irginia, and
just as kind and sympathetic as she could be."

Mrs. Graham looked pleased.

"Elsie has been spoiled," she said, "but I believe she has the right
stuff in her, after all. I am glad you have told me all these things,
dear, although I understand your reasons for not writing them. You have
had a harder time than I suspected, but I don't think it has done you
any harm. Do you know, Marjorie, I am inclined to be rather proud of my
little girl?"

Those last words of her mother's filled Marjorie's cup to the brim, and
I doubt if in all the great city that night, there were two happier
beings than she and Barbara Randolph.

But it was not all happiness for Marjorie during the next few days.
There followed hours of keen anxiety about Aunt Jessie, and for a time
she forgot everything else while she waited in suspense for the verdict
of the two great surgeons.

It was on an afternoon three days later, that she and Barbara sat
together in the Randolphs' parlor, waiting for the news, which was to
tell them whether Jessie Graham was to go through life a helpless
cripple, or be restored to health and strength once more. The day before
she had been taken to a private hospital, and the girls knew that an
operation was to be performed that afternoon. They were alone, for Mrs.
Graham was with her sister-in-law, and Mrs. Randolph--almost as anxious
as the others--had gone to the hospital for news, promising to return as
soon as possible. So Marjorie and Barbara sat together side by side on
the sofa, holding each other's hands, and waiting in almost breathless
suspense.

"Mother will be sure to let us know just as soon as there's anything to
tell," whispered Barbara, anxious to cheer her friend. "She says Uncle
George told her he was very hopeful."

"I know," said Marjorie, "he told us all so, but I can't help being
frightened when I think of all it means to Aunt Jessie. She doesn't say
much, but I know how she must feel. Just think how we would feel if we
hadn't walked a step for more than eight years."

"Where is your cousin this afternoon?" inquired Barbara, by way of
changing the subject. She was almost as anxious as Marjorie, but she
had been living at high pressure for so long, it was a relief to get
down to commonplaces.

"I don't know," said Marjorie; "she was going out, but it rained so hard
Aunt Julia wouldn't let her go, on account of her cold. Aunt Julia is
very fussy about colds."

"Don't you think sh