and hope by his manner. "Don't you know you are sure to get some
wonderful blessing for having to stand this loss? That's Cora's
pet theory. She almost drives a fellow after trouble declaring he
will find joy at his heels."

Wren was sighing. Her book had been to her so much. More,
perhaps, than some animal pet is to the average cripple, both
companion and distraction.

Miss Brown brought the bottle of alcohol, and bathed the child's
temples.

"Do you know, Mr. Kimball," she said, "we have a secret for you.
Wren stood up yesterday!"

"Bully for the legs!" cried Jack, with an absolute disregard of
the way he was expressing his joy. The remark brought the color
bark to Wren's cheeks.

"Yes," breathed Wren; "but they - my feet - are awfully full of
pins and needles."

"Save them, save them," went on Jack. "I can never find a pin in
this house. Cora fainted one day, and the doctor said it was
pins. He had to take out twenty pins to give her back her
breath."

"I wish your sister were home," said Wren, looking wistfully out
of the low window beside the bed. "She is so like Clip - and Clip
can't be here."