oor. He doesn't know that
I've earned our living all these years by sewing, and that we've had to
sell everything that anybody would buy--the pearls and laces and
everything. He hates a lie and he'll despise me. It will break his
heart. I'd rather tell him myself than to have him find it out."

"Little girl," said Allan, in his deep, tender voice; "dear little girl.
Nobody on earth could blame you for doing that, least of all your
father. If he's half the man I think he is, he'll only love you the more
for doing it."

Barbara looked up at him, her deep blue eyes brimming with tears. "Do
you think," she asked, chokingly, "that he ever can forgive me?"

[Sidenote: A Promise]

Allan laughed. "In a minute," he assured her. "Of course he'll forgive
you. But I'll promise you that you shall see him first. As far as that
is concerned, I can take the bandages off myself, after he comes home."

"Can you really? And will you?"

"Surely. Now don't fret about it any more. Let's see how you're getting
on."

In an instant the man was pushed into the background and the great
surgeon took his place. He went at his work with the precision and power
of a perfect machine, guided by that unspoken sympathy which was his
inestimable gift. He tested muscles and bones and turned the joint in
its socket. Barbara watched his face anxiously. His forehead was set in
a frown and his eyes were keen, but the rest of his face was impassive.

"Sit up," he said. "Now, turn this way. That's right--now stand up."

Barbara obeyed him, trembling. In a minute more he would know.

"Stand on this side only. Now, can you walk?"

"No," answered Barbara, in a sad little whisper, "I can't." She reached
for her faithful crutches, which leaned against the foot of the bed, but
Doctor Allan snatched them away from her.

"No," he said, with his face illumined. "Never again."

[Sidenote: New Hopes]

Barbara gasped. "What do you mean?" she asked, terror and joy strangely
mingling in her voice.

"Never again," Doctor Allan repeated. "You're never to have your
crutches again."

Barbara gazed at him in astonishment. She stood there in her little
white night-gown, which was not long enough to cover her bare pink feet,
with a great golden braid hanging over either shoulder and far below her
waist. Her blue eyes were very wide and dark.

"Am I going to walk?" she asked, in a queer little whisper.

"Certainly, except when you're riding, or sitting down, or