“I’m not afraid of your dying after you’ve lived through what you have.  Allan says you’re the bravest little thing he has ever seen.”

The deep colour dyed Barbara’s pale face.  “I’m not brave,” she whispered; “I was horribly afraid, but I thought that, even if I were, I could keep people from knowing it.”

“If that isn’t real courage,” Eloise assured her, “it’s so good an imitation that it would take an expert to tell the difference.”

“I’m afraid now,” continued Barbara.  Her colour was almost gone and she did not look at Eloise.  “I’m afraid that, after all, I can never walk.”  She indicated the crutches at the foot of her bed by a barely perceptible nod.  “I have Aunt Miriam keep them there so that I won’t forget.”

“Nonsense,” cried Eloise.  “Allan says that you have every possible chance, so don’t be foolish.  You’re going to walk—­you must walk.  Why, you mustn’t even think of anything else.”

“It would seem strange,” sighed Barbara, “after almost twenty-two years, why—­what day of the month is to-day?”

“The sixteenth.”

[Sidenote:  Twenty-two]

“Then it is twenty-two.  This is my birthday—­I’m twenty-two years old to-day.”

“Fairy Godchild, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I’d forgotten it myself.”

“You’re too young to begin to forget your birthdays.  I’m past thirty, but I still ‘keep tab’ on mine.”

“If you’re thirty, I must be at least forty, for I’m really much older than you are.  And Roger is an infant in arms compared with me.”

“Wise lady, how did you grow so old in so short a time?”

“By working and reading, and thinking—­and suffering, I suppose.”

“When you’re well, dear, I’m going to try to give you some of the girlhood you’ve never had.  You’re entitled to pretty gowns and parties and beaux, and all the other things that belong to the teens and twenties.  You’re coming to town with me, I hope—­that’s why I’m staying.”

Barbara’s blue eyes filled and threatened to overflow.  “Oh, Fairy Godmother, how lovely it would be.  But I can’t go.  I must stay here and sew and try to make up for lost time.  Besides, father would miss me so.”

[Sidenote:  Wait and See]

Eloise only smiled, for she had plans of her own for father.  “We won’t argue,” she said, lightly, “we’ll wait and see.  It’s a great mistake to try to live to-morrow, or even yesterday, to-day.”

When Eloise went back to the hotel, her generous heart full of plans for her protege, Miriam did not hear her go out, and so it happened that Barbara was alone for some time.  Ambrose North had gone for one of his long walks over the hills and along the shore, expecting to return before Eloise left Barbara.  For some vague reason which he himself could not have put into words, he did not like to leave her alone with Miriam.

When Miriam came upstairs, she paused at the door to listen.  Hearing no voices, she peeped within.  Barbara lay quietly, looking out of the window, and dreaming of the day when she could walk freely and joyously, as did the people who passed and repassed.