ings were still highly
unpleasant in the ward, but they grew much better when Sidney was off
duty. She was asked to join a small class that was studying French at
night. As ignorant of the cause of her popularity as of the reason of
her persecution, she went steadily on her way.

And she was gaining every day. Her mind was forming. She was learning
to think for herself. For the first time, she was facing problems and
demanding an answer. Why must there be Grace Irvings in the world? Why
must the healthy babies of the obstetric ward go out to the slums and
come back, in months or years, crippled for the great fight by the
handicap of their environment, rickety, tuberculous, twisted? Why need
the huge mills feed the hospitals daily with injured men?

And there were other things that she thought of. Every night, on her
knees in the nurses' parlor at prayers, she promised, if she were
accepted as a nurse, to try never to become calloused, never to regard
her patients as "cases," never to allow the cleanliness and routine of
her ward to delay a cup of water to the thirsty, or her arms to a sick
child.

On the whole, the world was good, she found. And, of all the good things
in it, the best was service. True, there were hot days and restless
nights, weary feet, and now and then a heartache. There was Miss
Harrison, too. But to offset these there was the sound of Dr. Max's step
in the corridor, and his smiling nod from the door; there was a "God
bless you" now and then for the comfort she gave; there were wonderful
nights on the roof under the stars, until K.'s little watch warned her
to bed.

While Sidney watched the stars from her hospital roof, while all around
her the slum children, on other roofs, fought for the very breath of
life, others who knew and loved her watched the stars, too. K. was
having his own troubles in those days. Late at night, when Anna and
Harriet had retired, he sat on the balcony and thought of many things.
Anna Page was not well. He had noticed that her lips were rather blue,
and had called in Dr. Ed. It was valvular heart disease. Anna was not to
be told, or Sidney. It was Harriet's ruling.

"Sidney can't help any," said Harriet, "and for Heaven's sake let her
have her chance. Anna may live for years. You know her as well as I do.
If you tell her anything at all, she'll have Sidney here, waiting on her
hand and foot."

And Le Moyne, fearful of urging too much because his own heart was
cryin