and for her to answer besides the regular lesson, that she always forgot it till too late.  Pink Chirk! what could a girl be like with such a name as that?  Hilda fancied her a stout, buxom maiden, with very red cheeks and very black eyes—­yes, certainly, the eyes must be black!  Her hair—­well, one could not be so sure about her hair; but there was no doubt about her wearing a pink dress and a blue checked apron.  And she must be smiling, bustling, and energetic.  Yes!  Hilda had the picture of her complete in her mind.  She wondered that this active, stirring girl never came up to the farm; but of course she must have a great deal of work to do at home.

By this time Hildegarde had reached the cottage; and after a moment’s hesitation she knocked softly at the green-painted door.  No one came to open the door, but presently she heard a clear, pleasant voice from within saying, “Open the door and come in, please!” Following this injunction, she entered the cottage and found herself directly in the sitting-room, and face to face with its occupant.  This was a girl of her own age, or perhaps a year older, who sat in a wheeled chair by the window.  She was very fair, with almost flaxen hair, and frank, pleasant blue eyes.  She was very pale, very thin; the hands that lay on her lap were almost transparent; but—­she wore a pink calico dress and a blue checked apron.  Who could this be? and whoever it was, why did she sit still when a visitor and a stranger came in?  The pale girl made no attempt to rise, but she met Hilda’s look of surprise and inquiry with a smile which broke like sunshine over her face, making it for the moment positively beautiful.  “How do you do?” she said, holding out her thin hand.  “I am sure you must be Miss Hilda Graham, and I am Bubble’s sister Pink.

[Illustration:  “THE PALE GIRL MADE NO ATTEMPT TO RISE.”]

“Please sit down,” she added.  “I am so very glad to see you.  I have wanted again and again to thank you for all your kindness to my Bubble, but I didn’t know when I should have a chance.  Did Bubble show you the way?”

Hildegarde was so astonished, so troubled, so dismayed that she hardly knew what she was saying or doing.  She took the slender fingers in her own for an instant, and then sat down, saying hastily:  “Oh, no!  I—­I found my way alone.  I was not sure of its being your cottage, though I thought it must be from what Bubble told me.”  She paused; and then, unable to keep back longer the words which sprang to her lips, she said:  “I fear you have been ill, you are so pale.  I hope it has not been serious.  Bubble did not tell me—­”

Pink Chirk looked up with her bright, sweet smile.  “Oh, no!  I have not been ill,” she said.  “I am always like this.  I cannot walk, you know, but I am very well indeed.”

“You cannot walk?” stammered Hilda.

The girl saw her look of horror, and a faint color stole into her wan cheek.  “Did not Bubble tell you?” she asked, gently; and then, as Hilda shook her head, “It is such a matter of course to him,” she said; “he never thinks about it, I suppose, dear little fellow.  I was run over when I was three years old, and I have never been able to walk since.”