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Page 8
Her operation was record-making in its success; and after he had seen
her well on the mend he gave himself over to the house surgeon and a
fellow-colleague, according to the bargain. He proved the house
surgeon wrong, for he never rallied. Undoubtedly he knew this would be
the way of it; for he stopped in Ward C before he went up to the
operating-room and said to her:
"I shall be sleeping longer than you did, Thumbkin; but, never fear, I
shall be waking some time, somewhere. And remember this: Never grow so
strong and well that you forget how tiresome a hospital crib can be.
Never be so happy that you grow blind to the heartaches of other
children; and never wander so far away from Saint Margaret's that you
can't come back, sometimes, and make a story for some one else."
She puzzled a good bit over this, especially the first part of it; but
when they told her the next day, she understood. Probably she grieved
for him more than had any one else; even more than the members of his
own family or profession. For, whereas there are many people in the
world who can give life to others, there are but few who can help
others to possess it.
What childhood she had had she left behind her soon after this, along
with her aching back, her helpless limbs, and the little iron crib in
Ward C.
On the first Trustee Day following her complete recovery she appeared,
at her own request, before the meeting of the board. In a small,
frightened voice she asked them to please send her away to school. She
wanted to learn enough to come back to Saint Margaret's and be a nurse.
The trustees consented. Having assumed the responsibility of her
well-being for over fifteen years, they could not very easily shirk it
now. Furthermore, was it not a praise-worthy tribute to Saint
Margaret's as a charitable institution, and to themselves as trustees,
that this child whom they had sheltered and helped to cure should
choose this way of showing her gratitude? Verily, the board pruned and
plumed itself well that day.
All this Margaret MacLean lived over again as she climbed the stairs to
Ward C on the 30th of April, her heart glowing warm with the memory of
this man who had first understood; who had freed her mind from the
abnormality of her body and the stigma of her heritage; who had made it
possible for her to live wholesomely and deeply; and who had set her
feet upon a joyous mission. For the thousandth time she blessed that
memory.
It had been no disloyalty on her part that she had closed her lips and
said nothing when the House Surgeon had questioned her about her
fancy-making. She could never get away from the feeling that some of
the sweetness and sacredness might be lost with the telling of the
memory. One is so apt to cheapen a thing when one tries hastily to put
it into words, and ever afterward it is never quite the same.
On the second floor she stopped; and by chance she looked over, between
spiral banisters, to the patch of hallway below. It just happened that
the House Surgeon was standing there, talking with one of the internes.
Margaret MacLean smiled whimsically. "If there is a soul in the wide
world I could share it with, it is the House Surgeon." And then she
added, aloud, softly apostrophizing the top of his head, "I think some
day you might grow to be very--very like the Old Senior Surgeon; that
is, if you would only stop trying to be like the present one."
[Illustration: "If there is a soul in the wide world I could share it
with, it is the House Surgeon."]
III
WARD C
A welcoming shout went up from Ward C as Margaret MacLean entered. It
was lusty enough to have come from the throats of healthy children, and
it would have sounded happily to the most impartial ears; to the nurse
in charge it was a very pagan of gladness.
"Wish you good morning, good meals, and good manners," laughed Margaret
MacLean; and then she went from crib to crib with a special greeting
for each one. Oh, she firmly believed that a great deal depended on
how the day began.
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