"If I felt the way you do, Mr. Medfield, I'd do something."

"What would you do?" He watched her face.

"Well—I'd find things." The face in its cap filled with little thoughts that came and went.... "Dear me! There's so many things, I wouldn't know which to do!"

"Suppose you tell me a few."

"Well—there's things.... Jimmie Sullivan needs a new leg, for one thing. He needs it the worst way——"

"Who is Jimmie Sullivan?" asked the millionaire.

"He's in the Children's Ward. Belongs to nobody—as you might say. We're kind of carrying him along till he gets on his feet."

"Gets on his legs, you mean?" His face had lost its fretted look; it was smiling a little.

"It's a frame leg he needs—one of the kind that lets out and stretches as he grows. Dr. Carmon's made him one—a sort of make-shift leg.... A good one costs two hundred and twenty-five dollars."

"Would you mind giving me a pencil and paper?" said Medfield.

Aunt Jane brought it from the table and he made a note.

"Two hundred and twenty-five, you said?"

She nodded. "If he don't have it—a good frame one—his leg will be the kind that flops all round.... I've seen beggars with 'em sometimes, selling pencils and so on. I can't hardly bear to see 'em that way!"

"I should think not! Horrible!"

"Then, there's Mrs. Pelton——"

"I don't seem to remember—Mrs. Pelton?" he said politely.

"Why she's the one you're—" Aunt Jane stopped suddenly.

"Yes?"

"She's a woman that came the same day you did," she said safely.

"Oh!" His mind seemed to be looking back—to the day when he came to the House of Mercy, perhaps.

Aunt Jane did not disturb him.

Presently he took up his pencil with a little sigh. "What were you saying about a Mrs. Pelton?" he asked.

"She came the day you did and she's sitting up! And her case was a good deal worse than yours." She was looking at him almost severely.

"But— She had her operation sooner—than I did! I had to wait—almost a week—You know I had to wait!" He was like a sick boy—with his excuses and his injured look.

"Yes—she was operated on—a day or two sooner—maybe. But she's acted better than you have, every way." She looked at him over her spectacles. "And she's a little mite of a thing. Don't come up to your shoulder hardly."

He smiled ruefully and took up the pencil. "I am going to try—— What about this Mrs. Pelton? What would you do for her if you were as badly off—as I am?"

She gave him a quick smile, out of her cap. "Why—I'd—I'd—I declare I don't know just what you could do for her! She's got so much pluck, it 'most seems as if you couldn't do much.... But I can kind of see her—" She was looking at it. "I can see that if she had, maybe a hundred dollars, say—of her own, unexpected like—when she left the hospital—I can just see the things she would do with it! There's four of the children and a kind of fiddling husband—good, you know— But the way men are——"

"Yes, I know." His pencil was making absent notes. "What's his business?"

"She told me—he's a puddler. I don't know just what puddling is.... He works in a shop. You know, maybe, how they 'puddle'?"

"I've heard of puddling, yes."

"It's a respectable business, I guess. It sounds something the way he looks."

"The way he looks!"

She nodded. "'Puddler' makes me feel the way he does. It's a kind o' queer word."

He glanced at his paper. "Is there anything else you happen to think of for me to do?" The tone was dry, but a little amused.

"Well, there's folks—plenty of folks. You don't have to be in a hospital very long before you begin to know about folks—and begin to wish you was made of money."

"It's a good place for me, then.... I may get cured all through!" He laughed a little harshly.

"I hope you will," said Aunt Jane. She was looking at him with a deep, big kindness that suddenly broke through the little crust of cynicism in his face. He leaned forward and held out his hand.

"Thank you," he said.

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