appear, that the one part which still needs care gets it.

A surgeon does not spend all day, every day, with his gloves on,
and his scalpel in his hand; he is not _always_ operating, or
even arranging for operations; he can find time to see patients,
to sit and talk with them, to advise them, to cheer them, even to
tell funny stories to them, but all the time he is watching them.
A lawyer is not always pleading in the court room, a clergyman is
not forever in the pulpit. The lawyer when talking to his client
is just as truly a lawyer; the clergyman, when visiting his
congregation, is just as truly a clergyman,--the sermon on Sunday
is the climax, if I may so express it, of his week's work. The
lawyer's speech to the jury is the point to which all his efforts
tend after, perhaps, weeks of preparation. So the convalescence of
a patient is the post climax of the nurse's undertaking. She
begins with the climax, severe illness, operation, or obstetric
case, whatever it may be, gradually the stress lessens, the whole
atmosphere of the house becomes natural as the patient progresses
toward recovery; but the process is not complete, and the nurse's
work is not done until the doctor pronounces her trained care no
longer necessary; then she may go, and feel that her work has been
thoroughly done-no small comfort surely.

I wish I could show my young sister nurses how good _for
them_ this period of the patient's convalescence might be. The
delightful rest of regular sleep, and regular meals comfortably
eaten at a table instead of in solitude from a tray, the
opportunity for regular exercise--these things come as a real
luxury when one has been nursing a critically-ill patient, and
anxiety has been with one, night and day. This is the period when