Oh, how grateful it was to her heart to find that he cared--cared about hurting Bobby’s body, and cared about hurting her feelings! As the girl left the room and walked down the wide and beautifully clean and bright hall, she was conscious for the first time since childhood of being helped and taken care of, and of having her load of responsibility shared by another. At the end of about twenty minutes of pleasant talk with Mrs. Mills, a pretty little nurse, with snowy cap and apron, appeared, and with the manner of suppressed agitation, which usually characterized in this establishment those who were the bearers of messages from “The Doctor,” she summoned Ethel to an audience with that august individual in his private office. When Ethel knocked at the door of this attractive room, it was promptly opened from within, and Dr. Hubert, after having closed the door behind her, led her to a chair and sat down facing her. He then began asking her very searching and detailed particulars as to the fall which Bobby had had, and, when he had ended these, he added: “And, now, you would like to ask me some questions, would you not? You want to know the result of my examination?” “If you want to tell me,” she said. “I am willing to know as much or as little as you wish.” “You have confidence in me, then?” “Oh, I have, indeed,” said Ethel, “absolute confidence!” “That is good!--but, this confidence--when did it come to you? From what you have heard of me, or from what you have seen?” “A good deal from what I have heard, but more from what I have seen. I knew you were a great doctor, but now I know you are good and kind.” “You trust me, then, about your brother? You believe that I will do my utmost for him and for you?” “Oh, I do!” said Ethel, earnestly. “Then let me tell you, my dear child, that I feel very certain that I can help him and relieve him of much of the pain, but I have no certainty of curing him. The most that I can do is to help nature out, and wait for results. The treatment will be long, but will inevitably do much good and relieve the pain; I ask nothing, but that you will leave the case to me. Will you?” “How can you ask? How can I be anything but glad and thankful to do it?” said Ethel, the tears springing to her eyes. “But I have told you--” “Yes, I know,” he interrupted her, “we needn’t speak about that now. If you leave the matter to me, you must leave it to me wholly. All that is my affair. I often wait indefinitely for my pay, and it really isn’t such an expensive matter as you may suppose. But, as I said before, you must do your part. You must stay here with Bobby, and take care of and amuse him. That will do away with the need of a special nurse.” “Of course I will--until my school begins,” said Ethel. “Then I will be obliged to go. That is a matter of life and death to Bobby, and me, too.” “And how long before that does begin?” “Three weeks,” said Ethel, in a tone that was half desperate.