nst the August sun, the
tables covered with their red covers, and the only sound the drone of
the bandage-machine as Sidney steadily turned it, Dr. Max passed the
door on his way to the surgical ward beyond, and gave her a cheery
greeting. At these times Sidney's heart beat almost in time with the
ticking of the little watch.

The other hour was at twilight, when, work over for the day, the night
nurse, with her rubber-soled shoes and tired eyes and jangling keys,
having reported and received the night orders, the nurses gathered in
their small parlor for prayers. It was months before Sidney got over the
exaltation of that twilight hour, and never did it cease to bring her
healing and peace. In a way, it crystallized for her what the day's work
meant: charity and its sister, service, the promise of rest and peace.
Into the little parlor filed the nurses, and knelt, folding their tired
hands.

"The Lord is my shepherd," read the Head out of her worn Bible; "I shall
not want."

And the nurses: "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth
me beside the still waters."

And so on through the psalm to the assurance at the end, "And I will
dwell in the house of the Lord forever." Now and then there was a death
behind one of the white screens. It caused little change in the routine
of the ward. A nurse stayed behind the screen, and her work was done by
the others. When everything was over, the time was recorded exactly on
the record, and the body was taken away.

At first it seemed to Sidney that she could not stand this nearness to
death. She thought the nurses hard because they took it quietly. Then
she found that it was only stoicism, resignation, that they had learned.
These things must be, and the work must go on. Their philosophy made
them no less tender. Some such patient detachment must be that of the
angels who keep the Great Record.

On her first Sunday half-holiday she was free in the morning, and went
to church with her mother, going back to the hospital after the service.
So it was two weeks before she saw Le Moyne again. Even then, it was
only for a short time. Christine and Palmer Howe came in to see her, and
to inspect the balcony, now finished.

But Sidney and Le Moyne had a few words together first.

There was a change in Sidney. Le Moyne was quick to see it. She was
a trifle subdued, with a puzzled look in her blue eyes. Her mouth was
tender, as always, but he thought it drooped. There wa