“He won’t live with only one leg, I know he won’t, it will be too much of a disgrace to him; he’ll die of grief, I know he will!  Oh, Doctor Grant, you might have pity on him, it isn’t fair!”

“Would you rather see him die in lingering pain?” enquired the doctor, gravely.

“Oh, I think it so awful!  Why should he be the one to be smashed up.  Look at me!  I know everybody thinks it a pity it wasn’t me.  It would have made us so much more equal.  Why should I be so strong, and he so weak!  I tell you what!  I’ve heard a story about joining on other men’s legs.  Now tell me, could you do it?  Could you give him one of mine?  I’d let you cut it off this minute—­to-night, if you only would.  If it would make him walk straight!”

Dudley seized hold of the doctor’s coat excitedly, and Doctor Grant saw his whole soul was in his words.

“I’m afraid that would be an impossible feat, my boy.  No—­keep your own legs to wait upon him, and cheer him up all you can.”

“Cheer him up!” was the fierce retort; “what could cheer him!  I know he won’t be able to live a cripple.  He always says he is straight and upright though his chest is weak, and now when he knows it’s no use trying to be strong any more, for he’ll never be able to—­when he knows he won’t be able to play cricket, or football, or even climb the wall or run races—­oh, it’s awful—­it will break his heart, and I wish I was dead!” After which passionate speech Dudley dashed away, and the doctor continued his walk shaking his head and muttering, “It’s a bad lookout for the little fellow!”

Dudley ran across the lawn in his misery, and then nearly tumbled over Rob who was lying on the grass, his face hidden in his arms.  He looked up and his eyes were red and swollen.

“Master Dudley, is it true, is he going to lose his legs?”

Dudley stood looking at him for a minute before he spoke, and then he said, “Yes, it’s all that hateful doctor!”

Rob dropped his head on his arms again and a smothered groan escaped him.

Dudley continued his run out into the stableyard, from thence to the road, and he never stopped till he reached old Principle’s little three-cornered shop.

Old Principle was busy serving customers when he came in; he gave him a friendly nod, and went on with his business whilst Dudley crept into the little back parlor, and sitting down in an old horsehair chair tried to recover his breath.  It was not long before old Principle came after him.

“Well, my laddie,” he said, laying his hand on the curly head, “there’s sad news going through the village this morning, and I see by your face that ’tis true!”

Dudley nodded and then seizing hold of the old man’s hand, leaned his head against it and burst into tears.

“Why does God do it!” he sobbed at length, “Roy is so much better than I am, he’s always trying to please God, though he never talks about it, and I’ve prayed so hard that he might be made quite well!”