The opening of the door cut short Clip's nonsense.

The woman wheeled a child's invalid chair into the room. Sitting
in this chair the girls beheld a child - that sort of child which
heaven in making a cripple of seems to hold some special claim on.
The lines of some amateur poet flashed across the mind of Cora:

"Does heaven in sending such as these,
From Nature hold a claim?
To keep them nearer to The Gates,
To call them in again?"

These lines had always appealed to Cora in spite of their faulty
rhyme, and, in glancing at the little girl in the chair, she
understood why.

"This is my daughter Wren," said the woman, "and I should have
introduced myself. I am Mrs. Salvey Mrs. Ruth Salvey."

The girls gracefully acknowledged the introductions. Clip had
surrendered - she was "all eyes on the little girl"; too absorbed
to speak. She had left her place on the sofa, and now stood
beside the invalid's chair.

"How do you do, Wren?" she managed to say finally, taking the
small, white, slim hand within her own. "Aren't you frightened of
- this invasion?"

"Oh, no, indeed," said the child sweetly. "I am perfectly
delighted. Mother has been telling me all day we would have some