The ward was wide and long, marvelously clean, with its white plaster walls and row upon row of narrow white iron beds. But Beth walked silently down its length, and, after a few steps, slipped her hand into Aunt Alida’s. The patients on the beds looked comfortable, but there were so many of them and most of the faces were worn, as if the pain that brought them hither was only a small part of suffering patiently borne. One or two of the beds had screens around them. Beth wondered why, for she saw that Aunt Alida tried to withdraw her attention from them. She guessed that within the screens were worse cases than those allowed to lie in the sunshine of the undivided ward. At last the visit was over. Beth drew a breath of relief as they came down into the entrance hall. In the car she snuggled close to Aunt Alida and slipped a hand into her roomy muff. “Didn’t you like to see the hospital, Bethie?” asked Aunt Alida. “It is sad, don’t you think so?” said Beth. “Liebchen was all happy; so was her room. But so many, so dreadfully many, all sick at once! And lots more we didn’t see! All in rows, sort of like ears of corn. It seems awful to be sick in a row like that!” “That isn’t the way to look at it, Bethie,” said Mrs. Cortlandt, succeeding in stifling a laugh. “If these people had not a bed in a hospital row, where do you suppose they would be ill? Many of them in homes far more crowded than a row, without order or cleanliness, without any one who understood nursing, without the implements of nursing. Some of them would not have any home to be sick in, not even the crowded tenement room. The hospital is not a sad place; it is a cheerful place. Since there is sickness and suffering, the one comfort is that the hospital gives the poor a chance to get well again. The ward is bright and sunny. I’m always thankful there are hospitals when I visit one. Try to see the glad side of things, not the sad side, my Beth!” “Yes, Aunt Alida, I do. Only that made me think of that psalm I learned by heart last: ‘A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand.’ I felt as if all those little beds were pavements and I was walking on people fallen on them, ‘at my side and at my right hand,’ don’t you know? And it does smell perfectly awfully strong of carbolic!” Beth ended with a shudder. “Don’t you like carbolic, Beth? I don’t mind it; it is so clean!” laughed Mrs. Cortlandt. “Say to yourself: ‘I don’t like carbolic, but neither do all those wicked little harm-working germs!’ Dear Beth, the main thing to think of when you see any form of suffering is what a blessed thing it is that mankind has been taught to be merciful, and to wonder what you can do to help the sadder side of the world.” “Just as you do!” cried Beth with a closer snuggle. “Only to think that Aunt Rebecca was afraid I’d be spoiled if she let me come to New York where you were rich and worldly!”