The Pulaskian., 1917-05-25
'Good-by-and God bless you" She went out, and he closed the dool softly behind her.
CHAPTER VIII.

pressions of the hospital, although they were chaotic enough at first. There were uniformed young women coming and going, efficient, cool-eyed, low of voice. There were long vis- tas of shining floors and lines of beds. There were brisk internes with duck clothes and brass buttons, who eyed her with friendly, patronizing glances. There were bandages and dressings, and great white screens, behind which were played little or big dramas, baths or deaths, as the case might be. And over all brooded the mysterious authority of the superintendent of the training school, dubbed the Head, for short.
 Twelve hours a day, from seven to seven, with the off-duty intermission, Sidney labored at tasks which revolted her soul. She swept and dusted the wards, cleaned closets, folded sheets and towels, rolled bandages-did ev- erything but nurse the sick, which was what she had come to do.
 At night she did not go home. She sat on the edge of her narrow, white bed and soaked her aching feet in hot water and witch-hazel, and practiced taking pulses on her own slender wrist, with Ks little watch.
 Out of all the long, hot days, two periods stood out clearly, to be waited for and cherished. One was when, early in the afternoon, with the ward in spotless order, the shades drawn against the August sun, the tables cov- cred with their red covers and the only sound the drone of the bandage- machine as Sidney steadily turned it. Doctor Max passed the door on his way to the surgical ward beyond, and gave her cheery greeting. At these times Sidney's heart beat almost in time with the ticking of the little watch.
 The other hour was at twilight, when, work over for the day, the night nurse, with her rubber-soled shoes and tired eyes and dangling keys, having reported and received the night orders, the nurses gathered in their small par Tor for prayers. It was months before Sidney got over the exaltation of that twilight hour, and never did it cease to bring her healing and peace. In a way. it crystallized for her what the days work meant: charity and its sis ter, service, the promise of rest and peace. Into the little parlor filed the nurses, and knelt, folding their tired hands.
 ''The Lord is my shepherd" read the Head out of her worn Bible; "I shall not want"
 And the nurses: "He maketh me to lie down in green pastures: he leadeth me beside the still waters"
 And so on through the psalm to the assurance at the end, And will dwell in the house of the Lord forever"
 Now and then there was a death be- hind one of the white screens. It caused little change in the routine of the ward. A nurse stayed behind the screen, and her work was done by the others. When everything was over, the time was recorded exactly on the record, and the body was taken away.
 At first it seemed to Sidney that she could not stand this nearness to death. She thought the nurses hard because they took it quietly. Then she found that it was only stoicism, resignation, that they had learned. These things hn nd fhn Their philosophy made them no less tender. Some such patient detachment must be that of the angels who keep the Great Record.
 On her first Sunday half-holiday, she was free in the morning, and went to church with her mother, going back to the hospital after the service. So it was two weeks before she saw Le Moyne again. Even then, 1t was only for short time. Christine and Palmer Howe came in to see her, and to in- spect the balcony, now finished.
 But Sidney and Le Moyne had few words together first.
 There was change in Sidney. Le Moyne was quick to see it. She was a rifle subdued, with a puzzled look in her blue eyes. Her mouth was tender, as always, but he thought it dropped. There was a new atmosphere of wist- fulness about the girl that made his heart ache.
 They were alone in the little parlor with its brown lamp and blue silk shade. K. never smoked in the parlor, put by sheer force of habit he held he pipe in his teeth.