AUTUMN colors were coming into the sugar maples and quaking aspen in the patio where the fountain tinkled among the roses. As Barrett sat there in the afternoon sun with Alma Nearing, recovering from his weakness and his wound, the first fall of leaves, already touched by frost, showered at their feet.
A strong patient, fit to take the road; a rebellious patient against the soft restraint of his lovely nurse, who denied him his pipe with stern prohibition. Barrett argued that a man was well when the yearning to smoke came over him with such insistent and healthy urge.
"Tomorrow," she yielded. "But if the smoke gets into that tender spot in your lung and irritates it, and you take consumption, don't blame me."
"It's as sound as it ever was, Alma," he insisted, thumping his chest to prove his contention.
"Tomorrow; not one minute sooner."
Barrett looked moodily at the whirling shower of leaves that came down the wind from the maple tree. 'Alma, mischief in her eyes, reached behind her and produced his friendly little pipe.
"I can't bear your sufferings any longer," she said, laughing at his simple joy. "Smoke, even if it does make you sick."
"Somebody's always saving my life—this is the sec-
