"All right. Let's." She gave his hand a hard, trustful squeeze.

She liked to remember that squeeze. She often wondered if it might not
have helped him to do what he had to do.

Her operation was record-making in its success; and after he had seen
her well on the mend he gave himself over to the house surgeon and a
fellow-colleague, according to the bargain. He proved the house
surgeon wrong, for he never rallied. Undoubtedly he knew this would be
the way of it; for he stopped in Ward C before he went up to the
operating-room and said to her:

"I shall be sleeping longer than you did, Thumbkin; but, never fear, I
shall be waking some time, somewhere. And remember this: Never grow so
strong and well that you forget how tiresome a hospital crib can be.
Never be so happy that you grow blind to the heartaches of other
children; and never wander so far away from Saint Margaret's that you
can't come back, sometimes, and make a story for some one else."

She puzzled a good bit over this, especially the first part of it; but
when they told her the next day, she understood. Probably she grieved
for him more than had any one else; even more than the members of his
own family or profession. For, whereas there are many people in the
world who can give life to others, there are but few who can help
others to possess it.

What childhood she had had she left behind her soon after this, along
with her aching back, her helpless limbs, and the little iron crib in
Ward C.