ed
like a friendly arm, making a very comfortable seat. "She's a dear old
lady, Rose!" she cried. "Doesn't mind a bit, but thinks it rather does
her good,--like _massage_, you know. What do you suppose her name is?"

"Dame Crump would do, wouldn't it?" replied Rose, looking critically at
the venerable dame.

"Of course! and that ferocious old person brandishing three arms over
yonder must be Croquemitaine,--

"'Croquemitaine! Croquemitaine!
Ne dinerai pas 'vec toi!'

I think they are rather a savage set,--don't you, Rosy?--all except my
dear Dame Crump here."

"I _know_ they are," said Rose, in a low voice. "Hush! the three witches
are just behind you, Hilda. Their skinny arms are outstretched to clasp
you! Fly, and save yourself from the caldron!"

"Avaunt!" cried Hilda, springing lightly from Dame Crump's sheltering
arm. "Ye secret, black, and midnight hags, what is 't ye do?"

"A deed without a name!" muttered Rose, in sepulchral tones.

"I think it is, indeed!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "Poor old gouty
things! they can only claw the air, like Grandfather Smallweed, and
cannot take a single step to clutch me."

"Just like me, as I was a year ago," said Rose, smiling.

"Rose! how can you?" cried Hildegarde, indignantly; "as if you had not
always been a white rosebush."

"On wheels!" said Rose. "I often think of my dear old chair, and wonder
if it misses me. Hildegarde dear!"

"My lamb!" replied Hildegarde, sitting down by her friend and giving her
a little hug.

"I wish you could know how wonderful it all is! I wish--no, I don't wish
you could be lame even for half an hour; but I wish you could just
_dream_ that you were lame, and then wake up and find everything right
again. Having always walked, you cannot know the wonder of it. To think
that I can stand up--so! and walk--so! actually one foot before the
other, just like other people. Oh! and I used to wonder how they did it.
I don't now understand how 'four-leggers,' as Bubble calls them, move
so many things without getting mixed up."

"Dear Rose! you are happy, aren't you?" exclaimed Hildegarde, with
delight.

"Happy!" echoed Rose, her sweet face glowing like her own name-flower.
"But I was always happy, you know, dear. Now it is happiness, with
fairyland thrown in. I am some wonderful creature, walking through
miracles; a kind of--Who was the fairy-knight you were telling me
about?"

"Lohengrin?" said Hildegarde. "No, you