Heavily the White Linen Nurse's lashes shadowed down again across her
sleep-flushed cheeks.

"Oh, never mind--about--that," she mumbled non-concernedly.

"Oh, for Heaven's sake--wake up there!" bellowed the Senior Surgeon
above the sudden roar of his engine.

Adroitly for a man of his bulk he ran around the radiator and jumped
into his seat. Joggled unmercifully into wakefulness, the Little Girl
greeted his return with a generous if distinctly non-tactful
demonstration of affection. Grabbing the unwitting fingers of his
momentarily free hand she tapped them proudly against the White Linen
Nurse's plump pink cheek.

"See! I call her 'Peach'!" she boasted joyously with all the triumphant
air of one who felt assured that mental discrimination such as this
could not possibly fail to impress even a person so naturally obtuse
as--a father.

"Don't be foolish!" snarled the Senior Surgeon.

"Who? Me?" gasped the White Linen Nurse in a perfect agony of confusion.

"Yes! You!" snapped the Senior Surgeon explosively half an hour later
after interminable miles of absolute silence--and dingy yellow
field-stubble--and bare brown alder bushes.

Truly out of the ascetic habit of his daily life, "where no rain was,"