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 charity ward, grated on Miss Harris. She could not even prepare an enema to satisfy Miss Harris, and Dot lay quietly waiting for them to reach a decision on how much water was necessary.

At last they had finished with her. She lay on the bed waiting for something else to happen. Nothing did.

Miss Harris removed the screen, and Dot asked, "Where's my doctor?"

"He's gone to bed," replied Miss Harris.

"To bed!"

"Yes. He's asleep in a room down the hall. We'll call him when you need him. Shall I turn out your light?"

"Oh, no," said Dot, fearfully.

"Have you any pain?"

"Yes—I have."

"Is it very severe?"

"No, not terribly. It hurts though."

Miss Harris unstrapped her watch and handed it to Dot. "Here," she said, "you can time your pains. I'll put the bell close to you, and you must ring for me when the pains get five minutes apart."

Dot took the watch and thanked her. Miss Harris disappeared, and Dot sighed. It occurred to her that now again there was nothing to do but wait. She lifted herself on one elbow and looked out the window. The house directly behind the sanitarium was occupied by negroes. Festive negroes. There was a party in progress. A piano, a cornet, and drums were making the "St. Louis Blues" very blue indeed. The shades of their windows were drawn. Dot could only see the silhouette of two figures melted into one as a couple, in beautiful rhythm to the music, wiggled by.

A pain caught Dot unawares. The worst pain she had had so far. She fell back on the pillow and waited for it to pass. The "St. Louis Blues" beat and throbbed upon