Sister Warwick knew that Patty had been spoilt at home, and that her pain was really bearable. She had tried petting. Now she felt that firmness with a flavour of severity would have to be applied. Earlier in the morning, and in a happier moment, Patty had said insinuatingly-- "You don't know how I like eggs, Sister, or you'd give me one!" and she had answered-- "I will give you one, dear, but not while you do not try to be good and quiet. Patty must learn to bear her pain bravely like the rest. Anyhow, we will see what Mr. H---- (the house physician) says." And now, with this stormy outburst of weeping, came Sister Warwick's opportunity. She turned to Mr. H----, who was standing close by, and propounded this all-important egg-question. He came with due gravity and looked down upon the sobbing child. His kind eyes were twinkling with amusement. He was well aware of Patty's character for tempestuosity. His voice was impressive almost to sternness. "Yes, Sister," he said, "if she is a good girl, I think we may let her have a good egg, and shall we say if she's a bad girl, she shall have a bad egg?" The solemn tones overawed Patty. She stopped crying and stared, and tried her hardest to think whether the punishment for her naughtiness was as terrible as it sounded. With poor, home-sick, tired Susie, Sister Warwick had to try other measures. Susie was old enough to be reasoned with, and withal was not a coward in her pain--she was plucky there. But the peace of the ward and of the older patients must not be sacrificed to these wayward children. So Sister Warwick, seated at her table in the ward, and having filled in her charts and completed other matters of business--such as signing a pass for a nurse's holiday--took a sheet of paper and wrote a letter as if to Susie's mother. The words ran-- "Susie frets so for her home and for you, and is so especially unhappy after visiting day, that I must beg you not to come again until she can be quite good when you leave her." She went to Susie's cot and read the sentence without a smile. Susie's eyes dilated, her lip quivered as she listened. "Shall I post it, Susie?" "Don't! Oh, please, Sister, don't!" "Well, dear, it shall depend upon you whether it goes. See, I am going to pin it here on the curtain, where you can look at it. If you are good it shall not be sent." And sent it never was. * * * * * There was much to do for Mrs. 13, and distressing though the work might be, admiration for her endurance and for the simple trust with which she accepted all her pain, as "the touch of God's finger laid on her in love," could only make the Sister's labours a pleasure and a privilege. It was different when she turned to a bed at the end of the ward, a little apart from the others, where lay, unconscious, one of those sad cases, repulsive and loathsome, in which "the King's image" is disfigured almost beyond recognition by a life of sin and self-indulgence.