limbs could carry him, bent over the bed and gazed in frightened wonder at the child.

She was sleeping heavily. Her face was very pale, and her forehead drawn as if in pain.

He had seen her last, standing at the entrance to the alley, where she had gone with him to give him a last kiss. "To make him strong for his long walk," she had said. He had looked back at her as she stood there, her brown hair floating in the wind, her face rosy with the cold morning air, poised on one foot, and with her hand on either wall to support herself as she leaned out to catch the last glimpse of him. She had looked so bright and beautiful to those dim old eyes. And now, what could ail her, lying here alone, in evident suffering?

Just then the door behind him opened, and Mrs. Conroy came in.

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Don't you be

Ah, Peter Bray, it's yourself, then, is it?" she said, in a whisper. Margie's got hurted a bit. afeard now. She'll be better by-and-by."

And then she told him all that she knew of Margery's

you

"Just you go

accident, trying to make as light of it as she could. 66 Don't be frettin'," she said kindly, up to my room and get your bit and sup, while I bide with Margie. My man is takin' his supper now, go you up and help him."

But Peter would not leave the child, so she brought a cup of tea and a couple of slices of bread and bacon down to him.

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Come now, take a settin' and pick a bit," said she, placing the plate on the table. "It won't do to lave eatin', you know, Mr. Bray. If the little one should get bad, she'll need you to take care of her. You must kape up strength for her sake."

the

So he sat down at the table and tried to obey, but he could not eat; the bread seemed to choke him, and even Margery's cakes, which Mrs. Conroy placed beside him,

failed to tempt him. He drank the tea, but rose from the table having scarcely tasted the food; and she saw that it was useless to press him.

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'Well," she said in her cheery, pleasant voice," I'll be goin' my ways. There's the young ones to put to their beds, and the father to see to. If you're wantin' me you'll just holler."

Peter sat beside the bed to watch the child, but at that moment a knock on the door roused her, and when her grandfather said "Come in," a gentleman entered.

"It's the doctor," said Margery, trying to raise herself.

"Lie still, lie still," said he, coming toward her. "Good evening," with a bow to the old man. "Is this the little girl's grandfather whom the woman upstairs mentioned ?" "Yes, sir. Is she very bad, sir?”

Oh, she'll do," said the doctor, lightly, with a look at Peter, which Margery understood more quickly than he. "You needn't be afraid to tell before me," she said, earnestly. "Please to let me know if I am going to be

lame."

"You want to know all about it, eh? I am afraid that you may be lame for some time; but we 'll see about that. How do you feel?"

"I've had a long sleep, and I feel as if my feet was lost."

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know how to say it; but it seems as if they wasn't anywhere."

The doctor slipped his hand beneath the quilt, which had been thrown over her, and laid it heavily on her slender ankles.

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"Does that hurt you ?"

"Does what hurt?" asked Margery.

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My hand on your feet;" and he pressed more firmly upon them.

"It isn't there."

"Yes it is. See," and throwing back the coverlid he showed his strong hand bearing with all its power upon her bare ankles.

"No, it don't hurt; it don't feel at all.”

A half-sob choked her voice as she spoke; she was growing frightened. But she caught a glimpse of her grandfather's startled face, and laying her hand on his, as it rested on the bed, she said, hopefully,

"Never mind, grandfather. He says it's only for a while." "Does your

"That's a good girl!" said the doctor.

back ache very badly?"

"Yes, it does ache pretty much."

"Mrs. Conroy must bathe it with that liniment. I will come to see you to-morrow. Good-by."

"Good-by," said Margery, cheerfully.

But when her grandfather had followed the doctor from the room she struggled up on her elbow, although the movement gave her great pain, and, bending forward, listened eagerly.

"I am afraid that she will never walk again. I think that her limbs are paralyzed," said the doctor.

Margery did not understand the last sentence, but she understood the first, and her heart sank within her. But her grandfather was coming; he must not see her look sad. She smiled at him as he came in, and he tried to smile back, but it would not do; and the old man, weaker than the sick child, laid his head down upon the bed with a groan.

"Poor grandfather!"

The little hand stroked his white hair softly; then it stole down to pat his wrinkled face.

"Poor grandfather!"

When she said it the second time, he raised his head and tried to speak.

“Don't tell me, grandfather; I know I can't be your little woman any more."

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"Oh, my Margery!" he said, "my fairy! You will never dance in the sunlight again."

"No, grandfather; but we won't be afraid. The good God will look after us. He was very kind not to let me be killed to-day. He didn't take your Margery away. He let me live; not to take care of you any more," her voice quavered, in spite of herself, at the thought of relinquishing that precious duty, "but to love you, and for you to love. Don't cry, dear grandfather. See, I don't cry. You know Jesus told us to say, 'Thy will be done.'"

His manhood, worn-out and feeble as it was, was shamed by her courage. He lifted himself up, and tried to force down his sorrow out of her sight, into the depths of his own heart.

"No, Fairy," he said, as soon as he could speak, “you don't cry. You are a brave girl. And we will trust the good Lord. He has always taken care of us before, and He will now. But, oh, why should He send us this ?" "There's the reason, grandfather."

She pointed to the placard which fronted her, as it leaned against the wall where he had placed it when he came in. His eyes followed the pointing finger.

"BEST."

"It was best, or God wouldn't have let it happen. That is what my teacher said last Sunday, Oh, I can't go to Sunday-school any more!"

The thought broke her down. Her womanly fortitude gave way, and clinging to him she sobbed, and sobbed, the more violently for the restraint which she had before herself.

put upon

She was but a little child after all. Placed by God's hand in a position of authority rather than of dependence, the support rather than the charge of this feeble old man, her powers of endurance and her self-reliance had been