f hers which had been so strong and supple a month ago would
become an agent of death if not amputated. She was in an agony of mind.
Never to swim again! Never to run and jump and slide and skate and
dance! Always to go about on crutches! Before the prospect of being
crippled for life her active nature shrank in unutterable horror. Death
seemed preferable to her. She buried her face in the pillow in such
anguish that the watchers by the bedside could not stand by and see it.
After a day of acute mental suffering her old-time courage began to rear
its head and she made up her mind that if this terrible thing had to be
done she might as well go through with it as bravely as possible. She
resigned herself to her fate and urged her parents to give their consent
to the operation. Poor Mrs. Brewster was nearly out of her mind with
worry over the affair.

"When will you do it?" asked Sahwah, struggling to keep her voice
steady.

"In about a week," said Dr. Lord, "when you get a little stronger."

Nyoda went home heartsick from the hospital that day. Sahwah had asked
her to write to Dr. Hoffman, her old friend in camp, and tell him the
news. With a shaking hand she wrote the letter. "Poor old Dr. Hoffman,"
she said to herself, "how badly he will feel when he hears that Sahwah
is hurt and he can do nothing to help her."

Sahwah had never dreamed how many friends she had until this misfortune
overcame her. Boys and girls, as well as old people and little children,
horrified at the calamity, came by the dozen to offer cheer and comfort.
Her room was filled to overflowing with flowers. Even "old Fuzzytop,"
whom Sahwah had tormented nearly to death, came to offer his sympathy
and present a potted tulip. Stiff and precise Miss Muggins came to say
how she missed her from the Latin class. Aunt Phoebe forgave all the
jokes she had made at her expense and sent over a crocheted dressing
jacket made of fleecy wool.

"Don't feel so badly, Nyoda dear," she said one day as Nyoda sat beside
her in the depths of despair. The usual jolly teacher had now no cheery
word to offer. The prospect of the gay dancing Sahwah on crutches for
the remainder of her life was an appalling tragedy. "I can act out 'The
Little Tin Soldier' quite realistically--then," went on Sahwah, her mind
already at work to find the humor of the situation. But Nyoda sat
staring miserably at the flowers on the dresser.

"Telegram for Miss Brewster," said the nurse, appear