old as to have gathered a bit of the misty glow of illusion that hangs
over all myths and traditions. They made of Saint Margaret's an
arcadian refuge, where the Founder wandered all day and every day like
a patron saint. Tradition endowed him with all the attributes of all
saints belonging to childhood: the protectiveness of Saint Christopher,
the tenderness of Saint Anthony, the loving comradeship of Saint
Valentine, and the joyfulness of Saint Nicholas.

But that was more than fifty years ago; and institutions can change
marvelously in half a century. Time had buried more than the Founder.

The rich still support Saint Margaret's. Society gives bazars and
costumed balls for it annually; great artists give benefit concerts;
bankers, corporation presidents, and heiresses send liberal checks once
a year--and from this last group are chosen the trustees. They have
made of Saint Margaret's the best-appointed hospital in the city. It
is supplied with everything money and power can obtain; leading
surgeons are listed on its staff; its nurses rank at the head. It has
outspanned the greatest dream of the Founder--professionally. And
twelve times a year--at the end of every month--the trustees hold their
day; which means that all through the late afternoon, until the
business meeting at five-thirty, they wander over the building.

Now it is the business of institutional directors to be thorough, and
the trustees of Saint Margaret's, previous to the 30th of April, never
forgot their business. They looked into corners and behind doors to
see what had not been done; they followed the work-trails of every
employee--from old Cassie, the scrub-woman, to the Superintendent
herself; and if one was a wise employee one blazed conspicuously and
often. They gathered in little groups and discussed methods for