Nurse Trent's Children Read Free

psychology, elementary kindergarten work, and the rest of the data. Really, my dear, you will be an excellently trained young woman by the time you are through.”
    “Though not a trained nurse ... ”
    “No, I am not a trained nurse,” admitted Cathy honestly now, and she saw the man’s rather sensitive lips curl upward in a humorless smile. One more point, she thought bitterly, for two months had made her an ardent supporter of the foundation, to the debit side of Little Families.
    Anything more he had been going to say about the medical well-being of the children was lost in Christabel’s decision to rejoin her “sisters.”
    Without a word of goodbye she darted off, and without a word of goodbye herself, Cathy darted after her. Together they returned to C Deck, where Janet was still busily controlling the other girls.
    The harbor was unrolling on each side of them. There was more green foreshore, red roofs tiptoeing to a blue sky, and around the bend was the bridge—“impressive”—as Miss Watts had said.
    The g i rls danced excitedly, and the boys, who had joined them with their Uncle David, who was Mr. Kennedy, made derisive remarks about baby elephants, to which Cathy’s children responded with enjoyable rancor.
    “Come now,” reproved Mr. Kennedy, who was young, athletic, bright eyed, and bronzed from the Mediterranean sun, “we must all be on our best behavior for our first day in our new country. Probably we’ll all be photographed.”
    “Aunty, too,” said a voice. “If she poses nicely some susceptible paper might even add that she looks little older than her charges herself. Smile sweetly, Aunty Cathy.”
    “Hello, Dr. Jeremy,” said a dozen little girls.
    “Hello, Dr. Jerry,” shouted the boys.
    “How long has this fraternization been going on?” whispered Cathy to David Kennedy as they tried to reassemble the children. The doctor had gone to the rail. Each hand held the trusting hand of a small child.
    Kennedy looked surprised. “Right throughout the voyage. Didn’t you know?”
    “I hadn’t met him until a few minutes ago.”
    “Really? Now that’s extraordinary. He looked me up the first day. I was sure he had looked you up, too. Most extraordinary.”
    “He couldn’t,” smiled Cathy impishly, “have liked my appearance.”
    “Oh, I’m sure it wasn’t that,” said Mr. Kennedy. He said it warmly. He considered that Miss Trent looked everything she should.
    “It could be that other business, though ... ” He pondered, adding cryptically, “A pity if it is. A pity to carry a chip on your shoulder.”
    Cathy would have liked to know what business, what chip, but she was determined to evince no interest.
    Crossing to the rail, she stood by the little girls and stared out at this new country that would soon be her home.
    The children and Catherine Trent were alike, she was thinking, they were all alone in the world and they faced new pastures. What lay ahead for them in this vast place of red roofs and blue sky and people they did not know? The children at least had their friends around them, most of them had brothers or sisters. They, too, had the resilience of green youth, the loving protective wisdom of kindly adults. She had nothing and nobody.
    She turned away slightly and found to her discomfort that the doctor was regarding her speculatively.
    “If you were intending to slip down to your cabin for a quick puff of powder, let me assure you your nose is quite mat. Anyway, it will not show in the picture.” He waved a lazy arm in the direction of an approaching press photographer.
    “I don’t wish to have my picture taken.”
    “Come now, that’s bad policy for Little Families. It’s from charming publicity like this they rake in the public’s shekels. Didn’t you know?”
    David Kennedy must have known. He was busily grouping his boys together. “Mingle your girls among them,” he called to Cathy. “It looks more family and makes for better reader