or it, might
think it worth their while to try and cure Cicely.

Cicely's limb was less painful now than it had been for two years,
although it was quite useless; but her mother, as I told you, helped
her to limp to school. Cicely kept hoping it would get _quite_ well,
and she wanted to learn as fast and as much as she could; because she
thought if she got all the medals, the Committee might say, "Cicely, we
must have you for a teacher here, some day."

Yes; why not? Stranger things than that have happened; and then,
perhaps, she could earn enough to (and here Cicely had to stop to
think, because there were so _many_ things they wanted,)--earn enough
to buy a pair of warm blankets for their bed; and enough to have a cup
of tea Sunday nights; and enough to keep a fire and a light through the
long winter evenings, and not have to go to bed because they were so
cold, and because candles were so dear.

Yes; Cicely was looking forward to all that, when she limped along to
school. She thought it would be so delightful to empty her purse in her
kind mother's lap, and say: "Dear mother, you needn't work any more.
_I_ will support you, now."

Oh, what a nice thing hope is! Sometimes, to be sure, she leads us a
long dance for nothing; but I am very certain that were it not for
hope, we shouldn't be good for much. Many a poor groaner has she
clapped on the back, and made him leap to his feet and set his teeth
together, and spring over obstacles as if he had on "seven league
boots." She is a little coquettish, but _I_ like her. She has helped
_me_ out of many a hobble.

Well, as the great speakers say, this is a digression. Do you know what
that is? It is leaving off what you are about, to dance off to
something else--just as I did up there about hope. Now I'm going on!

One day the committee came to Cicely's school, to hear the scholars
recite; and Cicely stood up in her patched gown as straight as she
could, and recited her lessons.

One of the gentlemen who came in with the committee asked, "Who is that
young girl who said her lessons so well?"

"Cicely Hunt?" he repeated, after the teacher,--"Cicely Hunt! _She_ was
not lame; and then--why--no--it _can't_ be: the thing is quite
impossible," and he leaned back in his chair, and looked at Cicely.

After school was over he said to her, "Do you sing, Cicely?"

"Not now," said Cicely, blushing. "I used to sing, a long while ago,
when I was little."

"When, Cicely?"

"