strolling one day up the little grassy lane, thinking that it
led into the cool, thick grove back of the little house that stared so
blindly out into the green world. He had been following a new bird and
it had darted into the grove. So he came upon the little house and the
still grim old soul who sat at the open window as if to guard that
little end of the world.

It was a snug, still spot, that little green lane, and was so carpeted
with thick grasses and screened with verdure that the harsh noises of a
chattering, working world could not ruffle its peace and serenity.
Cynthia's son filled it and the still, lonely old woman was fascinated
with his bigness, his merry gladness, but most of all with his
understanding friendliness. She told him all her story, her past
trials and present griefs. And he told her strange things about people
he had seen in other parts of the world, blind people living in foul
alleys instead of sunny lanes, crippled ones with neither home nor kin
of any kind. He told her much but made no effort to convince her that
the earth was round, and when he went he left with her the very fine
pair of field glasses with which he had been tracking the wonderful
song bird that had escaped him. He showed her how to use them and for
the first time in fifteen years old Mrs. Rosenwinkle forgot that she
was paralyzed.

When he came in to his supper that evening Cynthia's son wanted to know
why old Mrs. Rosenwinkle couldn't have a wheel-chair, one of those that
she could work with her hands. He said that he thought she must be
pretty tired sitting beside that window even if it was open. And why
couldn't she have a window on each of the other sides of her room?

Grandma stared.

"My stars--boy! There's no reason that I know of why that old body
can't have a wheel chair or more windows. Only Green Valley hasn't
ever thought of it. She's always been so set in her notions and so out
of the way of things that I expect we have forgotten her."

The third time that Cynthia's son brought little Jim Tumley home
because the little man's wandering feet could not find their way to
shelter, he wanted to know why little Jim was not in the choir. So
Grandma told him, and it was his turn to be puzzled.

"But I don't understand. The church is for the weak, the needy, the
blind, maimed and foolish who don't know how to seek happiness wisely.
The happy, strong, sensible people don't, as a matter of fact, need
lo