You comin' too, Stefana?"

"Yes, Stefana can go now. She is all through," which was Miss
Theodosia's kind inclusion of Stefana. That, again, was curiously new to
Miss Theodosia. Psychological changes were taking place--or were they
just plain tugs on Miss Theodosia's heartstrings?

She sat and sewed.

"Patching--I'm patching!" she laughed to herself. "And here I've been
hiring my own mending done! Theodosia Baxter, see what you are doing;
you are patching a shirt for a man! No, I'm not, either! I'm doing it
for Stefana--what are you talking about?"

Some one came up her steps and knocked on her open door. But she was too
engrossed to hear. The patch underneath had slipped a little askew. She
ripped out some of the stitches and began again. She caught herself
humming as she worked.

"Please may I have my shirt?" a voice asked meekly. "That story is
promised for next month. It's the twenty-eighth, now."

Evangeline's Tract Man stood in the doorway, soft felt hat in hand,
twinkles in his eyes. Evangeline's Tract Man was the Reformed Doctor! If
Miss Theodosia had been eighteen instead of thirty-six she would not
have blushed more beautifully, but she continued to patch. She was
caught in the act; no help for it now. But she would finish--that--
patch.

"So it's you! So that's the work Reformed Doctors do!"