“I don’t mean in Sausalito,” Julia said firmly; “he’s at the City and County on Wednesday mornings, you know.  I could get him there.”

Miss Toland stared at her unblinkingly for a second.

“Yes, do that!” she said then.  “Yes, that’s a good idea!” And as Julia ran to the telephone she called after her, “Yes, that’s a very good idea!”

Julia’s heart thumped as she called the big institution, thumped when after a long wait a crisp voice, out of utter silence, said: 

“Yes?  This is Doctor Studdiford!”

She explained as concisely as she could, feeling that he listened attentively.

“Keep the child flat, no pillow,” he said, as Julia concluded.  “Tell my aunt I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Julia, thrilled by she knew not what, knotted her flying hair loosely on her neck and buttoned on a fresh uniform.  Ten minutes later she admitted Doctor Studdiford to the sickroom.

He had laid aside his hat and washed his hands.  Now he sat down by the bed and smiled at the dazed, moaning little Maude.  Julia felt something expand in her heart as she watched him, his intense, intelligent face, his singularly winning smile, the loose lock of dark hair on his forehead.

“Now, then, Maude,” said he, his clever, supple fingers on her wrist, “where does it hurt?”

Maude whimpered something made unintelligible by the fast-stiffening cut in her lip.

“Her back’s broken, Jim, no doubt about it,” said Miss Toland grimly.

“I think her side hurts,” Miss Pierce submitted eagerly.

“Well, we’ll see—­we’ll see!” Doctor Studdiford said soothingly.  “Now, if you’ll help me, Miss Page, we’ll get off these clothes—­ ah!” For an anguished moan from the sufferer coincided with his discovery that the little left arm hung limp.  Julia loosened the sleeve as the surgeon’s scissors clipped it away, and she held the child while the arm was set and bandaged.  Miss Pierce was faint, and Miss Toland admitted freely that she hated to see a child suffer, and went away.  “Only a clean dislocation, Aunt Sanna!” said Jim, cheerfully, when he came out of the sickroom.  “She’ll have to lie still for a while, but that’s all.  The cut on her mouth doesn’t amount to anything.  She’s all right, now—­Miss Page is telling her stories.  She ought to have a glass of milk, or soup, or something; then she’ll go to sleep.  I’ll be in to-morrow.  By the way, you have a little treasure there in Miss Page!”

“Julia?  Glad you have the sense to see it, Jim!”

“She—­is—­a—­peach!” the doctor mused, packing his very smart little instrument case.  “Who is she?”

“A little girl I found.  Yes, she’s a nice child, Julia.  She’s been here six years now.”

“Six years!  Great Scott!  How old is she?”

“Twenty-two—­twenty-three—­something like that.”

“It doesn’t sound much of a life for a young girl, Aunt Sanna.  Imagine the Barbary-flower!” Doctor Studdiford shook his thermometer, looked at it, and screwed it into its case.