ng in the shadow of the market-place, passing on the
tale that comes to my ears. But I can remind you that May Eve is one
of the most bewitched and bewitching times of the whole year--reason
enough to account for any number of strange happenings; and I can point
out to your notice that Margaret MacLean, in charge of Ward C at Saint
Margaret's, found the flower-seller at the corner of the street that
morning with his basket full of primroses. Now primroses are "gentle
flowers," as everybody ought to know--which means that the faeries have
been using them for thousands of years to work magic; and Margaret
MacLean bought the full of her hands that morning.

And this brings us back to Trustee Day at Saint Margaret's--which fell
on the 30th of April--and to the beginning of the story.

Saint Margaret's Free Hospital for Children does not belong to the
city. It was built by a rich man as a memorial to his son, a little
crippled lad who stayed just long enough to leave behind as a legacy
for his father a great crying hunger to minister to all little ailing
and crippled bodies. There are golden tales concerning those first
years of the hospital--tales passed on by word of mouth alone and so
old as to have gathered a bit of the misty glow of illusion that hangs
over all myths and traditions. They made of Saint Margaret's an
arcadian refuge, where the Founder wandered all day and every day like
a patron saint. Tradition endowed him with all the attributes of all
saints belonging to childhood: the protectiveness of Saint Christopher,
the tenderness of Saint Anthony, the loving comradeship of Saint
Valentine, and the joyfulness of Saint Nicholas.

But that was more than fifty years ago; and institutions can change
marvelously in half a century. Time had buried more than the Founder.

The rich still support Saint Margaret's. Society gives bazars and
costumed balls for it annually; great artists give benefit concerts;
bankers, corporation presidents, and heiresses send liberal checks once
a year--and from this last group are chosen the trustees. They have
made of Saint Margaret's the best-appointed hospital in the city. It
is supplied with everything money and power can obtain; leading
surgeons are listed on its staff; its nurses rank at the head. It has
outspanned the greatest dream of the Founder--professionally. And
twelve times a year--at the end of every month--the trustees hold their
day; which means that all t