tter by, the puppy wakes
up and thinks it is time for a game. A woman's voice calls loudly,
"Sestra." Taking the milk off, Sestra hurries across the courtyard and
along the corridor to the little rooms with the puppy tugging at her
skirt. The woman wants water; she has wakened the other women--they want
water. When silence again comes back into the ward, one notes
instinctively the vivid colouring of the two big blue windows at the far
end, the long lines of beds disappearing into the darkness, the dim
light of the lantern on the table showing up the cheap clock and a few
flowers. The intensity of light upon this clock is only equalled by the
intensity of one's thoughts upon the clock. The minute-hand drags on as
though it were weary with the day's work. A groan ticks off the quarters
and cries for water or milk the half-hours. At last one o'clock. Time
for a midnight meal. Eggs and cocoa hurriedly eaten without appetite in
the kitchen, but breaking the monotony. Back to the ward again, one of
the patients very restless, in great pain. Poor fellow, he has had a
long and hard time of it, fifteen months in bed and all due to early
neglect.

"Sestra," he says, "sestra," and holds out a handkerchief heavy with
coin. "Tell the doctor to take me down to the operating-room and cure me
or not let me wake up."

Between four and five there is more movement in the ward. Groans give
way to yawns. In the windows the blue is paling to grey. Cocks are
crowing now quite close, now faintly, like an echo. Suddenly the world
is filled with work, "washings, brushings, combings, cleanings,
temperatures, breakfasts, medicines, some beds to make, reports, all
fitted together like a jigsaw puzzle, until at last the day-sisters come
and relieve, and yawning at the daylight one eats warmed-up dinner while
the others are having breakfast."

After a seven weeks' absence one was bound to miss many old friends in
the ward. Some had gone home, others were back in the army. Old Number
13, the king of the ward, was still there. He had a dark brown face and
white hair, and was furious if any dared to call him a gipsy.

"I am a respectable farmer," he said, "and I own seventeen pigs, a
horse, and five sheep, a wife, and two children."

He loved to tell of his wedding. It was done in the correct old Serbian
style. He went with his mother and a gun to the chosen one's house,
where she was waiting alone, her parents tactfully keeping out of the
way. T