He would have said more if he had not been interrupted by the young lady with the white cap, who came up to him at this moment in company with another young lady dressed exactly like herself and with the same gentle manner and soft voice. The second young lady was the day-nurse and the other nurse was telling her about the cases that had been brought into the ward during the night. In a few words she explained the injuries which the two boys were suffering from and then asked them if they would like something to eat. They were both hungry and in a few minutes a tray with coffee, toast, and an egg was placed on each bed. Skinny ate his breakfast without any assistance, but Bruce had to be helped by the day-nurse, a process which he did not object to in the slightest degree. As he ate he noticed half a dozen other patients who were also breakfasting in bed while others were walking about the ward, or sitting in reclining chairs, reading or talking with one another. Some of these had crutches with them, while others wore bandages or limped along with the aid of canes. Bruce, looked all around him in a vain search for some well man, and then innocently asked the nurse how it happened that everybody in the room seemed to be lame or disabled in some way. The nurse smiled at his simplicity and then replied: “They’re brought here because they are disabled, for this is a hospital, where broken limbs are set and the sick made well again. You’ll have to stay here until you are cured; and if you lie quiet now, in a few days you will be able to walk about like the others you see there.” Then, having advised the young sufferer not to talk or exert himself in any way, she departed with the breakfast tray and Bruce, fatigued by the slight exertion of eating, closed his eyes and was soon sound asleep. It was after ten o’clock when he awoke suddenly and found the nurse and two or three gentlemen standing at the foot of his bed. One of these gentlemen had a long white beard, gold spectacles, and an exceedingly benevolent air. “And so this is the brave little fire-lad, is it?” he remarked, with a very kindly smile, as the nurse whispered something in his ear, and in another moment a tall, white screen was placed about the bed, the blanket and sheet drawn up and then Bruce felt shooting pains through his right leg as the head surgeon and his assistants removed the bandages to see how his wounds were getting on. He fully believed that they were cutting his leg off, and after a pain a little sharper than the others he asked, “isn’t it most off yet?” They all smiled at his words and the old gentleman answered in reassuring tones, “no, my son, that leg of yours will be as good as ever in three weeks and you’ll live to be a first class fireman yet or I’m very much mistaken.”