sounded nine.

"Shirley was tired, Hugh," she said, a little timidly. "She hardly
ever acts that way. And Sarah doesn't mean to be obstinate, but she
just can't help it."

"Well, I'm glad you think to-night isn't an average performance,"
declared her brother humorously. "You're a sweet older sister,
Rosemary. The girls couldn't do better than to pattern after you."

"Oh, Hugh! You are nice--" Rosemary's voice rose in a crescendo of
pure pleasure. "But I'm not a good example--you won't say that when
you know me. I get as mad, as mad--as--Shirley."

"The more shame to you," said the doctor unbelievingly, kissing her
vivid little face. "Go to bed, child, and don't talk to me about
losing your temper."

At eleven o'clock the light was still burning in the office and
Winnie knocked lightly on the door.

"I brought you a glass of milk and a sandwich, Hughie," she said,
using the old pet name she had given him when a little lad.

"Well that's mighty thoughtful of you, Winnie dear," he said,
smiling at her. "I've been doing a little thinking this evening
and that's hungry work."

Winnie regarded him, wisdom and pride in her eyes.

"I'm thinking that healthy folks is more of a problem than sick
ones," she observed sagely. "But you're enough like your mother, to
be able to manage all right, never fear. You've her understanding
and the endurance and will of your father, Hughie, and you'll be
needing it all, but you'll work it out. Shirley is spoiled and we're
all to blame--it wasn't all done in these two weeks, either; your
mother gave in a little at a time for she was tired and her illness
has been long coming. 'Tis nothing to set right a little wrong when
the heart is pure gold like Shirley's. And you'll soon set Sarah in
her place--she needs to be set frequent-like, though if you find
the way to her liking, she'll be fond enough of you in time. It's
Rosemary I'd speak to you about at the risk of seeming to meddle."

The doctor stirred a little, but his face encouraged Winnie to
go on.

"A rose in the bud--that's Rosemary," said Winnie who scorned to
read poetry and often employed poetical fancies in her rather quaint
phrasing. "A rose in the bud and a flower of a girl. A temper that
blazes, a quick pride that bleeds at a word and a passion for loving
that sometimes frightens me. The sick and the helpless and the
young--Rosemary would mother 'em all. And she's hurt so easy, and
she dashes herself against the ston