he
gets pretty noisy and the sick folks don't like to have him running up
and down the halls."

"By the way, I meant to have spoken to Miss Murch about some supplies
our Aid Society wants to purchase for the hospital. I think I'll just
slip downstairs now and attend to it while I am waiting for Dickson. If
he comes before I get back, tell him that I am in the office." Almost
before Peace realized it, she was gone, and the invalid was left to her
own devices once more.

When the busy doctor, detained longer than he had expected to be,
returned for his sister, she was nowhere in sight, and Peace lay fast
asleep in her wheel-chair by the window.

"Guess Kit got tired of waiting for me and went home," he mused. So he
hurried down the stairway and was about to step out of the great front
doors, when a familiar, ringing laugh from the office close by made him
pause and open his eyes in wonder, as he ejaculated under his breath,
"If that isn't Kit, I'll eat my hat!"

Before he could retrace his steps, however, a flushed, radiant figure
flashed into the hallway, and Keturah--a rejuvenated Kit with a crimson
carnation in her belt and another tucked in the coils of her glossy
hair--exclaimed, "O, Dick, come see what this little rogue has done!"

Then he noticed what had escaped his attention before,--she was leading
little lame Billy Bolee by the hand. Puzzled, yet strangely relieved at
the vision, the doctor followed her into the office, where she pointed
at scores of little red and green patches plastered hit or miss on the
smooth walls.

"Why, what--?" he began.

"See what they are?" asked the amused sister.

He looked more closely at the haphazard decorations, then exclaimed,
"Postage stamps, I'll be bound!"

"Yes. Five dollars' worth," laughed Keturah infectiously. "And the worst
of it is, most of them will have to be soaked off with water. Billy
Bolee did his job well. Do you suppose the mucilage will make him sick?
By the way, Dickson, I am going to take Billy home with me. It won't be
too cool in the auto for him without any wraps, will it? He has nothing
but a heavy winter coat, and he will _roast_ in that."

Slowly the doctor turned and looked searchingly at his sister. She
flushed under his gaze, but did not flinch.

"I have been talking to Dr. Kruger," she said, as if in answer to his
unspoken question, "and he thinks there will be no difficulty about our
securing adoption papers,--if we decide to keep