drawing her on the steps--"oh! what is it, dear?"

Polly's lips moved, but no words came.

"Oh!" at last, "don't hate us for--bringing you to the--little--brown
house. Why did we come!" And convulsively she threw her young arms
around the kind neck. "Oh, Auntie! Dicky is hurt--but we don't know how
much--his legs, Joel says, but it may not be as bad as we think; dear
Auntie."

Mrs. Whitney trembled so that she could scarcely stand. Around them
streamed the same winter sunshine that had been so bright a moment
since. How long ago it seemed. And out of gathering clouds in her heart
she was saying, "Polly dear, God is good. We will trust him." She did
not know her own voice, nor realize when Polly led her mercifully
within, as a farmer's wagon came slowly down the street, to stop at the
parsonage gate; nor even when Dick was brought in, white and still,
could she think of him as her boy. It was some other little figure, and
she must go and help them care for him. Her boy would come bounding in
presently, happy and ruddy, with a kiss for mamma, and a world of happy
nonsense, just as usual. It was only when Mrs. Henderson came in, and
took her hand to lead her into the next room, that it all came to her.

"Oh, Dick!" and she sprang to the side of the sofa where he lay. "My
child--my child!"

And then came Dr. Fisher, and the truth was known. One of Dick's legs
was broken below the knee; the other badly bruised. Only Jasper and the
mother remained in the room while the little doctor set the limb; and
after what seemed an age to the watchers, the boy came out.