f the great flood of morning sunlight that fell in
and touched everything to golden warmth. It touched most brightly, and
lingered longest, on a low bed drawn up between the windows. A girl lay
there, with a pale face turned over on the pillows, and weak, thin hands,
folded on the counterpane. She might, from her size, have been about
sixteen years of age; but her face was like the face of a woman long grown
old. The clothing of the bed partially concealed her shoulders, which were
cruelly rounded and bent.

So Peace Maythorne was a cripple.

Gypsy recovered from her astonishment with a little start, and said,
blushing, for fear she had been rude,--

"Good morning. I'm Gypsy Breynton. Mother sent me down with a magazine."

"I am glad to see you," said Peace Maythorne, smiling. "Won't you sit
down?"

Gypsy took a chair by the bed, thinking how pleasant the old, pale face,
was, after all, and how kindly and happy the smile.

"Your mother is very kind," said Peace; "she is always doing something for
me. She has given me a great deal to read."

"Do you like to read?--I don't," said Gypsy.

"Why, yes!" said Peace, opening her eyes wide; "I thought everybody liked
to read. Besides I can't do anything else, you know."

"Nothing at all?" asked Gypsy.

"Only sometimes, when the pain isn't very bad, I try to help aunt about
her sewing, I can't do much."

"Oh, you live with your aunt?" said Gypsy.

"Yes. She takes in sewing. She's out, just now."

"Does your back pain you a great deal?" asked Gypsy.

"Oh, yes; all the time. But, then, I get used to it, you know," said
Peace.

"_All the time!_--oh, I am so sorry!" said Gypsy, drawing a long breath.

"Oh, it might be worse," said Peace, smiling.

"I've only lain here three years. Some people can't move for forty. The
doctor says I sha'n't live so long as that."

Gypsy looked at the low bed, the narrow room, the pallid face and shrunken
body cramped there, moveless, on the pillows. Three years! Three years to
lie through summer suns and winter snows, while all the world was out at
play, and happy!

"Well," said Gypsy, as the most appropriate comment suggesting itself;
"you _are_ rather different from Mrs. Littlejohn!"

Peace smiled. There was something rare about Peace Maythorne's smile.

"Poor Mrs. Littlejohn! You see, she isn't used to being sick, and I am;
that makes the difference."

"Oh, I forgot!" said Gypsy, abruptly, "mother said I was to ask if tho