〃Mr。　Insall！〃
  But　his　swift　glance　had　noticed　the　expression　in　her　eyes；　the　sagged
  condition　of　her　clothes；　the　attitude　that　proclaimed　exhaustion。　　He
  took　her　by　the　arm　and　led　her　to　the　little　storeroom；　turning　on　the
  light　and　placing　her　in　a　chair。　　Darkness　descended　on　her。。。。
  Mrs。　Maturin；　returning　from　an　errand；　paused　for　an　instant　in　the
  doorway；　and　ran　forward　and　bent　over　Janet。
  〃Oh；　Brooks；　what　is　itwhat's　happened　to　her？〃
  〃I　don't　know；〃　he　replied；　〃I　didn't　have　a　chance　to　ask　her。　　I'm
  going　for　a　doctor。〃
  〃Leave　her　to　me；　and　call　Miss　Hay。〃　　Mrs。　Maturin　was　instantly
  competen　。。。。　　And　when　Insall　came　back　from　the　drug　store　where　he　had
  telephoned　she　met　him　at　the　head　of　the　stairs。　　〃We've　done　everything
  we　can；　Edith　Hay　has　given　her　brandy；　and　gone　off　for　dry　clothes；　and
  we've　taken　all　the　children's　things　out　of　the　drawers　and　laid　her　on
  the　floor；　but　she　hasn't　come　to。　　Poor　child；what　can　have　happened
  to　her？　　Is　the　doctor　coming？〃
  〃Right　away；〃　said　Insall；　and　Mrs。　Maturin　went　back　into　the　storeroom。
  Miss　Hay　brought　the　dry　clothes　before　the　physician　arrived。
  〃It's　probably　pneumonia；〃　he　explained　to　Insall　a　little　later。　　〃She
  must　go　to　the　hospitalbut　the　trouble　is　all　our　hospitals　are　pretty
  full；　owing　to　the　sickness　caused　by　the　strike。〃　　He　hesitated。　　〃Of
  course；　if　she　has　friends；　she　could　have　better　care　in　a　private
  institution　just　now。〃
  〃Oh；　she　has　friends；〃　said　Mrs。　Maturin。　　〃Couldn't　we　take　her　to　our
  little　hospital　at　Silliston；　doctor？　　It's　only　four　milesthat　isn't
  much　in　an　automobile；　and　the　roads　are　good　now。〃
  〃Well；　the　risk　isn't　much　greater；　if　you　have　a　closed　car；　and　she
  would；　of　course；　be　better　looked　after；〃　the　physician　consented。
  〃I'll　see　to　it　at　once；〃　said　Insall。。。。
  CHAPTER　XX
  The　Martha　Wootton　Memorial　Hospital　was　the　hobby　of　an　angel　alumnus　of
  Silliston。　　It　was　situated　in　Hovey's　Lane；　but　from　the　window　of　the
  white…enameled　room　in　which　she　lay　Janet　could　see　the　bare　branches　of
  the　Common　elms　quivering　to　the　spring　gusts；　could　watch；　day　by　day；
  the　grass　changing　from　yellow…brown　to　vivid　green　in　the　white
  sunlight。　　In　the　morning；　when　the　nurse　opened　the　blinds；　that
  sunlight　swept　radiantly　into　the　room；　lavish　with　its　caresses；　always
  spending；　always　giving；　the　symbol　of　a　loving　care　that　had　been　poured
  out　on　her；　unasked　and　unsought。　　It　was　sweet　to　rest；　to　sleep。　　And
  instead　of　the　stringent　monster…cry　of　the　siren；　of　the　discordant
  clamour　of　the　mill　bells；　it　was　sweet　yet　strange　to　be　awakened　by
  silvertoned　chimes　proclaiming　peaceful　hours。　　At　first　she　surrendered
  to　the　spell；　and　had　no　thought　of　the　future。　　For　a　little　while　every
  day；　Mrs。　Maturin　read　aloud；　usually　from　books　of　poetry。　　And　knowing
  many　of　the　verses　by　heart；　she　would　watch　Janet's　face；　framed　in　the
  soft　dark　hair　that　fell　in　two　long　plaits　over　her　shoulders。　　For
  Janet　little　guessed　the　thought　that　went　into　the　choosing　of　these
  books；　nor　could　she　know　of　the　hours　spent　by　this　lady　pondering　over
  library　shelves　or　consulting　eagerly　with　Brooks　Insall。　　Sometimes
  Augusta　Maturin　thought　of　Janet　as　a　wildflowerone　of　the　rare；　shy
  ones；　hiding　under　its　leaves；　sprung　up　in　Hampton；　of　all　places；
  crushed　by　a　heedless　foot；　yet　miraculously　not　destroyed；　and　already
  pushing　forth　new　and　eager　tendrils。　　And　she　had　transplanted　it。　　To
  find　the　proper　nourishment；　to　give　it　a　chance　to　grow　in　a　native；
  congenial　soil；　such　was　her　breathless　task。　　And　so　she　had　selected
  〃The　Child's　Garden　of　Verses。〃
  〃I　should　like　to　rise　and　go
  Where　the　golden　apples　grow〃。。。
  When　she　laid　down　her　book　it　was　to　talk；　perhaps；　of　Silliston。
  Established　here　before　the　birth　of　the　Republic；　its　roots　were　bedded
  in　the　soil　of　a　racial　empire；　to　a　larger　vision　of　which　Augusta
  Maturin　clung：　an　empire　of　Anglo…Saxon　tradition　which；　despite
  disagreements　and　conflictsnay；　through　themdeveloped　imperceptibly
  toward　a　sublimer　union；　founded　not　on　dominion；　but　on　justice　and
  right。　　She　spoke　of　the　England　she　had　visited　on　her　wedding　journey；
  of　the　landmarks　and　literature　that　also　through　generations　have　been
  American　birthrights；　and　of　that　righteous　self…assertion　and
  independence　which；　by　protest　and　even　by　war；　America　had　contributed
  to　the　democracy　of　the　future。　　Silliston；　indifferent　to　cults　and
  cataclysms；　undisturbed　by　the　dark　tides　flung　westward　to　gather　in
  deposits　in　other　parts　of　the　land；　had　held　fast　to　the　old　tradition；
  stood　ready　to　do　her　share　to　transform　it　into　something　even　nobler
  when　the　time　should　come。　　Simplicity　and　worth　and　beautythese
  elements　at　least　of　the　older　Republic　should　not　perish；　but　in　the　end
  prevail。
  She　spoke　simply　of　these　things；　connecting　them　with　a　Silliston　whose
  spirit　appealed　to　all　that　was　inherent　and　abiding　in　the　girl。　　All
  was　not　chaos：　here　at　least；　a　beacon　burned　with　a　bright　and　steady
  flame。　　And　she　spoke　of　Andrew　Silliston；　the　sturdy　colonial　prototype
  of　the　American　culture；　who　had　fought　against　his　King；　who　had　spent
  his　modest　fortune　to　found　this　seat　of　learning；　believing　as　he　did
  that　education　is　the　cornerstone　of　republics；　divining　that　lasting
  unity　is　possible　alone　by　the　transformation　of　the　individual　into　the
  citizen　through　voluntary　bestowal　of　service　and　the　fruits　of　labour。
  Samuel　Wootton；　the　Boston　merchant　who　had　given　the　hospital；　was
  Andrew's　true　descendant；　imbued　with　the　same　half…conscious　intuition
  that　builds　even　better　that　it　reeks。　　And　Andrew；　could　he　have　returns
  to　earth　in　his　laced　coat　and　long　silk　waistcoat；　would　still　recognize
  his　own　soul　in　Silliston　Academy；　the　soul　of　his　creed　and　race。
  〃Away　down　the　river；
  A　hundred　miles　or　more；
  Other　little　children
  Shall　bring　my　boats　ashore。〃。。。
  Janet　drew　in　a　great　breath；　involuntarily。　　These　were　moments　when　it
  seemed　that　she　could　scarcely　contain　what　she　felt　of　beauty　and
  significance；　when　the　ecstasy　and　pain　were　not　to　be　borne。　　And
  sometimes；　as　she　listened　to　Mrs。　Maturin's　voice；　she　wept　in　silence。
  Again　a　strange　peace　descended　on　her；　the　peace　of　an　exile　come　home；
  if　not　to　remain；　at　least　to　know　her　own　land　and　people　before　faring
  forth。　　She　would　not　think　of　that　faring　yet　awhile；　but　strive　to　live
  and　taste　the　presentand　yet　as　life　flowed　back　into　her　veins　that
  past　arose　to　haunt　her；　she　yearned　to　pour　it　out　to　her　new　friend；　to
  confess　all　that　had　happened　to　her。　　Why　couldn't　she？　　But　she　was
  grateful　because　Mrs。　Maturin　betrayed　no　curiosity。　　Janet　often　lay
  watching　her；　puzzled；　under　the　spell　of　a　frankness；　an　ingenuousness；
  a　simplicity　she　had　least　expected　to　find　in　one　who　belonged　to　such　a
  learned　place　as　that　of　Silliston。　　But　even　learning；　she　was
  discovering；　could　be　amazingly　simple。　　Freely　and　naturally　Mrs。
  Maturin　dwelt　on　her　own　past；　on　the　little　girl　of　six　taken　from　her
  the　year　after　her　husband　died；　on　her　husband　himself；　once　a　professor
  here；　and　who；　just　before　his　last　illness；　had　published　a　brilliant
  book　on　Russian　literature　which　resulted　in　his　being　called　to　Harvard。
  They　had　gone　to　Switzerland　instead；　and　Augusta　Maturin　had　come　back
  to　Silliston。　　She　told　Janet　of　the　loon…haunted　lake；　hemmed　in　by　the
  Laurentian　hills；　besieged　by　forests；　where　she　had　spent　her　girlhood
  summers　with　her　father；　Professor　Wishart；　of　the　University　of　Toronto。
  There；　in　search　of　health；　Gifford　Maturin　had　come　at　her　father's
  suggestion　to　camp。
  Janet；　of　course；　could　not　know　all　of　that　romance；　though　she　tried　to
  picture　it　from　what　her　friend　told　her。　　Augusta　Wishart；　at　six　and
  twenty；　had　been　one　of　those　magnificent　Canadian　women　who　are　most　at
  home　in　the　open；　she　could　have　carried　Gifford　Maturinout　of　the
  wilderness　on　her　back。　　She　was　five　feet　seven；　modelled　in　proportion；
  endowed　by　some　Celtic　ancestor　with　that　dark　chestnut　hair　which；
  because　of　its　abundance；　she　wore　braided　and　caught　up　in　a　heavy　knot
  behind　her　head。　　Tanned　by　the　northern　sun；　kneeling　upright　in　a
  canoe；　she　might　at　a　little　distance　have　been　mistaken　for　one　of　the
  race　to　which　the　forests　and　waters　had　once　belonged。　　The　instinct　of
  mothering　was　strong　in　her；　and　from　the　beginning　she　had　taken　the　shy
  and　delicate　student　under　her　wing；　recognizing　in　him　one　of　the
  physically　helpless　dedicated　to　a　supreme　function。　　He　was　forever
  catching　colds；　his　food　disagreed　with　him；　and　on　her　own　initiative
  she　discharged　his　habitant　cook　and　supplied　him　with　one　of　her　own
  choosing。　　When　overtaken　by　one　of　his　indispositions　she　paddled　him
  about　the　lake　with　lusty　strokes；　first　placing　a　blanket　over　his
  knees；　and　he　submitted：　he　had　no　pride　of　that　sort；　he　was　utterly
  indifferent　to　the　figure　he　cut　beside　his　Amazon。　　His　gentleness　of
  disposition；　his　brilliant　conversati