"Now, Effie," he said, "you must do all you can for your mother. Don't let her get anxious. There is nothing to be frightened about as far as I am concerned. If mortal man can pull the child through, I will do it, but I must have no home cares as well. You will take up that burden—eh, little woman?"
"I will try, father," said Effie.
Just then Dorothy appeared. She had dressed herself in her nurse's costume—gray dress, gray cloak, gray bonnet. The dress suited her earnest and reposeful face. She crossed the road with a firm step, carrying a little bag in her hand.
"Well, Dr. Staunton," she said, "I hear you have got a case for me."
The doctor gazed at her for a moment without speaking.
"Bless me," he exclaimed; "it is a comfort to see a steady-looking person like you in the place. And so you are really willing to help me in this emergency?"
"Why, of course," said Dorothy. "I am a nurse."
"But you don't know the nature of the case yet!"
"I don't see that that makes any difference; but will you tell me?"
"And it is your holiday," pursued the doctor, gazing at her. "You don't take many holidays in the year I presume?"