ou are a brave
woman; I have been watching you through the leaves for half an hour. I
saw you--I saw you change those cloths; those terrible bloody cloths on
that poor man's head. At first my eyes turned round, I saw black only;
but I opened them again, I fixed them on what you held, I watched. Now I
can bear quite well to look at it. Help me, Dolores! teach me--to help
as you help; teach me to care for these brothers, as you do."

Dolores looked earnestly in the beautiful young face. In spite of the
deadly pallor, she saw that the girl was fully herself, was calm and
determined. With a simple, noble gesture she lifted Rita's slender hand
to her lips, saying merely: "This hand shall bring blessing to many!
come, my senorita, and see! it is so easy, when once one knows the way
of it."

Very gently the poor peasant's wife showed the rich man's daughter the A
B C of woman's work among the sick and suffering. At first Rita could do
little more than control her own nerves, and fight down the faintness
that came creeping over her at sight of the bandaged faces, ghastly
under the brown, of the torn flesh and nerveless limbs. Gradually,
however, she began to gain strength. The rough brown hand moved so
easily, so lightly; it laid hold of those terrible bandages as if they
were mere ordinary bits of linen. Surely now, she, Rita, could do that
too. As Dolores took a cloth from her husband's head, the girl's hand
was outstretched, took it quietly, and handed a fresh one to the nurse.
The cloth she took was covered with red stains. For a moment Rita's head
swam, and the world seemed to turn dark before her eyes; but she held
the thing firmly, till her sight cleared again; then dropped it in the
tub of water that stood ready, and taking up the fan of green palm-leaf,
swept it steadily to and fro, driving the clouds of flies and mosquitoes
away from the sufferer.

Coming back from his siesta half an hour later, good Doctor Ferrando
paused a moment at the entrance of the hospital grove. There were two
nurses now; the good man gazed in astonishment at the slender figure
kneeling beside one of the rough cots, fanning the wounded man, and
singing in a low, sweet voice, a song of Cuba. Several of the men were
awake, and gazing at her with delight. Dolores, with a look of quiet
happiness on her face, sat beside the bed where her husband was sleeping
peacefully. "Come!" said the doctor, "war, after all, has its beauty as
well as its terr