t of
the workman that makes the only differences."

"That's it," said Arthur, with a humility which he thought genuine and
which was perhaps not wholly false. "I don't seem to be able to give my
heart to my work."

"I fancy you'll give it _attention_ hereafter," suggested Madelene. She
had dressed the almost healed finger and was dexterously rebandaging it.
She was necessarily very near to him, and from her skin there seemed to
issue a perfumed energy that stimulated his nerves. Their eyes met. Both
smiled and flushed.

"That wasn't very kind--that remark," said he.

"What's all this?" broke in the sharp voice of the doctor.

Arthur started guiltily, but Madelene, without lifting her eyes from her
task, answered: "Mr. Ranger didn't want to be kept waiting."

"She's trying to steal my practice away from me!" cried Schulze. He
looked utterly unlike his daughter at first glance, but on closer
inspection there was an intimate resemblance, like that between the nut
and its rough, needle-armored shell. "Well, I guess she hasn't botched
it." This in a pleased voice, after an admiring inspection of the
workmanlike bandage. "Come again to-morrow, young man."

Arthur bowed to Madelene and somehow got out into the street. He was
astonished at himself and at the world. He had gone drearily into that
office out of a dreary world; he had issued forth light of heart and
delighted with the fresh, smiling, interesting look of the shaded streets
and the green hedges and lawns and flower beds. "A fine old town," he
said to himself. "Nice, friendly people--and the really right sort. As
soon as I'm done with the rough stretch I've got just ahead of me, I'm
going to like it. Let me see--one of those girls was named Walpurga and
one was named--Madelene--this one, I'm sure--Yes!" And he could hear the
teacher calling the roll, could hear the alto voice from the serious face
answer to "Madelene Schulze," could hear the light voice from the face
that was always ready to burst into smiles answer to "Walpurga Schulze."

But though it was quite unnecessary he, with a quite unnecessary show of
carelessness, asked Del which was which. "The black one is Madelene,"
replied she, and her ability to speak in such an indifferent tone of such
an important person surprised him. "The blonde is Walpurga. I used to
detest Madelene. She always treated me as if I hadn't any sense."

"Well, you can't blame her for that, Del," said Arthur. "You've been a