Eleanor Hodgman Porter

Della Wetherby tripped up the somewhat imposing steps of her sister's Commonwealth Avenue home and pressed an energetic finger against the electric-bell button. From the tip of her wing-trimmed hat to the toe of her low-heeled shoe she radiated health, capability, and alert decision. Even her voice, as she greeted the maid that opened the door, vibrated with the joy of living."Good morning, Mary. Is my sister in?""Y-yes, ma'am, Mrs. Carew is in," hesitated the girl; "but-she gave orders she'd see no one.""Did she? Well, I'm no one," smiled Miss Wetherby, "so she'll see me. Don't worry-I'll take the blame," she nodded, in answer to the frightened remonstrance in the girl's eyes. "Where is she-in her sitting-room?""Y-yes, ma'am; but-that is, she said-" Miss Wetherby, however, was already halfway up the broad stairway; and, with a despairing backward glance, the maid turned away.In the hall above Della Wetherby unhesitatingly walked toward a half-open door, and knocked."Well, Mary," answered a "dear-me-what-now" voice. "Haven't I-Oh, Della!" The voice grew suddenly warm with love and surprise. "You dear girl, where did you come from?""Yes, it's Della," smiled that young woman, blithely, already halfway across the room. "I've come from an over-Sunday at the beach with two of the other nurses, and I'm on my way back to the Sanatorium now. That is, I'm here now, but I sha'n't be long. I stepped in for-this," she finished, giving the owner of the "dear-me-what-now" voice a hearty kiss.

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