Sluggishly in the Senior Surgeon’s jolted arms the Little Girl woke from her feverish nap and peered up perplexedly through the gray dusk into her father’s face.

“Where’s—­my kitty?” she asked hazily.

“Eh?” jerked the Senior Surgeon.

Harshly the little iron leg-braces clanked together.

In an instant the White Linen Nurse was on her knees in the grass.  “You don’t hold her right, sir!” she expostulated.  Deftly with little soft, darting touches, interrupted only by rubbing her knuckles into her own tears, she reached out and eased successively the bruise of a buckle or the dragging weight on a little cramped hip.

Still drowsily, still hazily, with little smacking gasps and gulping swallows, the child worried her way back again into consciousness.

“All the birds were there, Father,” she droned forth feebly from her sweltering mink-fur nest.

All the birds were there
With yellow feathers instead of—­hair,
And bumble bees—­and bumble bees—­
And bumble bees?—­And bumble bees—?

Frenziedly she began to burrow the back of her head into her Father’s shoulder.  “And bumble bees?—­And bumble bees—?”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake—­’buzzed’ in the trees!” interpolated the Senior Surgeon.

Rigidly from head to foot the little body in his arms stiffened suddenly.  As one who saw the supreme achievement of a life-time swept away by some one careless joggle of an infinitesimal part, the Little Girl stared up agonizingly into her father’s face.  “Oh, I don’t think—­’buzzed’ was the word!” she began convulsively.  “Oh, I don’t think—!”

Startlingly through the twilight the Senior Surgeon felt the White Linen Nurse’s rose-red lips come smack against his ear.

“Darn you!  Can’t you say ‘crocheted’ in the trees?” sobbed the White Linen Nurse.

Grotesquely for an instant the Senior Surgeon’s eyes and the White Linen Nurse’s eyes glared at each other in frank antagonism.

Then suddenly the Senior Surgeon burst out laughing.  “Oh, very well!” he surrendered. “’Crocheted in the trees’!”

Precipitously the White Linen Nurse sank back on her heels and began to clap her hands.

“Oh, now I will!  Now I will!” she cried exultantly.

“Will what?” frowned the Senior Surgeon.

Abruptly the White Linen Nurse stopped clapping her hands and began to wring them nervously in her lap instead.  “Why—­will—­will!” she confessed demurely.

“Oh!” jumped the Senior Surgeon. “Oh!" Then equally jerkily he began to pucker his eyebrows.  “But for Heaven’s sake—­what’s the ’crocheted in the trees’ got to do with it?” he asked perplexedly.

“Nothing much,” mused the White Linen Nurse very softly.  With sudden alertness she turned her curly blonde head towards the road.  “There’s somebody coming!” she said.  “I hear a team!”

Overcome by a bashfulness that tried to escape in jocosity, the Senior Surgeon gave an odd little choking chuckle.