"I'm not at all like the Senior Surgeon. I don't mean that, and you
know it. What I am trying to make you understand is that these kiddies
can't keep you always; some time they will have to learn to do without
you. When that happens it will come tough on them. It would come
tough on anybody; and the square thing for you to do is to stop
being--so all-fired adorable." The House Surgeon flung back his head
and marched out of the board-room, slamming the door.

Behind the slammed door Margaret MacLean eyed the primroses
suspiciously. "I wonder--is your magic working all right to-day?
Please--please don't weave any charms against him, little faery people.
He is the only other grown-up person who has ever understood the least
bit; and I couldn't bear to lose him, too."

For the second time that morning she nestled her cheek against the
blossoms. Then the clock on the hospital tower struck eight. She
jumped with a start. "Time to go on duty." Once again her eyes met
the eyes of the Founder and sparkled witchingly. She raised high the
green Devonshire bowl from the President's desk as for a toast.

"Here's to Saint Margaret's--as you founded her; and the children--as
you meant them to be; and here's to the one who first understood!" She
turned from the Founder to the portrait hanging opposite, and bowed
most worshipfully to the Old Senior Surgeon.




II