But under
these disturbing thoughts something new and strange and beautiful was
calling her.
Half mechanically she spent the rest of the afternoon reestablishing
herself in the nurses' quarters at the hospital which she had left nearly
four months before. At six o'clock she put on the gray cape and small
gray bonnet that constituted her uniform, and leaving word that she would
report for duty at nine o'clock, went to the corner and boarded a street
car. It was a warm evening for November, and the car with its throng of
home-going workers was close and uncomfortable. But Nance, clinging to a
strap, and jostled on every side, was superbly indifferent to her
surroundings. With lifted chin and preoccupied eyes, she held counsel
with herself, sometimes moving her lips slightly as if rehearsing a part.
At Butternut Lane she got out and made her way to the old white house
midway of the square.
A little boy was perched on the gate post, swinging a pair of fat legs
and trying to whistle. There was no lack of effort on his part, but the
whistle for some reason refused to come. He tried hooking a small finger
inside the corners of his mouth; he tried it with teeth together and
teeth apart.
Nance, sympathizing with his thwarted ambition, smiled as she approached;
then she caught her breath. The large brown eyes that the child turned
upon her were disconcertingly familiar.
"Is this Ted?" she asked.
He nodded mistrustfully; then after surveying her gravely, evidently
thought better of her and volunteered the information that he was waiting
for his daddy.
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