“Where’s my kitty?” she asked hazily. “Eh?” jerked the Senior Surgeon. Harshly the little iron leg-braces clanked together. In an instant the White Linen Nurse was on her knees in the grass. “You don’t hold her right, sir,” she expostulated. Deftly, with soft, darting little touches, interrupted only by rubbing her knuckles into her own tears, she reached out and eased successively the bruise of a buckle or the dragging weight on a cramped little hip. Still drowsily, still hazily, with little smacking gasps and gulping swallows, the child worried her way back again into consciousness. “All the birds _were_ there, Father,” she droned forth feebly from her sweltering mink-fur nest. “All the birds _were_ there With yellow feathers instead of hair, And bumblebees--and bumblebees-- And bumblebees--and bumblebees--” Frenziedly she began to burrow the back of her head into her father’s shoulder. “And bumblebees--and bumblebees--” “Oh, for Heaven’s sake--‘buzzed in the trees!’” interpolated the Senior Surgeon. Rigidly from head to foot the little body in his arms stiffened suddenly. As one who saw the supreme achievement of a life-time swept away by some one careless joggle of an infinitesimal part, the Little Girl stared up agonizingly into her father’s face. “Oh, I don’t think ‘buzzed’ was the word!” she began convulsively. “Oh, I don’t think--” Startlingly through the twilight the Senior Surgeon felt the White Linen Nurse’s rose-red lips come smack against his ear. “Darn you! Can’t you say ‘crocheted in the trees’?” sobbed the White Linen Nurse. Grotesquely for an instant the Senior Surgeon’s eyes and the White Linen Nurse’s eyes glared at each other in rank antagonism. Then suddenly the Senior Surgeon burst out laughing. “Oh, very well,” he surrendered--“‘crocheted in the trees!’” The White Linen Nurse sank back on her heels and began to clap her hands. “Oh, now I will! Now I will!” she cried exultantly. “Will _what_?” frowned the Senior Surgeon. The White Linen Nurse stopped clapping her hands and began to wring them nervously in her lap instead. “Why, will--_will_,” she confessed demurely. “Oh!” exclaimed the Senior Surgeon. “Oh!” Then jerkily he began to pucker his eyebrows. “But, for Heaven’s sake, what’s the ‘crocheted in the trees’ got to do with it?” he asked perplexedly. “Nothing _much_,” mused the White Linen Nurse, very softly. With sudden alertness she turned her curly blonde head toward the road. “There’s somebody coming,” she said. “I hear a team.” Overcome by a bashfulness that tried to escape in jocosity, the Senior Surgeon gave an odd, choking little chuckle. “Well, I never thought I should marry a--trained nurse!” he acknowledged with somewhat hectic blitheness. Impulsively the White Linen Nurse reached for her watch and lifted it close to her twilight-blinded eyes. A sense of ineffable peace crept suddenly over her.