“Father,” persisted the shrill little voice--“Father, do people ever burn up?” “Eh?” gasped the Senior Surgeon. Brutally the harsh, shuddering sobs began to rack and tear again through his great chest. “There! there!” crooned the White Linen Nurse, struggling desperately to her knees. “Let me get--everybody a drink of water.” Again the Senior Surgeon’s unrelinquished clutch on her skirt jerked her back to the place beside him. “I said _not to leave me_!” he snapped out as roughly as he jerked. Before the affrighted look in the White Linen Nurse’s face a sheepish, mirthless grin flickered across one corner of his mouth. “Lord! but I’m shaken!” he apologized. “Me, of all people!” Painfully the red blood mounted to his cheeks. “Me, of all people!” Bluntly he forced the White Linen Nurse’s reluctant gaze to meet his own. “Only yesterday,” he persisted, “I did a laparotomy on a man who had only one chance in a hundred of pulling through, and I--I laughed at him for fighting off his ether cone--laughed at him, I tell you!” “Yes, I know,” soothed the White Linen Nurse; “but--” “But nothing!” growled the Senior Surgeon. “The fear of death? Bah! All my life I’ve scoffed at it. Die? Yes, of course, when you _have_ to, but with no kick coming. Why, I’ve been wrecked in a hurricane in the Gulf of Mexico, and I didn’t care; and I’ve lain for nine days more dead than alive in an Asiatic cholera camp, and I didn’t care; and I’ve been locked into my office three hours with a raving maniac and a dynamite bomb, and I didn’t care; and twice in a Pennsylvania mine disaster I’ve been the first man down the shaft, and I didn’t care; and I’ve been shot, I tell you, and I’ve been horse-trampled, and I’ve been wolf-bitten, and I’ve _never_ cared. But to-day--to-day--” Piteously all the pride and vigor wilted from his great shoulders, leaving him all huddled up, like a woman, with his head on his knees--“but to-day I’ve got mine,” he acknowledged brokenly. Once again the White Linen Nurse tried to rise. “Oh, please, sir, let me get you a--drink of water,” she suggested helplessly. “I said not to leave me!” jerked the Senior Surgeon. Perplexedly, with big staring eyes, the Little Crippled Girl glanced up at this strange fatherish person who sounded so suddenly small and scared like herself. Jealous instantly of her own prerogatives, she dropped her futile labors on the mud-stained silk stockings and scrambled precipitously for the White Linen Nurse’s lap, where she nestled down finally after many gyrations, and sat glowering forth at all possible interlopers. “Don’t leave _any_ of us!” she ordered with a peremptoriness not unmixed with supplication. “Surely some one will see the fire and come and get us,” conceded the Senior Surgeon.