randy were
poured down the tiny throat, and slowly the heart took up its regulation
work. Sheila wrapped the atom in a blanket, put it back on the bed, and
beckoned to the mother.

Curiosity seemed to be the one governing emotion of the senora. She looked
without any trace of grief, and, having looked, she spoke impassively: "I
theenk eet dead. Yes?"

Doctor Fuller, with perspiration pouring from him, transfixed her with a
stare. "No! That baby's going to get well now, and you're going to let
Miss O'Leary teach you how to take proper care of it. Understand?" Then
clapping his fellow-fighter on the back, he beamed down upon her.
"Leerie, you're one grand soldier!"

The monotone of the gorgeous senora broke up any response Sheila might
have given. "I theenk eet die, all the same," came the impassive voice.
"The _padre_ on the ship make it all ready for die--I theenk yes pret'
soon."

"No!" The doctor fairly thundered it forth.

She stooped and pulled away a fold of the blanket with the tips of her
fingers. "Eet look ver' ugly--like eet die. I theenk--all the same."

The doctor caught up his cast-off clothing and flung himself out of the
room. Sheila watched him go, a faint smile pulling at the corners of her
mouth. Strange! He had so evidently reached the end of his self-control,
optimism, and patience, while she was just beginning to find hers. In the
sweep of a second things looked wonderfully clear and hopeful. She thought
she could understand what was in the mind and heart of the senora; what
was more significant, she thought she could understand the reason for it.
And what you can understand you can cope with.

She watched the senora searching in this trunk and that; she saw her jerk
forth a diminutive dress of embroidery and fluted lace; while she thought
the whole thing through to the finish and smiled one of her old
inscrutable smiles.

"Pret' dress," said the senora. "Plent' lace and reebon. You put on for
bury eet--I go find _padre_."

"No," said Sheila, emphatically, "you stay here. I'll go and find the
_padre_."

She left them both in the charge of the corridor nurse and flew for the
telephone. It took her less than a minute to get Father O'Friel; it took
but a trifle more for her to outline her plan and bind him to it. And
Father O'Friel, with a comprehension to match his conscientiousness, and a
sense of humor to match them both, hardly knew whether to be shocked or
amused.

"Why not appeal to