The Primrose Ring | Page 7

of a miracle to
her that she should actually possess something of which she need not
be ashamed--something nice to share with the world. And whenever
Margaret MacLean thought of her looks at all, which was rare, she
thought of them in that way.
She took up the memory again where she had dropped it on the second
flight of stairs, slowly climbing her way to Ward C, and went on with
the story.
They came to the place where Thumbkin was pricked by the wicked
faery with the sleeping-thorn and put to sleep for a hundred years, after
the fashion of many another story princess; and the Old Senior Surgeon
suddenly stopped and looked at her sharply.
"Some day, Thumbkin, I may play the wicked faery and put you to

sleep. What would you say to that?"
She did not say--then.
More months passed, months which brought an ashen, drawn look to
the face of the Old Senior Surgeon, and a tired-out droop to his
shoulders and eyes. She began to notice that the nurses eyed him
pityingly whenever he came into the ward, and the house surgeon
shook his head ominously. She wondered what it meant; she wondered
more when he came at last to remind her of his threatened promise.
"You remember, Thumbkin, about that sleep? Would you let an old
faery doctor put you to sleep, for a little while, if he was very sure you
would wake up to find happiness--and health--and love--and all the
other gifts the godmothers brought?"
She tried her best to keep the frightened look out of her eyes. By the
way he watched her, however, she knew some of it must have crept in.
"Operation?" she managed to choke out at last.
Operation was a fairly common word in Ward C, and not an
over-hopeful one.
"It's this way, Thumbkin; and let's make a bargain of it. I think there's a
cure for that back of yours. It hasn't been tried very much; about often
enough to make it worth while for us to take a chance. I'll be honest
with you and tell you the house surgeon doesn't think it can be done;
but that's where the bargain comes in. He thinks he can mend my
trouble, and I don't; and we're both dreadfully greedy to prove we're
right. Now if you will give me my way with you I will give him his.
But you must come first."
"A hundred years is a long time to be asleep," she objected.
"Bless you, it won't be a hundred minutes."
"And does your back need it, too?"
"Not my back; my stomach. It's about the only chance for either of us,
Thumbkin."
"And you won't unless I do?"
The Old Senior Surgeon gave his head a terrific shake; then he caught
her small hands in his great, warm, comforting ones. "Think. It means a
strong back; a pair of sturdy little legs to take you anywhere; and the
whole world before you!"
"And you'll have them, too?"
He smiled convincingly.

"All right. Let's." She gave his hand a hard, trustful squeeze.
She liked to remember that squeeze. She often wondered if it might not
have helped him to do what he had to do.
Her operation was record-making in its success; and after he had seen
her well on the mend he gave himself over to the house surgeon and a
fellow-colleague, according to the bargain. He proved the house
surgeon wrong, for he never rallied. Undoubtedly he knew this would
be the way of it; for he stopped in Ward C before he went up to the
operating-room and said to her:
"I shall be sleeping longer than you did, Thumbkin; but, never fear, I
shall be waking some time, somewhere. And remember this: Never
grow so strong and well that you forget how tiresome a hospital crib
can be. Never be so happy that you grow blind to the heartaches of
other children; and never wander so far away from Saint Margaret's
that you can't come back, sometimes, and make a story for some one
else."
She puzzled a good bit over this, especially the first part of it; but when
they told her the next day, she understood. Probably she grieved for
him more than had any one else; even more than the members of his
own family or profession. For, whereas there are many people in the
world who can give life to others, there are but few who can help others
to possess it.
What childhood she had had she left behind her soon after this, along
with her aching back, her helpless limbs, and the little iron crib in Ward
C.
On the first Trustee Day following her complete recovery she appeared,
at her own request,