And Peggy, mistress of herself once more, firmly checked the feeble remonstrances of the youth and began stroking his forehead with soft, soothing touches. Finding his protests of no avail her cousin submitted to her ministration, and soon, in spite of his efforts to keep awake, his eyelids drooped, the drawn look of his face relaxed, and he slept. “And now you too must rest,” said the nurse. “Come, my child, to my home.” “But these other poor fellows,” said Peggy. “Can we not make them comfortable first?” “We will let the others attend to it for to-night, Peggy. The first duty in nursing is to keep one’s self in trim, otherwise the nurse herself becomes a patient. Come.” And nothing loth Peggy followed her. CHAPTER XV—PEGGY IS TROUBLED “Blow, blow thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind as man’s ingratitude.” —“As You Like It.” Half hidden by lilac bushes and trellised grape-vines the cottage of Nurse Johnson stood in Nicholson Street. A tiny garden lay on one side of the house, and back of it a small orchard extended through to Palace Street. It was a week later, and Peggy stood by the open window of the living-room of the cottage gazing thoughtfully at the garden. The sunshine lay warm upon the thick green grass studded with violets. Daffodils flaunted golden cups at their more gorgeous neighbors, the tulips. The lilac bushes were masses of purple and white blossoms. The apple trees in the orchard were great bouquets of rose and snow. It was a pleasant place, cool and inviting under the trees. But Peggy was looking with eyes that saw not its pleasantness. She was considering the events of the past few days. The matron of the hospital had acceded to her desire to assist in the care of her cousin, and she had devoted herself to him assiduously. But Clifford’s manner toward her troubled her, and there was a pained expression upon her face as she gazed into the pretty garden. Unconsciously she sighed. Nurse Johnson threw aside her sewing and came to her side. “Child,” she said, “what troubles you? Are you homesick?” “Friend nurse,” answered Peggy abruptly, “my cousin doth not like me.” “Why do you think so, Peggy?” asked the nurse quietly. “Hath he been rude?” “Rude? Oh, no! I would he were,” answered the girl. “Were he rude or cross I should think ’twas merely his illness. Mother says the best of men are peevish when convalescing, but my Cousin Clifford is not cross. Yet he is surely getting well. Does thee not think so?” “Yes,” responded Mrs. Johnson with conviction. “He surely is. He began to mend from the day you came. The matron, the doctors, the nurses all say so.” “And yet,” said Peggy sadly, “’tis not because of my coming, nor yet of my care that he hath done so. It seems rather as though he were trying to get well in a spirit of defiance.”