s shone and when she looked at Sam she was almost
laughing with happiness.

"I think that would be quite delightful," said Sister Anne,"--quite
delightful! Only it would be frightfully expensive; even if I don't
bring another girl, which I certainly would not, it would cost a great
deal of money. I think we might cut out the taxicab--and walk in the
park and feed the squirrels."

"Oh!" exclaimed Sam in disappointment,--"then you know Central Park?"

Sister Anne's eyes grew quite expressionless.

"I once lived near there," she said.

"In Harlem?"

"Not exactly in Harlem, but near it. I was quite young," said Sister
Anne. "Since then I have always lived in the country or in--other
places."

Sam's heart was singing with pleasure.

"It's so kind of you to consent," he cried. "Indeed, you are the kindest
person in all the world. I thought so when I saw you bending over these
sick people, and, now I know."

"It is you who are kind," protested Sister Anne, "to take pity on me."

"Pity on you!" laughed Sam. "You can't pity a person who can do more
with a smile than old man Flagg can do with all his millions. Now," he
demanded in happy anticipation, "where are we to meet?"

"That's it," said Sister Anne. "Where are we to meet?"

"Let it be at the Grand Central Station. The day can't begin too soon,"
said Sam; "and before then telephone me what theatre and restaurants you
want and I'll reserve seats and tables. Oh," exclaimed Sam joyfully, "it
will be a wonderful day--a wonderful day!"

Sister Anne looked at him curiously and, so, it seemed, a little
wistfully. She held out her hand.

"I must go back to my duties," she said. "Good-by."

"Not good-by," said Sam heartily, "only until Saturday--and my name's
Sam Ward and my address is the city room of the REPUBLIC. What's your
name?"

"Sister Anne," said the girl. "In the nursing order to which I belong we
have no last names."

"So," asked Sam, "I'll call you Sister Anne?"

"No; just Sister," said the girl.

"Sister!" repeated Sam, "Sister!" He breathed the word rather than spoke
it; and the way he said it and the way he looked when he said it made
it carry almost the touch of a caress. It was as if he had said
"Sweetheart!" or "Beloved!" "I'll not forget," said Sam.

Sister Anne gave an impatient, annoyed laugh.

"Nor I," she said.

Sam returned to New York in the smoking-car, puffing feverishly at his
cigar and glaring dreamily at the smoke. He was liv