Out from an unseasonable snuggle of sable furs and flaming red hair a
small, peevish face peered forth at her with frank curiosity.

"Why, hello!" beamed the White Linen Nurse. "Who are you?"

With unmistakable hostility the haughty little face retreated into its
furs and its red hair. "Hush!" commanded a shrill childish voice. "Hush,
I say! I'm a cripple--and very bad-tempered. Don't speak to me!"

"Oh, my Glory!" gasped the White Linen Nurse. "Oh my Glory, Glory,
Glory!" Without any warning whatsoever she felt suddenly like
Nothing-At-All, rigged out in an exceedingly shabby old ulster and an
excessively homely black slouch hat. In a desperate attempt at tangible
tom-boyish nonchalance she tossed her head and thrust her hands down
deep into her big ulster pockets. That the bleak hat reflected no decent
featherish consciousness of being tossed, that the big threadbare
pockets had no bottoms to them, merely completed her startled sense of
having been in some way blotted right out of existence.

Behind her back the Senior Surgeon's huge fur-coated approach dawned
blissfully like the thud of a rescue party.

But if the Senior Surgeon's blunt, wholesome invitation to ride had been
perfectly sweet when he prescribed it for her in the Superintendent's
office, the invitation had certainly soured most amazingly in the
succeeding ten minutes. Abruptly now, without any greeting, he reached
out and opened the rear door of the car, and nodded curtly for her to
enter there.

Instantly across the face of the little crippled girl already ensconced