The Primrose Ring

er mind thought back a step for each step she mounted. When she had reached the top of the first flight she was a child again, back in one of

proud, was house surgeon then-had come into Ward C for a peep at her, and had calle

of her coming a marvelous story-fancy-fashioned. This he had told her at least twice a week, from the time she was old enough to ask

ate from the Foundling Asylum, who had found him the most convenient receptacle nearest the door; and he had been o

past. So the Old Senior Surgeon had forestalled her inquisitiveness with a tale adorned

ho heard a pair of birds disputing in one of the two trees which sentineled the hospital. They had built a nest therein; it was bedtime, and th

dventure-making herself, he supplying the bare plot, she weaving the threads therefrom into a detailed narrative which she retold to him later, with a few imaginings of her own added. This is what had established the c

n crib and answered in a shrill, tense voice: "I'm not Thumbkin. I'm a foundling. I don't belong to anybody. I never had any father

e story, and the begin

ret M

blins that lurk in the halls at night, or the gray, creeping shapes that come out of dark corners and closets after one has gone to bed, if one is so pitifully unfortunate as to possess these things in childhood. Instead one just remembers and waits, shivering. Only to old Cassie, the scrub-woman, who was

both much embarrassment. She resented the story he had made for her with all her child soul; he had cheated her

d out as well that it had done a wonderful thing for her: it had turned life into an adventure-a quest upon which one was bound to depart, no matter how poorly one's feet might be shod or how persistently the rain and win

e child-story; and then, just because they could laugh at it and feel happy, they told it together all

s head thoughtfully, "there was the business-like lit

ht happiness-didn't she

cL

d faery with a nosegay of Thoughts-for-other-folks,

he next br

came a comfortable old lady in a chaise

ome one always did in the book stories. I think I wouldn't min

, could remember well h

MacLean

ith an odd, crinkly smile. "Have you

ook he

better that way. Only if it happens-as it does sometimes-that they spend a good share of their

very solemnly: "Wait for a year and a day-then look. Y

life; and she would never forget the gladness of that moment. It had appeared nothing short of a miracle to her that she should actually possess something of which sh

d it on the second flight of stairs, slowly climb

ing-thorn and put to sleep for a hundred years, after the fashion of many another st

may play the wicked fae

d you say

not sa

shoulders and eyes. She began to notice that the nurses eyed him pityingly whenever he came into the ward, and the house surgeon s

t you to sleep, for a little while, if he was very sure you would wake up to fi

. By the way he watched her, however, she knew some of it must

ommon word in Ward C, an

while for us to take a chance. I'll be honest with you and tell you the house surgeon doesn't think it can be done; but that's where the bargain comes in. He thinks he can

a long time to be as

won't be a hu

our back ne

h. It's about the only

mbk

won't unl

hands in his great, warm, comforting ones. "Think. It means a strong back; a p

ll have t

ed conv

he gave his hand a ha

he often wondered if it might not hav

e surgeon and a fellow-colleague, according to the bargain. He proved the house surgeon wrong, for he never rallied. Undoub

ow 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 ot

obably she grieved for him more than had any one else; even more than the members of his own family or profession. For, wh

on after this, along with her aching back, her he

efore the meeting of the board. In a small, frightened voice she asked them to please send h

thermore, was it not a praise-worthy tribute to Saint Margaret's as a charitable institution, and to themselves as trustees, that this child who

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 po

r fancy-making. She could never get away from the feeling that some of the sweetness and sacredness might be lost with the telling of

spiral banisters, to the patch of hallway below. It just happened that

Surgeon." And then she added, aloud, softly apostrophizing the top of his head, "I think some day you might grow

in the wide world I could share i