ry much, if I can.'

The answer did not appear to be entirely satisfactory to the little
girl, but it soon seemed to pass from her mind.

That was the most delightful afternoon I had ever spent in my life.
We seemed to become old friends in a few minutes, and in an hour or
two she was the closest friend I had on earth. Not all the little
shoeless friends in Raxton, not all the beautiful sea-gulls I loved,
not all the sunshine and wind upon the sands, not all the wild bees
in Graylingham Wilderness, could give the companionship this child
could give. My flesh tingled with delight. (And yet all the while I
was not Hal the conqueror of ragamuffins, but Hal the cripple!)

'Shall we go and get some strawberries?' she said, as we passed to
the back of the house. 'They are quite ripe.'

But my countenance fell at this. I was obliged to tell her that I
could not stoop.

'Ah! but I can, and I will pluck them and give them to you. I should
like to do it. Do let me, there's a good boy.'

I consented, and hobbled by her side to the verge of the
strawberry-beds. But when I foolishly tried to follow her, I stuck
ignominiously, with my crutches sunk deep in the soft mould of rotten
leaves. Here was a trial for the conquering hero of the coast. I
looked into her face to see if there was not, at last, a laugh upon
it. That cruel human laugh was my only dread. To everything but
ridicule I had hardened myself; but against that I felt helpless.

I looked into her face to see if she was laughing at my lameness. No:
her brows were merely knit with anxiety as to how she might best
relieve me. This surpassingly beautiful child, then, had evidently
accepted me--lameness and all--crutches and all--as a subject of
peculiar interest.

How I loved her as I put my hand upon her firm little shoulders,
while I extricated first one crutch and then another, and at last got
upon the hard path again!

When she had landed me safely, she returned to the strawberry-bed,
and began busily gathering the fruit, which she brought to me in her
sunburnt hands, stained to a bright pink by the ripe fruit. Such a
charm did she throw over me, that at last I actually consented to her
putting the fruit into my mouth.

She then told me with much gravity that she knew how to 'cure
crutches.' There was, she said, a famous 'crutches-well' in Wales,
kept by St. Winifred (most likely an aunt of hers, being of the same
name), whose water could 'cure crutches.' When