the dark bonnet.

"Yes," answered Nora, "I heard of your accident and that you were all
alone. I have come to try to help you."

"You can't. Nobody can help me. I wish I was dead." With this the girl
buried her face in the pillow and resumed her half-hysterical weeping.

Nora wisely wasted no words in trying to prove her ability to help,
but began quietly to hang up the clothes, to slip the soiled lace and
brass chains from the top of the bureau into the drawer, to close the
blinds, and fold a towel over a basin on the chair within reach of the
sufferer.

"There," she said, "maybe if you could wash you'd feel a bit more
comfortable, and I'll run round to my lodgings--they're not far
off--and back in no time."

When she reappeared, it was with a snowy white dimity spread taken
from her own bed, a pitcher of ice-water, and a large palm-leaf fan.
When the bed was re-made, the self-appointed nurse seated herself by
the bedside of the sick girl, promising to stay until the coming of
the ambulance, and settling down to listen to all the details of the
accident, which seemed to give the victim a grewsome satisfaction in
rehearsing.

When the ambulance arrived, and the patient departed, the nurse began
to realize that it was three o'clock, and that she had had no food
since seven. As the Bible-reading was at four, she had time only for a
hastily swallowed cup of tea, and a slice of bread and butter, with a
bit of cold meat, before the reading, after which she went home,
bathed, rested, and supped, before presenting herself again at
headquarters for the night duty, which called her to patrol the
streets with a companion officer (a dull, rather coarse woman, who
"exhorted" and sang through her nose) until after midnight.

Then she went home and to bed, inwardly thanking Heaven for her happy
day. She felt, as she would have said, that she had been "awfu'
favored."

CHAPTER XIV

TWO SOUL-SIDES

"Thanks to God, the meanest of his creatures
Boasts two soul-sides--one to face the world with,
One to show a woman when he loves her."

A man's character is like the body of a child,--it grows unequally and
in sections. Certain qualities in Flint had lain throughout these
thirty-three years wholly undeveloped and unaffected by the culture of
other characteristics. In his case the dormancy of the sympathetic
side of his nature was