"I never thought er thet," said the girl seriously, "but I reckon hit's so. Grandpap's bearded like the grain, but somehow he 'pears ter me more like er big pine tree, fer grain bends before ther wind, an' he haint never bent ter no storm." "And I? Am I a tree, too," queried Donald with amusement. She studied him judiciously and then answered with quiet assurance, "Yo're the oak. Hit don't bend, neither." "And yourself?" "Why," she laughed, "I'm jest a rose like my name. A rose jest growrn' inter er bush." "To be sure you are. Except that roses have thorns." "I hev thorns, too," she said with conviction, and Donald doubted it--then. "I should plumb love ter take keer of babies an' make 'em well an' strong like yo' do," she went on pensively. "Perhaps you may, someday. You'll have babies of your own." "Yes," was her simple reply, "I shall have babies ter love an' keer for, but I meant thet I wanted ter help all little children." "A children's nurse, perhaps, like those who work with me," and he went on to tell her graphically of the wonderful things done at the Children's Hospital, upon the staff of which he was. Rose listened, as enchanted as a child with a fairy story,--and indeed such it was, a modern fairy tale wherein medicine was a magic potion, and the merciful knife a magic wand. Told in simple language which she could understand, his story of the work in which his very life was bound up seemed to her like an epic, and, when he paused, she drew her breath with a sigh of keen delight, and cried, "Oh, granddaddy. Haint thet a wonderful thing fer ter do? I shorely wants ter be a trained nurse like thet when I grows up." "Perhaps you will, some day, who knows?" said Donald thoughtlessly. "An' what would this hyar old pine do without the rosebush blossomin' close beside him? What would the leetle wild mountain flowers hyarabouts do without thar Smiles ter take keer o' them?" asked the old man tenderly, but with a hidden undercurrent of distress. "But ef I could larn ter take _better_ keer o' them ..." began the girl. The old man moved uneasily, then said, "Wall, yo're only a leetle rosebud yerself now, an' hit's more'n time yo' closed up fer the night. Run erlong ter bed, hon." Obedient, but a little rebellious, Rose got up slowly, kissed the strong, weather-scarred cheek of the old man and turned toward the door of her room. "Good night, Smiles," called Donald. She hesitated a moment, then ran back to him with childish impetuosity, flung her slender arms about his neck and kissed him, too, whispering, "I loves ye, Dr. Mac, fer thet yo' loves little children." The frank embrace embarrassed him a little, and he felt the thrill of an almost unknown glow in his heart. Many a time his patients--even those as old as Rose--had kissed him thus; but something in her act left a new impression. Judged by the standards of the mountain folks she was almost a woman, and he knew it.