orgets it, I think, when one is once at work. Dr. Leaver, look at
that squirrel! Out on the roof of the house--at the back. Do you see him
peering over at us? Inquisitive little creature!"

"Like myself. Yes, I see his small majesty. Well, tell me, please, why
you like the work so much? You wouldn't give it up?"

She drew a quick breath. "Oh, no!"

"And the reason why you like it--am I too curious? Do you mind telling
me?"

"Why, not at all. I can--hardly tell you, though, what it is that makes
me like it. Of course, I'm happy to have a hand, even though it's only an
assistant's hand, in saving life. But--the life isn't always saved. I
suppose, the real secret of it is one likes to be doing the thing one can
do best."

"That's it!" He drew a heavy breath. "The thing one can do best.
And when that thing is the setting poor, disabled human machinery
straight--making it run smoothly again! One can hardly imagine turning
one's hand to--book-binding, making things in brass, dressing dolls,
to take up one's time, occupy one's mind, keep one's hands busy, after
having known the practice of a profession like that!"

He got up from the bench and strode a few paces with a quick, impatient
step, such as she had never seen him take. Then, wheeling suddenly, he
came back to the bench and dropped upon it, breathing short. She had
instantly to his support a small bottle of strong salts which she always
carried, but for a moment she feared that this might not be stimulant
enough to a heart still inclined to be erratic upon small provocation.
She laid anxious fingers upon his pulse, but found it already steadying.

"This will be over in a minute," she said quietly. "Soon, you will have
got above such bothersome minutes. I shouldn't have let you talk about a
thing which means so much to you."

"No, I can't even talk about it," he said. "I'm as much of an infernal
hypochondriac as that. I beg your pardon--" and he set his lips.

They sat in silence for a little. Then, suddenly a voice hailed them--a
cheerful, familiar voice.

"'Under the spreading chestnut-tree?' Or is it an apple? May I join the
party?"

Redfield Pepper Burns appeared, looking like a schoolboy lately released
from imprisonment. But his face sobered somewhat as his eye fell upon his
friend. It was not that John Leaver had not looked up with a smile, as
Burns approached, nor was it that he now showed physical distress of any
significant sort. A certain hard ex