Owen Oliver

“ Perhaps, that is why I am no better than I am."
"Yon have loved the sick and the poor, and the little children," she said, softly. "Your education has been that."
"Have you not loved them?"
"A woman is different. Loving is not enough for her. She wants love. A flower is a poor stunted thing without the sunshine."
They were silent for a long time; and the doctor mortgaged another year's sigh. ”

“ It was strange that no lover had ever come to her. She was a sweet woman, a little colorless, perhaps, but still— She had been pretty, too. Even now, with a little pink in her cheeks— Unless something aroused her the color would never come again—never!
"Forget what I have said, doctor," she begged, presently. "I was overwrought. It is, of course, a morbid fancy—a sick woman's fancy."
"And, when the sick woman is well, it will go?" ”

“ He laughed a soft, comforting laugh. "'They also serve who only stand and wait,'" he said. "Some love their work so much that it seems just part of themselves. They do it, and never think that it is work."
"You mean—just little things."
He stroked her hand again. "You call it little things. I don't. Do you know how I reckon up my assets, when I start on my rounds to heal—the work that God has given me?" She shook her head. "First, I put down my medicines, such as they are; then, my doctor craft, such as it is ”

“ The longest-living author of this work died in 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works. ”