week now, so I never know when an urgent call may come.”
“Do you always go yourself?”
“Yes, always.”
Marion had then abruptly changed the subject, as she did not wish to be questioned further. Her friends had more than once remonstrated with her about her readiness and eagerness to go whenever a call came. They had urged her to let the other nurses bear their share of the hardships which such trips involved. But Marion had merely smiled, saying that she was selfish and enjoyed going to the camps. Not even to her nearest friends would she reveal the deep secret of her heart.
That which gave her the greatest pleasure, however, was a letter which Mr. Beck had handed to her during the evening. It had been given to him by a miner that afternoon who had come in from the outer trails to record a claim. At the first glance Marion knew whom it was from, and it was this which caused the flush upon her face and the light of joy in her eyes as she entered the hospital. She was anxious to reach her own room where she could read the letter to her heart’s content.
She had just closed and locked the door, when the night nurses appeared.
“Oh, Miss Brisbane,” the latter began, “we have had a lively time since you left.”
“Nothing wrong, Miss Wade, I hope,” Marion somewhat anxiously replied.
“That remains to be seen. About ten o’clock an old man, with a great flowing beard, brought in a little child.”
“Sick?”
