Thank God, we're almost there!"

On such a night, more than ever alert, the attendant at the door of
the accident ward opened it wide to the slightest summons of the good
doctor, who staggered into the light and warmth, shaking the snow from
him in clouds and ordering:

"Promptest attention. Child overcome in the snow. Call nurse Brady.
She'll know."

The nurse was instantly at hand, and received the new "case" from the
attendant; while the physician took off his own snow-covered ulster
and brushed the melting flakes from his beard. All the while his keen
eyes were studying the child's countenance and following his
motionless figure as, with that haste which is never waste, the
trained nurse carried it away toward the great ward where so many
other "cases" were receiving the care which should save life.

Finding, by brief question and answer, that the patient he had come
especially to see was neither better nor worse, Dr. Winthrop followed
nurse Brady and her new charge; watching and directing as it seemed
necessary, and finally announcing:

"I'll have him put in a private room; this ward is so full already,
and there'll be more coming right along. A boy who wears velvet and
feathers must belong to some rich family, who'll gladly pay for every
attention. Poor, little, bedraggled bird of paradise!"

So it happened that when Towsley opened his eyes, a few hours later,
it was in a room whose comfort quite equalled that of the one from
which he had fled, even though its furnishings were much plainer. And
over his pillow leaned another woman wearing a snowy cap, far daintier
in shape than had adorned Miss Lucy's gray curls. There were no
gleaming glasses shading the kindly eyes which regarded him, and no
sternness in the lips that said slowly and gently:

"So my little patient is better. I am so glad of that."

After a long, silent stare into nurse Brady's face, Towsley asked:

"Be you? Where's I at?"

"In a nice warm bed, all safe and sound, with a fine breakfast waiting
for you."

"Where's it at, I say?"

"The hospital."

"What for?"

"Because you must have been taking a little walk in the storm and got
too tired to go very far. A kind man found you and brought you in
here, and now if you'll please drink this hot soup you'll feel as fine
as a fiddler!"

"Humph. I can fiddle--some, myself. Is the pie all gone? Oh! I
mean--I--I--my head's funny."

"That will come right enough when you set your empty sto