of sunlight in a sickroom. 'Perhaps,' sighed Sheilah despairingly, after one of his vivacious calls, 'but to aching eyes sunlight may sometimes be painful.'
She wished she could talk to Dr. Sheldon—quiet, grave, listening Dr. Sheldon. Never very merry. He never tried to make her smile. Dr. Sheldon was like a gently drawn curtain in a sick room when one is tired and would like to go to sleep. But it would mean a trip to Wallbridge. She could not afford unnecessary trips.
On a certain morning in late June, Sheilah woke to the realization that she must somehow muster enough strength to go in town to do some necessary shopping for the children. It had been haunting her for a week. Every necessity haunted her lately, loomed ahead of her like a menacing calamity. She postponed the dreaded shopping-tour until after lunch, and then, after the children had gone back to school, sprang up from the couch, put on her hat, and plunged out into the midday sun and heat in desperate and unintelligent determination.
Sheilah was crossing a crowded thoroughfare two hours later, when somebody spoke her name from the back of an automobile which the traffic policeman had brought to a standstill immediately in front of her. Her hands were full of packages. She usually paid and carried.
'Why, it's Sheilah, isn't it?' the voice exclaimed.
