still in her hand, and debating whether to carry
it up to the children, or to give it to a boy in the surgical ward
with whom she had once spoken, she passed a half-open door on one of
the private-room corridors.

Glancing inside, she saw a young man, with bandaged eyes, lying on a
couch. He was quite alone, and his mouth looked sad.

"I wonder if he would like it," she questioned, and a breath of
fragrance from the half-blown rose answered her. "He can smell it,
even if he can't see it," she thought, and stepped inside the room.

The man turned his head.

"Would you like one of my birthday roses?" she asked. "It is very
sweet." She put it in his hand.

"I thank you, indeed." The sad lips smiled. "This is quite outside of
my programme. In fact, I had almost forgotten there were such pleasant
times as birthdays."

"It was day before yesterday," she ventured.

"And I judge by your voice that the number of roses needed was not
large."

She laughed softly. "Only eleven."

"About as I guessed! I hope the rest of the birthday matched the
roses. This is very beautiful." His fingers gave it a caressing touch.

"Oh, I had a lovelicious birthday! I really had two of them!"

"Two? That sounds interesting. Can't you sit down here and tell me
about it?"

"If I wouldn't be late to school," she hesitated. "I don't know what
time it is."

He pulled a watch from his pocket, and held it up for her view.

"Oh, I've twenty-seven minutes! I can stay a little while."

She took the chair beside him, and recounted the story of the
intermediate entertainment, intuitively omitting the part which Ilga
played. That it was appreciated by her listener Polly could not doubt.

"You must come and see me again," he invited, as she rose to go. "I
think you may do me more good than the Doctor."

"Oh, no!" she objected softly; "I couldn't do anything better than
father! He cures everybody."

The young man smiled doubtfully.

"May I ask who 'father' is? Not Dr. Dudley?"

"Why, yes, sir. I s'posed you knew. I'm Polly Dudley, Dr. Dudley's
little girl."

"Are you! Well, Miss Polly, I am surely glad to have made your
acquaintance." He ran hurriedly through his pockets. "I had a card
somewhere. Probably it was seized with the rest of my belongings. That
seems to be a way they have at hospitals--hide a man's things so he
can't get at them! Never mind, I haven't forgotten my name. I am Floyd
Westwood of New York."

"That's a lovelici