ap of
curiosity," they never imagined that it was her little head which
planned and originated every detail of the work they carried on. Not
that Joyce could really make a plan--that was beyond her. But she and
Madame Bonnivel, together, instructed the intelligent architects
employed, even down to the minute contrivances for saving work and time,
that were introduced into the cottages.

Even Gus Peters had never fathomed the mystery of his own surprising
good fortune. Before night had fallen, on the day he was burned, an
elderly woman of serene visage had appeared in his bachelor den, and
declaring herself a nurse sent by friends, had proceeded to make him
more comfortable than he had believed possible, with those aching
members touching up every nerve to torture.

She had served him with delicate food and drink, dressed his burns with
softest touch, given him some soothing potion, and prepared a daintily
clean bed for him to rest in. When he awoke, after the first refreshing
sleep in many hours, she was still there, and the room seemed like
another place, so restfully clean and orderly had she made it. Gus
looked around with contented eyes, which finally fell upon her and
lingered there. For the minute he half suspected it was still a dream,
and feared to really waken. But, catching his gaze, she smiled and said
in an unmistakably wide-awake voice,

"You had a good sleep, didn't you? The worst is over now, and you'll
soon mend. It won't be long now to the itching stage."

She laughed pleasantly and went on with her work in a placid way. Gus
discovered, with a little shock of surprised delight, that she was
darning a sock--could it be his sock? He asked the question with an
eagerness that amused her.

"Of course. Why. Are you afraid I'll spoil it?"

The humor of this made him laugh also, for the idea of spoiling socks
that were little but holes would make any one smile who felt warm,
rested, and free from pain.

"How did you happen to come?" he asked again, a bit timidly.

"I was sent," she returned. "It's my business--to nurse those who are
not rich. It makes a different profession of it, where one must often be
house-keeper and cook, as well as attendant on the sick, you see."

"Yes, indeed. You're good at keeping house, I reckon. It must have
looked a mountain to you to get order out of the mess here."

"I've seen worse places. Now, it's about five o'clock and I'll give you
some breakfast, and dress your