The boys proposed a game of tag.  Roger was a splendid skater; he engaged in the game with great zest:  his spirits rose, and the crippled boy and the reproaches of his conscience passed entirely out of his mind as he skated on, knowing that he could keep his balance as well and strike out, perhaps, better than any fellow on the pond.

The swiftest and strongest, however, are not always the most successful, and as he swooped around, curving in very near the shore, a strap gave way, and before Roger could help himself, it tripped him, and he sprawled at full length on the ice.

The boys shouted; some laughed, but a fall is such a common occurrence that no one was very much concerned until Roger attempted to spring up again, to show them all that he didn’t mind it in the least,—­he would be all right again in a minute.  Then he tried to stand; but when an awful pain shot up from his ankle, then he realized that it was quite impossible to stand.

They ran to his assistance, but before they reached him, a soft hand was held out to him, and a gentle voice asked: 

“Have you hurt yourself badly?” Roger saw the deformed boy standing by his side, and then remembered that he had seen him sitting near by on the bank.

[Illustration:  “The deformed boy knelt on the ice.”]

“I think I must have sprained my ankle,” he replied.

The deformed boy knelt on the ice, and while the others clustered around, asking questions and offering suggestions, he quietly unbuckled his skates for him.

“I’ll have to get home, I suppose,” said Roger faintly; “but, boys, don’t let this spoil your fun—­don’t come with me.”

“May I go with you?” said the deformed boy.  “I am not going to stay here any longer.”

Roger thanked him, and a policeman coming up at that moment to inquire about the accident, a carriage was procured, Roger was put in, the deformed boy followed, and Roger was driven home.

“My fun is spoiled for this winter,” he said, with a moan.  “I know a fellow who sprained his ankle last year, and the doctor says perhaps he will never be able to skate again.  What an unlucky thing for me!—­it wasn’t my fault either.”

“No,” added the deformed boy gently.  “It was not your fault; and it was not my fault that my nurse let me fall when I was a baby and injured my back.  I sometimes think it would have been better if she had killed me outright, though strong and well-formed people think it wicked for me to wish that.”

The color which had left Roger’s pale cheeks from his pain, rushed back for a moment, as he held out his hand and said:—­

“I was a brute to you in the car this morning, but I didn’t think what I was doing.  Will you excuse me?”

“I know you didn’t.  Please don’t say anything more about it.  It is hard to pity the suffering of others unless we have felt pain ourselves.”

Roger’s sprain prevented him from skating again that season, and taught him also a lesson which let us hope he will remember all his lifetime.