"Look at that!" The girl spread out the towel rapidly "--and that! Did you ever see such work! And--that! They ought not to be sent out like this!... And these belong in the Men's Ward!" She tossed them aside. Aunt Jane surveyed the confusion equably. "I must get around to the laundry," she said, "--and give them a good going over. I haven't given them a real good talking to--not for as much as three months, I should think!" "They need it!" said the girl crossly. But her lips were smiling. Aunt Jane glanced at them. "You're feeling pretty happy this morning," she commented. The face broke in little dancing waves. "I don't know-- Am I?" "You look happy," said Aunt Jane. "It's your afternoon off-- Maybe that has something to do with it?" She surveyed her kindly. "Perhaps." The girl hesitated a minute, turning over the towels ineffectually--almost as if she did not see them. "I'm going out to Mr. Medfield's garden," she said at last. She was examining the torn hem of a towel with an absorbed look. Aunt Jane accepted the news without surprise. "It's a nice garden, they say.... He's given you permission, I suppose?" "He wants me to go--yes.... He's making plans for some new roses and he asked me to see where they are putting them." She did not look at the face, across the table, that was surveying her shrewdly. "I can get back in time," she added concisely--as if that were the main thing to be considered. "Oh, you'll get back, time enough--I 'most wish I was going with you," said Aunt Jane reflectively. The girl looked up quickly and down again at her towels. "Mr. Medfield is going--with me." Aunt Jane's gaze remained in mid air--astonished and protesting. "He can't sit up!" "Oh--I didn't mean-- It's his son that is going." "Oh--Julian!" Aunt Jane's tone was relieved. "Julian can go all right, I guess.... He's a nice boy," she added impersonally. Miss Canfield made no comment. "They say it's about the prettiest garden anywhere round," added Aunt Jane. "I've heard there's only one or two gardens to compare with it--as beautiful as his." "Yes, I've heard so." "It's real kind in him to think of it--sending you out there.... He's a good man," she added diplomatically. "He's cranky, but he's good!" "He's an old dear!" said the girl heartily. Aunt Jane stared. Her countenance was subdued. "Well--I don't know as I should call him _old_!"... She considered it. "I don't believe he's a day over fifty!" she concluded. "I don't believe he is," assented Miss Canfield. "I should say that's just about what he is--fifty." She gathered up the towels. Aunt Jane's face was a study. It opened out in little lines of protest--and closed slowly. "Fifty isn't so very old!" she finished mildly. "Of course not. And he's an active man--for his years." Miss Canfield carried the pile of linen to the cupboard and stowed it away and came back. "What shall I do with these?" She pointed to the discarded pile.