"Why haint hit possible?" she demanded.
"Well, you see, dear child, nurses of that sort have to study and know almost as much as doctors. They have to train—go to school in the hospital, that is—for three years."
"But I haint erfeered ter work. I wants ter study, an' larn," she cried eagerly.
"Yes, I know, but ... well, it costs a lot of money in the first place; nurses don't get any pay while they're learning, and they have to deposit three hundred dollars before they can take the course, one hundred each year. Besides that, they have to have a good education to start with. Probably you don't know what is meant by a 'High School,' but a girl must have gone through one—studied steadily for twelve or thirteen years—or at least have an equivalent amount of education, before she can hope to enter the Children's Hospital."
"Wha ... what do 'equivalent' mean?" she asked, with her lips beginning to tremble a little from disappointment.
"It means that you would have to know as much as though you had gone through a High School, and be able to pass an examination proving that you do."
Very slowly Rose turned back to recommence her work, and Donald sensed, rather than saw, that the tears were very near to the surface. Another roseate dream of childhood had been ruthlessly shattered, and he hated himself for having witlessly engendered it in her mind, since it could only be born to die unrealized.
When she spoke again, it was to say with a telltale quaver in her subdued voice, "I reckon thet us mountain folks kaint never do worthwhile things, fer all sech take er mighty lot er larnin'."
"There are two kinds of learning in this world, Rose, one of the mind, and the other of the heart. And without the benefits which come from the latter, the things of the former would be of little use. You may be sure that helping one's neighbors, as you are always helping yours; being happy yourself and making others contented and happier, and bringing smiles to the lips of friends by the example of your own sweet smile; are things very much worth while," said Donald, haltingly, but with sincerity. He placed his arm about her slender shoulder, with the half-hope that she would accept his comfort, and perhaps cry out the last of her disappointment with her head on his breast. Instead, she turned sharply away and went on with the work she had started, and the man followed her grandfather outside, realizing that hers, like most battles within the soul, must be fought out alone.
In a few moments, and while he was still talking to Big Jerry, Rose joined them on the stoop. A quick glance at her flowerlike face told Donald that her childish—but none the less real—grief was banished, for a smile of victory curved her lips.