MOLLIE.

Otago Witness, Issue 3957, 14 January 1930, Page 77

MOLLIE.

By

David Mack.

(Copyright.—For the Otago Witness.) The large clock in the main building was striking as the night nurse came on duty. She paused at the door of the ward in surprise, for instead of it being in quiet darkness, as was usual at that time, the big light in the centre was burning and there was a general feeling pf “ business ” in the air. “ New ease, I suppose,” said the girl to herself. “ Oh, I do hope it isn’t an ' op.’ I couldn't stand a theatre just now.”

The nurse in charge was nowhere to be seen, but as the night nurse went into the sitting room she heard the doctor’s voice in the corridor. “ He’ll be all right till morning, I think, sister, but if he's restless you'd better give him another dose of morphia. He’ll have an anaesthetic in the morning.”

In the report book Nurse Ellis found the new ease. “Murphy.—Bushman; fractured spine.” There was more to be fidded, but with a gasp she dropped the book and started toward the lighted side room, her brain in a whirl. “ Murphy. . . . bushman.” Was there another, or was it Dan? Dan of the gay blue eyes and happy, drawling voice! The ward suddenly seemed too small, and regardless of all else, she pushed open the nearest door and stepped out on to the veranda. It all came back to her in a rush, as though it had ' appened only yesterday, instead of two—no. three - —years ago. She remembered so clearly just how it had happened. Dad had sold the trees down by the creek; the bush gang had come to work them; she had gone with dad to watch them build ing the camp, and to see that the fences were secure, so that the bullocks would not stray too far, and she had first seen him there. She could close her eyes now and see and feel it all again; the warm, sweet smell of the bush in the springtime; the big trees all blazed ready for cutting; the long string of bullocks — and Dan with his stockwhip! Just a ne’er-do-well Irishman, with a charming smile and gay blue eyes that said so much more' than they meant. She had heard him sing “Moira, My Girl” that first day, and even now she could feel the thrill it had brought her. After that she had seen him every day, and had given him freely, as a very young girl does, all the love and worship in her heart. It had been so easy to fall in love and so sweet while it lasted. Dad and mum didn’t think anything of her going to the camp every day—she was “ only a child,” and the idea of her falling in love hadn’t occurred to them. Things were different when they were young. Mollie remembered now the bliss of those two weeks; she and Dan had spent most of the time together—she listening to his charming voice while she sat on the wagon. He had told her many tales of England and Ireland, and literally charmed her heart away. The artless way she had adored him made her blush with shame even now. She could never forget the day she had said “ Oh, Dan, I do think you arc charming.” Also the shock it had been when next day she went to the camp and he wasn’t there. After lingering about all the morning, she had at last screwed up her courage to ask one of the others, “ Where’s and he had replied in a earc•fully careless way, “Oh, Dan? I guess he’s gone home; perhaps his wife wanted him.”

Life had seemed to stop for a. while for Mollie—she stood on the veranda now and counted the beds; she was aware that she had been doing so ever since she came out. She stood there —while her mind had been miles away—one, two, three, and two more, and one down at the end. A voice of authority broke in on her counting. “ Hasn’t Nurse Ellis come on duty yet ? ”

Still more or less in a daze, Mollie entered the ward. “ Yes, sister, I’m here.” “Come and help me in this room.” Mechanically she followed, but it was in the other side room she was wanted—not where the lights were. At last they had all gone, the sister leaving final instructions; lights were out, and all was quiet. Still there was a voice in Mollie’s heart: “Oh, I can’t go near him. I can’t! I won’t!” Toward morning the bell rang and Mollie -went slowly into the side room The sight of that head on the pillow—yes, it was Dan of the merry eyes and charming voice—sent Mollie away and left in her place Nurse Ellis, very capable and efficient. The head on the pillow turned, and, instead of the healthy tanned face she remembered, it was drawn and white, the blue eyes were clouded with pain, and all the gaiety had gone from the voice which said: “Oh, nurse—why! It’s Mollie!”

“ What is it?” she asked in her | “nurse’s” voice “Can 1 get you anything?” The awkwardness was gone. He was just a very sick man . . . and a patient. “ I must get you ready for the theatre, you know you are going to the ‘ pictures ’ presently.” Coming on duty that night after a restless (lay, Mollie went into the side room. Doctor was there, talking < o Murphy. It had been a dreadful time in the theatre, and the verdict was “ Paralysed from the waist, probably for life.” The doctor had told him as gently as possible, and was now leaving him for the night. “ You’ve been very good, Murphy—a real hero,” was his last remark. “Oh no, doctor; there was only one:* in my life that I was a hero.” The doctor scented a story. “ When was that?” he asked. Murphy looked at the nurse bending over the table; the light shone on her hair, making it a crown of glory; her face was calm and peaceful in spite of its pallor. A look of agony not caused by his pain came into the man’s eyes. Mollie glanced up, and their eyes met. The old laughing drawl came back into his voice as he answered the doctor's quest ion. “ Once, doc, I was brave enough to run away. Sounds Irish, doesn’t it? And now,” he held out his arm, “ if you'll just be giving me a wee stab with "your needle I'll sleep till morning.”