rson. He found that a million dollars and some acres of buildings,
containing sun-rooms and hundreds of rigid white beds, had been donated
by Spencer Flagg only to provide a background for Sister Anne--only
to exhibit the depth of her charity, the kindness of her heart, the
unselfishness of her nature.

"Do you really scrub the floors?" he demanded--"I mean you
yourself--down on your knees, with a pail and water and scrubbing
brush?"

Sister Anne raised her beautiful eyebrows and laughed at him.

"We do that when we first come here," she said--"when we are
probationers. Is there a newer way of scrubbing floors?"

"And these awful patients," demanded Sam--"do you wait on them? Do you
have to submit to their complaints and whinings and ingratitude?" He
glared at the unhappy convalescents as though by that glance he would
annihilate them. "It's not fair!" exclaimed Sam. "It's ridiculous. I'd
like to choke them!"

"That's not exactly the object of a home for convalescents," said Sister
Anne.

"You know perfectly well what I mean," said Sam. "Here are you--if
you'll allow me to say so--a magnificent, splendid, healthy young
person, wearing out your young life over a lot of lame ducks, failures,
and cripples."

"Nor is that quite the way we look at," said Sister Anne.

"We?" demanded Sam.

Sister Anne nodded toward a group of nurse

"I'm not the only nurse here," she said "There are over forty."

"You are the only one here," said Sam, "who is not! That's Just what
I mean--I appreciate the work of a trained nurse; I understand the
ministering angel part of it; but you--I'm not talking about anybody
else; I'm talking about you--you are too young! Somehow you are
different; you are not meant to wear yourself out fighting disease and
sickness, measuring beef broth and making beds."

Sister Anne laughed with delight.

"I beg your pardon," said Sam stiffly.

"No--pardon me," said Sister Anne; "but your ideas of the duties of a
nurse are so quaint."

"No matter what the duties are," declared Sam; "You should not be here!"

Sister Anne shrugged her shoulders; they were charming shoulders--as
delicate as the pinions of a bird.

"One must live," said Sister Anne.

They had passed through the last cold corridor, between the last rows
of rigid white cots, and had come out into the sunshine. Below them
stretched Connecticut, painted in autumn colors. Sister Anne seated
herself upon the marble railing of the terrace