As I went up the steps, Mother and Sister came toward me, frightened at my bruised face and disordered appearance, and that limp arm. “I’ve come to settle the house,” I said, trying to make light of it, but as they started to cry I begged, “Don’t cry, Mother, or I can’t stand it.” And quickly she braced up and began preparations for the Doctor, only the tremor in her voice showing her anxiety. Father and the Doctor soon came; neighbours flocked in; someone asked, “Are _both_ bones broken?” Even in my distress I was amused at what, in my recently acquired knowledge of anatomy, I considered woful ignorance--“both” bones, when there is only one in the arm proper! I can see now the frightened faces of the children peering in at the window as I lay on the couch while the arm was being “set.” I almost wanted to laugh, they looked so distressed. They said I was very brave. There were weighty reasons for my good behaviour, vanity being the chief: Already I had decided to study medicine, and thought that any weakness on my part now would show my unfitness for it; but mainly, I wanted to appear well before the young doctor who was then the hero of my dreams and of those of my friend, Annette. For months previous we had romanced and whispered about him, recording in our diaries every glance he chanced to bestow upon us. Though scarcely aware of our existence, he dwelt in all our air-castles, and we shared him between us in a way girls have before they learn what jealousy means. And now something had happened that brought him right into my home! Here he would speak to me, look at me, and take an interest in me--for we never deceived ourselves that he had ever really shown any interest in us. It was all this that made me oblivious to the pain, if, indeed, there was much pain. I was quietly elated. While driving home I had exulted in the thought that as our family physician lived so far away, Father would be sure to call the young doctor. While he was working over me I could hardly wait to see how Annette would look when I should tell her all about it. What a silly happy girl I was with my broken arm! Even having to stay out of school was compensated for by his daily visits. I treasured his lightest word. He whisked in, breezy and cheery. It was delightful to hear him speak my name--his rich, full voice, and his slight stammer--I doted on them. Days when the splints had to be changed and the bandage loosened were red-letter days, as his calls were then lengthened.