be too old----"

"If there's nothing better for it, then we'll wait," he cut in almost
sharply. "Do you remember how I showed you to hold that cone?"

She had consented to assist him in the operation to the extent of
keeping the patient under the ether after he had administered it.

"This way," said she, placing the cotton-filled paper cone over the
nostrils.

From the physician's standpoint, the operation was entirely successful.
A successful operation, as the doctor defines it, means that the doctor
gets what he starts after. Frequently the patient expires during the
operation, but that does not subtract anything from the sum of its
success.

In the case of Jerry Boyle the matter wore a brighter aspect all around.
The doctor found the bit of coat-lining which the bullet had carried in
with it, and removed it. The seat of inflammation was centered around
it, as he had foreseen, and the patient was still alive, even though the
greater part of the day had passed since the tormenting piece of cloth
was removed.

The camp was hushed in the depression of despair. Until that day they
had heard Mrs. Boyle's hopeful voice cheering her husband, upon whom the
foreboding of disaster seemed to weigh prophetically. Sometimes she had
sung in a low voice as she watched beside her son. But now her courage
seemed to have left her, and she sat in the tent with the Governor,
huddled like two old tempest-beaten birds hiding under a frail shelter
which could not shield them from the last bitter blow. They had given
the care of their son over to the doctor and Agnes entirely, watching
their coming and going with tearful eyes, waiting for the word that
would cut the slender stay of hope.

On the afternoon of the second day after the operation, Agnes entered
the tent and looked across the patient's cot into Dr. Slavens' tired
eyes. He shook his head, holding the sufferer's wrist, his finger on the
fluttering pulse. It seemed to Agnes that Boyle had sunk as deep into
the shadow of the borderland as human ever penetrated and drew breath.
From all appearances he was dead even that moment, and the solemn shake
of the head with which the doctor greeted her seemed to tell her it was
the end.

She went to her own tent and sat in the sun, which still fell hot and
bright. The Governor and his wife had let down the flap of their tent,
as if they could no longer bear the pain of watching. Tears came into
Agnes' eyes as she waited there in the