hat the
doctor gave a great deal of hope. He could not promise a certain cure,
but he felt great faith in a new kind of splint which he was using for
Prudy's hip.

"O, grandma, it may be, and then, again, it may not be," sobbed poor
Susy; "we can't tell what God will think best; but anyhow, it was I that
did it."

"But, Susan, thee must think how innocent thee was of any wrong motive.
Thee did not get angry, and push thy little sister, thee knows thee
didn't, Susan! Thee was only in a hurry, and rather thoughtless. The
best of us often do very foolish things, and cause much mischief; but
thee'll find it isn't best to grieve over these mistakes. Why, my dear
little Susan, I have lived eight years to thy one, and if I should sit
down now and drop a tear for every blunder I have made, I don't know but
I could almost make a fountain of myself, like that woman thee tells
about in the fairy story."

"The fountain of Pirene that Pegasus loved," said Susy; "that was the
name of it. Why, grandma, I never should have thought of your saying
such a queer thing as that! Why, it seems as if you always did just
right, and thought it all over before you did it. Do _you_ ever do
wrong? How funny!"

Mrs. Read smiled sadly. She was not an angel yet; so I suppose she did
wrong once in a while.

"Now, grandma, I want to ask you one question, real sober and honest.
You know it was so dark that morning in the middle of the night, when we
were going down the back stairs? Now, if I'd made a great deal worse
mistake than calling Prudy a snail,--if I'd pushed her real hard, and
she had fallen faster,--O, I can't bear to think! I mean, if the
chair-prongs had hit her head, grandma--and--killed her! What would they
have done to _me_? I thought about it last night, so I couldn't go to
sleep for the longest while! I heard the clock _strike_ once while I was
awake there in bed! Would they have put me in the lock-up, grandma, and
then hung me for murder?"

"My dear child, no, indeed! How came such horrible ideas in thy tender
little brain? It is too dreadful to think about; but, even if thy little
sister _had_ died, Susan, thee would have been no more to blame than
thee is now, and a great, great deal more to be pitied."

Susy sat for a long while gazing out of the window; but the stars did
not wink so solemnly; the moon looked friendly once more. Susy was
drinking in her grandmother's words of comfort. The look of sadness was
disappearing fr