place and went quietly out.

In the corridor, nurses were coming and going with long, light boxes or tall vases and great handfuls of fragrant blossoms. The florist's wagon had just come; the corridor was filled with light and movement and the fresh scent of flowers. Aunt Jane beamed on it all and passed on.

It was one of the pleasantest hours of the day for Aunt Jane. She knew that scrubbing and sweeping and dusting were done—every inch of the hard floors clean with carbolic and soap, every patient bathed and fed, and the beds freshly made—everything in order for doctor's visits—and inspection. Through an open door, here and there as she went, she caught a glimpse of a black-coated shoulder or arm by the side of some bed. Aunt Jane had no fear of adverse criticism on her hospital or of complaint of her way of doing things.

She moved serenely on.

Then, at a door, she stopped. It was at the far end of the corridor; and through the half-curtained glass of the door she looked into a great sunny room that extended across the width of the house and opened on one side to the sky and all outdoors.

It was filled with small cots and beds and cribs.