"Yes, it's a nasty return of the old trouble," said the doctor. "I'm afraid she's in for a sharp attack, but luckily I was sent for in good time, and may be able to stave things off a little. So you're anxious to try your hand at nursing, young woman? Well, I don't see why you shouldn't. You and Martha can manage quite well between you, if you'll only carry out my directions absolutely to the letter. When I suggested sending for a trained nurse, your aunt was very much against the idea--begged me not to, in fact. Martha has a head on her shoulders, and you're not a child now." "I shall soon be fifteen," said Dorothy, drawing herself to her full height. "Well, here's your chance to show what you're worth. If you can manage in this emergency, I shall have some opinion of you. I can telephone to the Nursing Institution if I find it's too much for you." "I hope that won't be necessary," replied Dorothy. In that one hour she seemed to have suddenly grown years older, and to have taken up a new burden of responsibility. Martha hardly knew her when she entered the sick room, she seemed so unwontedly calm and resourceful, yet withal so gentle, so tactful, and so deft and clever in doing all that was required for the invalid. "I'd no idea the bairn could be so helpful," murmured Martha to herself. "If she goes on as well as she shapes, we'll do without a nurse, and that'll ease Miss Sherbourne's mind. She can't afford two guineas a week, let alone the woman's keep, and it would worry her to think of the expense. As far as I'm concerned I don't want a nurse in the house, making extra trouble and what waste goodness knows!" The first thing Dorothy did when she could be spared from Aunt Barbara's room was to find her blotter and write a letter to Vera Norland. It ran thus: "DEAR VERA,--Can you take the part of 'Queen of the Daffodils' instead of me? My aunt is very ill, and I am afraid I shall not be able to come to school for a while, so I shall miss the rehearsals. I thought I had better let you know at once, so that you will have time to get your dress. "Sincerely yours, "DOROTHY GREENFIELD." She ran out herself and posted the letter, then came back and quietly sat down again by Aunt Barbara's bedside. It cost her a great pang thus to give up her part in the festival, but once the irrevocable step was taken, and the letter in the pillar box, she felt much better. "You've just got to forget about that pageant, Dorothy Greenfield," she said to herself. "You've been behaving abominably lately, and I'm thoroughly ashamed of you. Now's your chance indeed, as the doctor says. I only hope it hasn't come too late. Oh, you nasty, ungrateful, selfish, thoughtless thing, how I despise you!"