HER VOCATION.

Otago Witness, Issue 2660, 8 March 1905, Page 90

HER VOCATION.

By Elsie Sauxders.

{For the Witness.)

"Why, Jim, to be a nurse is one of the roblest professions that a woman can follow."

"I don't deny that, Alice ; but you know that the noblest will be the meanest if we neglect ou.r duty to follow it up, as 1 the meanest becomes the most noble when God intends us to do it."

"But- I'm not neglecting my duty, and Dr Grant says that my vocation should be to attend the sick. Of course, mother will miss me at- first ; but she will soon get over that, and we should study other people as well as ourselves. Oh, yes, I suppose home should be the first, consideration, but I feel that I'm obeying duty's call in applying for the situation."

"If that's the case there is no use in talking any more on the subject, as I believe our duty rests between ourselves and our God, and He knows what we sihpuld do or leave undone, and that which appears to me a wrong may be to you the one thing- needful." The speakers were slowly walking across the small paddock towards Alice Bennet's home, when this conversation took place.

Alice Bennet was an only child. Her father and mother lived in the small cottage at the end of the street in one of our small townships. They had! enough to keep themselves and Alice in oomfotfc, and in that small country place, Alice was the most, envied of girls. A bright, winning disposition and a kind sympathetic heart made her a welcome guest wherever

she went

Lntelv she had felt dissatisfied

with her lite. She longed for greater opportunities to do good. If &he could only go to town and do some noble work U-ere — becoming a beacon light to the other village girls! So that when she heard of the vacancy in the hospital she felt fhe could do no better than apply, and now with the reply in her hand, she dreamt of all the suffering she would relieve and the pained brow she would try to smooth.

As she a,nd her companion came up to the house, Jim moved away. He was Alice's best friend, and one who always gave her his candid, advice. Neighbours had long ceased to talk of these two, as there was nothing but a pure f&eliug of friendship betwixt- them ; so with a. "Goodnight, Alice; I'll look in occasionally and) l.elp to keep the old folk company," he walked away.

The room which Alice entered was a cosy, comfortable sitting room. All round were traces of her own work — the brighb vases of flowers, the paintings on the wall, the carved photo frames, the soft cosy cushions, were all done by the one pair of hands. A small delicate woman sat in a chair looking out on the still, calm, slimmer scone before her, but not thinking of the scene, beautiful though it was, but of the churchyard, where the two babies of early married years were fast asleep. Sbe turned to greet Alice as that young lady entered with the news, "I've got the situation, mother. I'm the successful applicant."

"Try slid sleep, dearie, and you'll soon get well."

"I can't, nursie; I'jie finkin' of mvm — she'll be so lonely wisout me to tiss her dcodnite. Who tisses your mammie for oo? Does Dord? Cause I fink I'll ask Him to tiss mine too."

The Long ward was dimly lighted as the nurses passed up and down trying io soothe and comfort the many sick and weary, and as Nurse Bennet poftly moved among her patients th& words of the sick child kept repeating themselves over and over again to her: "Mum will be so lonely wisout me. Who tissess your mammie? Does Dord?"

Five years eincc she had left home, and Dr Grant's verdict was more than, fulfilled. "A born nurse," the older ones soid. "She'll make a patient live or else die sorry because he has to leave her behind." one remarked. "The angel nurse," the children called her. And yet to-night she felt that they were all wrong ; she thought of a sentence in Jim's last letter. It was only this: "I was in seeing your mother to-night, Alice; it keeps her from wearying." She thought of the lonely room ; her father and mother, both getting on in years, yet loving her better than the world ; never once had they asked her to come im word's, but. Memory in a hundred tortuous ways reminded her of small actions and mute signs they had given. Memory took another flight., and Jim's words came back to her: "Oiu 1 duty lies betwixt us and God, and the noblest may be the meanest or the meanest becomes the most noble."

A few weeks later the hospital had said goodbye to Nurse Bennet, and to those who knew hiei great love fpr her profession she explained herself by saying, ''Nursing may be my vocation, but it is not my duty, and in neglecting that I'm doing more harm than I can do good here."