best."

"I am sure I could walk," said my mother, "and I feel such a restless
longing to put my foot to the ground once more."

There was a bright flush on her face, and suddenly, without another
word, she rose from her recumbent position on the sofa and stood quite
upright. My father sprang from his chair with a little anxious cry. She
tried to take one step forward, and fell with her face on the ground.

Ah, me! it was the old story over again, of silent gloom and anxious
care. The summer was in its full beauty when she came down amongst us
once more. Then the crushing blow came. Great doctors came from England
and France; they lingered long before they gave their decision, but it
came at length.

My mother might live for years, but she would never walk again; the
flying feet were stilled for the rest of her life. She was to be a
hopeless, helpless cripple. She might lie on the sofa, be wheeled in a
chair, perhaps even driven in a carriage, but nothing more--she would
never walk again.

My father's heart almost broke. I can see him now crying and sobbing
like a child. He would not believe it. He turned from one to the other,
crying out:

"It cannot be true! I will not believe it! She is so young and so
beautiful--it cannot be true!"

"It is most unfortunately true," said the head physician, sorrowfully.