the sofa. They spoke to Hugh, and found
that he was indeed crying bitterly.

"What is it, my dear?" said his mother. "Agnes, have we said anything
that could hurt him?"

"No, no," sobbed Hugh. "I will tell you presently."

And presently he told them that he was so busy listening to what they
said, that he forgot everything else, when he felt as if something had
got between two of his toes; unconsciously he put his hand down; and his
foot was not there! Nothing could be plainer than the feeling in his
toes: and, then, when he put out his hand, and found nothing, it was so
terrible--it startled him so.

It was a comfort to him to find that his mother knew all about this.
She came and kneeled beside his sofa, and told him that many persons who
had lost a limb considered this odd feeling the most painful thing they
had to bear for some time; but that, though the feeling would return
occasionally through life, it would cease to be painful. When he had
become so used to do without his foot as to leave off wanting or wishing
for it, he would perhaps make a joke of the feeling, instead of being
disappointed. At least she knew that some persons did so who had lost a
limb.

This did not comfort Hugh much, for every prospect had suddenly become
darkened. He said he did not know how he should bear his misfortune;--
he was pretty sure he could not bear it. It seemed so long already
since it had happened! And when he thought of the long long days, and
months, and years, to the end of his life, and that he should never run
and play, and never be like other people, and never able to do the
commonest things without labour and trouble, he wished he was dead. He
had rather have died.

Agnes thought he must be miserable indeed, if he could venture to say
this to his mother. She glanced at her mother's face; but there was no
displeasure there. Mrs Proctor said this feeling was very natural.
She had felt it herself, under smaller misfortunes than Hugh's; but she
had found that, though the prospect appears all strewn with troubles,
they come singly, and are not worth minding, after all. She told Hugh
that, when she was a little girl, very lazy--fond of her bed--fond of
her book--and not at all fond of washing and dressing--

"Why, mother, you!" exclaimed Hugh.

"Yes; that was the sort of little girl I was. Well, I was in despair,
one day, at the thought that I should have to wash, and clean my teeth,
and brush my hair