again, having seen both Shirley and Sarah quiet and asleep, he found his sister and aunt deep in the problem of "narrowing off."

"I just waited to say good-night to you, Hugh," said Aunt Trudy brightly. "I'm tired from the trip and I want to start the day well to-morrow."

She kissed him and rustled out of the room, and Rosemary folded up her work as the deep chime of the hall clock sounded nine.

"Shirley was tired, Hugh," she said, a little timidly. "She hardly ever acts that way. And Sarah doesn't mean to be obstinate, but she just can't help it."

"Well, I'm glad you think to-night isn't an average performance," declared her brother humorously. "You're a sweet older sister, Rosemary. The girls couldn't do better than to pattern after you."

"Oh, Hugh! You are nice—" Rosemary's voice rose in a crescendo of pure pleasure. "But I'm not a good example—you won't say that when you know me. I get as mad, as mad—as—Shirley."

"The more shame to you," said the doctor unbelievingly, kissing her vivid little face. "Go to bed, child, and don't talk to me about losing your temper."

At eleven o'clock the light was still burning in the office and Winnie knocked lightly on the door.

"I brought you a glass of milk and a sandwich, Hughie," she said, using the old pet name she had given him when a little lad.

"Well that's mighty thoughtful of you, Winnie dear," he said, smiling at her. "I've been doing a little thinking this evening and that's hungry work."

Winnie regarded him, wisdom and pride in her eyes.

"I'm thinking that healthy folks is more of a problem than sick ones," she observed sagely. "But you're enough like your mother, to be able to manage all right, never fear. You've her understanding and the endurance and will of your father, Hughie, and you'll be needing it all, but you'll work it out. Shirley is spoiled and we're all to blame—it wasn't all done in these two weeks, either; your mother gave in a little at a time for she was tired and her illness has been long coming. 'Tis nothing to set right a little wrong when the heart is pure gold like Shirley's. And you'll soon set Sarah in her place—she needs to be set frequent-like, though if you find the way to her liking, she'll be fond enough of you in time. It's Rosemary I'd speak to you about at the risk of seeming to meddle."

The doctor stirred a little, but his face encouraged Winnie to go on.

"A rose in the bud—that's Rosemary," said Winnie who scorned to read poetry and often employed poetical fancies in her rather quaint phrasing. "A rose in the bud and a flower of a girl. A temper that blazes, a quick pride that bleeds at a word and a passion for loving that sometimes frightens me. The sick and the helpless and the young—Rosemary would mother 'em all. And she's hurt so easy, and she dashes herself against the stone wall so blindly—you'll be careful and patient, won't you, Hughie? For she has the Willis will, has Rosemary and times there is no holding her."

Doctor Hugh smiled into the anxious eyes, dim with the loving anxiety of many years.

"I'll be careful, Winnie," he promised. "And you'll help me. Thank you for telling me—what you have."