at was
little more than a breath of sound, "the doctors at the hospital have
come to some decision?"

The Superintendent was leaning forward and her kind soul shone out of her
tired eyes. "Tell us at once, Billy Blanchard!" she ordered, "_At once_!"

Quite after the maddening fashion of men the Young Doctor did not
answer--not until he had consumed, and appreciatively, the bit of roll
that he had been buttering. And then--"The other doctors agree with my
diagnosis," he told them simply. "It's an extraordinary case, they say;
but a not incurable one. The shock--when Jim kicked her--was a blessing
in disguise. Not, of course, that I'd prescribe kicks for crippled
children! But"--the term that he used was long and technical--"but such
things have happened. Not often, of course. The doctors agree with me
that, if her voice comes back--as I believe it will--there may be a very
real hope for her hearing. And her eyes "--his voice was suddenly
tender--"well--thousands of slum kiddies are blind--and thousands of them
have been cured. If Lily is, some day, a normal child--if she can some
day speak and see, and hear, it will be--"

The Superintendent's voice was soft--

"It is already a miracle!" she said simply. "It is already a miracle.
Look at Jim--working for a small salary, _and liking it_! Look at
Bennie--he was the head of his class in school, this month, he told me.
And Ella--"

The Young Doctor interrupted.

"Ella and her mother went to church with us last Sunday," he said.
"Rose-Marie and I were starting out, together, and they asked if they
might go along. I tell you"--his eyes were looking deep, _deep_, into the
eyes of Rose-Marie and he spoke directly to her, "I tell you, dear--I've
learned a great many lessons in the last few weeks. Jim isn't the only
one--or Bennie. Lily isn't the only nearly incurable case that has found
new strength...."

Rose-Marie was blushing. The Superintendent, watching the waves of colour
sweep over her face, spoke suddenly--reminiscently.

"Child," she said--and laughter, tremulous laughter, was in her voice,
"your face is ever so _pink_! I believe," she was quoting, "'that you
have a best beau'!"

The Young Doctor was laughing, too. Strangely enough his laughter had
just the suggestion of a tremor in it.

"I'll say that she has!" he replied, and his words, though slangy, were
very tender. "I'll say that she has!" And then--"Are _we_ going back to
the little town, Rose-Marie,"