ked you, he would have felt the
same and acted the same every where. I hope you'll let Archie come, he's
so gentle and kind, and it will be a good deed on your part, too,
Willie."

"I don't know," muttered the lad; "it's bad enough to have one cripple
about without multiplying them. People would call this the hospital, or
the asylum for the deformed, if they saw many such objects around here."

"Never mind _people_, Willie; it's better to feel that you are doing
good than to be guided by what people would say and what people would
think. Mamma teaches me to go by that rule, and I'm sure I'm a great
deal happier for it. I never think now of any body when I want to do any
thing, but go right on and do it, if I think it is best. Only let Archie
come, and you'll see what a difference it will make to your life. He is
a good boy, and he knows a great deal, too; more than I can learn for a
long, long time, so that it will do us no harm to be with him. Mamma
says she does not care who I associate with, if it is a good and
intelligent child. All she wants is to keep me away from the wicked and
ignorant, and she never says no when I ask to go to Archibald Mackie's;
and I'm sure my mother knows!" and Kittie seated herself on the bench
beside the vacant house, waiting for some decision from Willie, who was
still wavering.

If he should consent, there would be a constant remembrancer of his own
defective person ever before him; it was quite enough to be sensible of
his condition without so palpable an image haunting the precincts of his
home. Then Kittie would be drawn from him to the poor boy, who had
already enlisted more of her sympathies than he had ever done. He would
like to please her, though, and it would be a sort of patronage toward
the boy that might exalt himself in Kittie's estimation.

It was very singular how much influence the child exercised over him. He
was pettish and cross toward her, and made it a great condescension to
do any thing that she proposed; and yet, to thwart her in any one thing
made him uneasy and miserable. "What would Kittie think?" and, "Would it
please Kittie?" were questions that he was more willing to put to
himself than to acknowledge to any body else. He could not mistake his
cousin's wishes now, and he meant all the time to gratify her, but the
perverse nature would have its vent, and so he said, very ungraciously,

"There's one thing--the pony needs better care than Jim ever gave it,