Miss Marshall took kindly to idleness—talking a good deal of previous cases, playing solitaire, and talking freely to Molly of various internes and patients who admired her. She marked herself at once as unused to children by calling Timothy "little man," and, except for a vague, friendly scrutiny of his tray three times a day, did nothing at all—even leaving the care of her room to Belle.
After a week or two, Miss Marshall went away, to Belle's great satisfaction, and Miss Clapp came. Miss Clapp was forty, and strong and serious; she did not embroider or confide in Molly; she sat silent at meals, chewing firmly, her eyes on her plate. "What would you like me to do now?" she would ask Molly, gravely, at intervals.
Molly, with Timothy asleep and Belle sweeping, could only murmur:
"Why, just now,—let me see,—perhaps you'd like to write letters—or just read—"
"And are you going to take little Timothy with you when he wakes up?"
Molly would evade the uncompromising eyes.
"Why, I think so. The sun's out now. You must come, too."
Miss Clapp, coming, too, cast a damper on the drive; and she persisted in talking about the places where she was really needed.
"Imagine a ward with forty little suffering children in it, Mrs. Tressady! That's real work—that's a real privilege!"
And after a week or two Miss Clapp went joyously back to her real work with a generous check for her children's ward in her pocket. She kissed Timothy good-by with the first tenderness she had shown.