"Say, ma, what is it?" persisted Maude. "Will Louis ever walk?"

"Loui'll never walk," answered the little fellow, shaking his brown
curls, and tearing in twain a picture-book which his father had
bought him the day before.

"Maude," said Mrs. Kennedy, drawing her daughter to her side, "I
must tell somebody or my heart will burst," and laying her head upon
the table she wept aloud.

"Don't try, ma, Loui' good," lisped the infant on the floor, while
Mrs. Kennedy, drying at last her tears, told to the wondering Maude
that Louis was not like other children--that he would probably never
have the use of his feet--that a hunch was growing on his back--and
he in time would be--she could not say "deformed," and so she said
at last--"he'll be forever lame."

Poor little Maude! How all her childish dreams were blasted! She had
anticipated so much pleasure in guiding her brother's tottering
footsteps, in leading him to school, to church, and everywhere, and
she could not have him lame.

"Oh, Louis, Louis!" she cried, winding her arms around his neck, as
if she would thus avert the dreaded evil.

Very wonderfully the child looked up into her eyes, and raising his
waxen hand he wiped her tears away, saying as he did so, "Loui' love
Maude."