On the second floor she stopped; and by chance she looked over, between spiral banisters, to the patch of hallway below. It just happened that the House Surgeon was standing there, talking with one of the internes. Margaret MacLean smiled whimsically. "If there is a soul in the wide world I could share it with, it is the House Surgeon." And then she added, aloud, softly apostrophizing the top of his head, "I think some day you might grow to be very--very like the Old Senior Surgeon; that is, if you would only stop trying to be like the present one." [Illustration: "If there is a soul in the wide world I could share it with, it is the House Surgeon."] III WARD C A welcoming shout went up from Ward C as Margaret MacLean entered. It was lusty enough to have come from the throats of healthy children, and it would have sounded happily to the most impartial ears; to the nurse in charge it was a very pagan of gladness. "Wish you good morning, good meals, and good manners," laughed Margaret MacLean; and then she went from crib to crib with a special greeting for each one. Oh, she firmly believed that a great deal depended on how the day began. In the first crib lay Pancho, of South American parentage, partially paralyzed and wholly captivating. He had been in Saint Margaret's since babyhood--he was six now--and had never worn anything but a little hospital shirt. "Good morning, Brown Baby," she said, kissing his forehead. "It's just the day for you out on the sun-porch; and you'll hear birds--lots of them." "Wobins?" "Yes, and bluebirds, too. I've heard them already." Next came Sandy--merry of heart--a humpback laddie from Aberdeen. His parents had gone down with the steerage of a great ocean liner, and society had cared for him until the first horror of the tragedy had passed; then some one fortunately had mentioned Saint Margaret's, and society was relieved of its burden. In the year he had spent here his Aberdonian burr had softened somewhat and a number of American colloquialisms had crept into his speech; but for all that he was "the braw canny Scot"--as the House Surgeon always termed him--and he objected to kisses. So the good-morning greeting was a hearty hand-shake between the two--comrade fashion. "It wad be a bonnie day i' Aberdeen," he reminded her, blithely. "But 'tis no the robins there 'at wad be singin'." "Shall I guess?" "Na, I'll tell ye. Laverocks!" "Really, Sandy?" And then she suddenly remembered something. "Now you guess what you're going to have for supper to-night." "Porridge?" "No; scones!" "Bully!" And Sandy clapped his hands ecstatically.