternoon. Put it on my plate—for a kind of surprise." She was looking at something and smiling mistily at it.
He watched her uneasily.
"He's a nice man!" she said, meeting the glance he bent upon her.
"You're tired," he responded abruptly.
"I am—a little mite tired."
He got up and opened his bag and fussed at bottles and shook something into a bit of folded paper and held it out.
"There—take that."
"I don't need it!"
"You take it!"
She accepted it meekly, and he brought a glass of water from behind the screen, and watched her drink it.
"Everybody seems to think you can chase all over town for them!" he grumbled.
"It was quite a nice ride out there," replied Aunt Jane. She wiped the taste of medicine furtively from her lips and set down the glass.
"He's going to give me a little home, too."
"What!" He glared at her fiercely.
She took hold of her bag—as if to protect something. "I knew you wouldn't like it!" she said. "I hated to tell you! I thought maybe I'd put it off ... not tell you for a good while."
"If you will tell me now—and not sit there gibbering and chattering——"
She nodded. "Yes—I'd better do it to-night—right off—and get it done with!" She opened the bag slowly. "Of course, I know you won't want me to have it—" She looked at him doubtfully, holding on to the bit of paper.
"Let me see it!" He held out an imperious hand, and she gave it up. And he sat, with a check in each hand—one hand on either knee—and looked at her severely.
"Any more?" he said bitingly.
"That's all!" She leaned back with a sigh. The worst was probably over.
He read first one check, and then the other, and looked up swiftly—"They're both made out to you!"
"Yes! I saw he'd done it that way—I'm going to make the contagion one over to you."
"They're both contagion, probably!" He smiled grimly.
"No—one is for me—and he said I could build it just the way I want, and furnish it—and have my own way about everything!"
"You'll feel strange, won't you—having your own way!" He almost growled, and tossed the checks at her:
"Take 'em!"
She went over to her desk and looked for her pen and sat down, dipping it in ink, and sat very still—and presently her head nodded—she caught herself, and sat up.
"I declare—I'm sleepy!" she said.
She dipped the pen again and her head nodded as she wrote.... "I don't know when I've been so sleepy." She reached for the blotter. He came over and took it from her and blotted the little paper carefully, looking down at her kindly.
"It's time you went to sleep," he said.
She looked up. "What do you suppose—is the matter—with me?"
He only smiled at her quietly.
"It's the powder!" she exclaimed.
He nodded. "You'll have a good night's rest. You need it!"
"Such foolishness!" She got up, resting one hand on the lid of the desk, and looked about her. "I have to—put out—my lights——"
"I'll put them out," he said impatiently.
She waited. "Isn't there something else—I ought—to do—something I need to—?" She looked at him appealingly, and he took her hand.
"You need some one to take care of you—that's what you need!" He said it almost gently and he led her to the door.
"Sure you can go by yourself?" he said.
It was half mocking and half tender; and he watched until the quiet-moving figure disappeared in the distance of the long corridor.
Then he put out Aunt Jane's lights and went home.
It was very quiet in the hospital. The lights were turned low in the corridors; only a subdued glow from Aunt Jane's office shone out into the dimness.
Dr. Carmon, on his round of late visits, glanced at the light as he came and went. He had not seen Aunt Jane to-day. He had been out of town. It had been a hard day for Dr. Carmon.
When the last visit was over, he hesitated a minute. Then he went swiftly down the hall toward the light shining from the door.
At the door he paused. Aunt Jane, over by the shaded lamp, sat in her rocking-chair. She rocked gently; and as she rocked, little thoughts came and went in her face.
He stood silently watching the face. It was smiling now. He stepped in quickly.
"What are you thinking about?" he asked.
She looked up with a start—and brushed a hand across her face.
"I—I was thinking about my—my wings, I guess." She was laughing a little.
"Umph! Just about ready to grow 'em, I expect!"
He put down his bag and came and sat opposite her and placed a hand on either knee, surveying her shrewdly.
"How are you feeling?"
"All right."
"Slept well?" A little smile crossed the words.
"I never had such a sleep!... And I feel all right after it," she added thoughtfully. "But I don't believe in taking things!"
She was mildly indignant.
"Can't hurt you," he said absently. "I knew what I was giving."
"But—Ididn't."
"'Twasn't necessary," he said briefly.
She looked up at him with a little surprised twinkle and rocked gently.
He was leaning forward, an arm resting on either knee, his hands hanging relaxed between the knees. He was lost in thought.
She stole a glance at the preoccupied face—and opened her lips—and closed them and went on rocking.
He had put the tips of his fingers together and was swinging them a little and whistling softly. He looked at her.
"Jane——"
"What!" It was almost a jump.
He smiled a little. The whistle had ceased.
"Do—you—love me, Jane?"
She looked at him indignantly. "Whatever put such an idea into your head!"
"It isn't there—I wish it were!"
He was looking at her quietly and at something flooding up under her cap.
"I wonder—if you do?" He was swinging the finger-tips thoughtfully, as if they balanced it for him, and his eyes did not leave her face.
"Jane——"
She looked at him meekly, a flitting glance—and then away.
"Don't you love me?"
"Yes." She drew in the word with a quick breath and got up abruptly. She went straight across the room to her desk—and stopped.
He watched her with a slow, questioning look.
He got up slowly.
"I—I'm toooldto love anybody!" The words came softly to him—with a half sob. "I'm just ashamed of it!"
She was sitting facing the desk and her shoulders lifted with the little sobbing breaths she tried to control.
Dr. Carmon came over and stood beside her and laid his hand on her shoulder and stood quiet a minute.
"I need you, Jane!" he said at last. "I can't tell you how I need you!"
She turned and looked up at him then, her face quivering in little lights. "Well—I guess it's all right—the way I feel! It's the way the Lord made me, anyhow!Idon't want to be this way!" She brushed her hand across her eyes and smiled at him a little tremulously.
He was looking down—his face almost grave in its quiet happiness.... "I don't quite believe it, Jane—that you are coming to live with me——"
"But I'm not!" She got up quickly.
He faced her. "You said—" He gazed at her.
"I said I—that—I—loved you!" She threw it at him. "That's bad enough, I hope—without having to leave my hospital!" A fine, clear color had come into her face.
He watched it smilingly. "I'll come here to live!" he announced.
"I can't have you! You wouldn't like it! It wouldn't be good for you—living with your work!... Oh—dear!"
She wrestled with it and he watched the disturbed face, with happy, affectionate eyes.
"Don't bother—Jane!" he said softly.
"Of course I've got my wing—" She paused on it. "You can come and live in my wing.... That's the best I can do for you!" She threw out her hands, half laughing, half crying, and he took them and led her to the rocking-chair and put her in it and stood beside her.
"I wonder if you need another powder," he said reflectively.
"Mercy—no!... Sit down!"
He sat down and she looked at him—andat his shabby, crumpled clothes—with brimming eyes.
"Here I am, being happy! And I've been using other folks' happiness so long, I don't hardly know what to do with any of my own—happiness that belongs just to me!"
"It doesn't belong just to you!" said Dr. Carmon sternly. "You are the most self-centred woman I ever knew!" he added.
"Yes, I suppose I am!" sighed Aunt Jane. She rocked happily and looked at it.
"I'm going to teach you how to be happy!" said Frederic Carmon. "I can teach you! There are several things I can teach you, I suspect." He said it slowly. His eye dwelt on her.... "For one thing, you are not going to have your own way so much as you have—it's not good for you!"
"Oh!" said Aunt Jane. She sat very still looking at it—and the face in its white cap smiled in little, gentle, breaking lines.