"All right, hand over my nice, shiny little auto!" laughed the young
woman. "Honest, I'm in earnest, Uncle Em. I dreamed I had one last
night, and I intended to ask you at breakfast, but I was sound asleep.
Don't say anything for answer just now. Just think about it, then drop
into the place where they keep 'em, on your way to supper, and order
one! That's all--I'll let you off easy!"

Gloria got up and wandered about the little room. Its barrenness
reminded her of Treeless Street, lined with little children, and her
busy thoughts traveled back to that.

"What's a District Nurse, Uncle Em?" she asked suddenly; "with a
rusty-black bag full of bottles and absorbent cotton? There's one across
the street from us."

"Bag or nurse?"

"Both. She's a dear, but what does she do?"

"Why," explained Uncle Em, "she visits the poor and takes care of them
if they are sick, you know. It's rather a new institution here in
Tilford, but seems to be working finely. The city pays the nurse's
salary, or else it's done by private subscriptions."

"But I don't see how one nurse gets time to take care of a whole
city--mercy!" Gloria's personal experience with nurses had been two to
one girl. She remembered them now--the gentle day-nurse and the gentle
night-nurse, who had moved soft-footedly about her bed, performing
soothing little offices. Uncle Em smiled at her puzzled face.