“Un—what? I don't believe I ever played that.”
“No, 'course not. You ain't got any old crutch to un.”
Glory looked helplessly at the gentle mother, who smiled back at her quietly. But in the sweet voice, when it spoke, there was depthless wistfulness.
“Timmie means play he hasn't any crutch—that he doesn't need one, you know,” explained the sweet voice. “‘Un-crutch-it’ is his favorite play. He puts the crutch out of sight—”
“This way,” cried Timmie, clattering the little crutch under the sofa in hot haste. “That's uncrutching, don't you see? Now I'm uncrutched. You play I'm very big an' tall an' my legs match. Every little while you must look up an' say, ‘Mercy me! how that child grows!’”
The little play went on until supper was ready. Then the little crutch came out again and was put into active service.
It was a strange meal to Glory. She told Aunt Hope afterward all about it.
“It was just as quiet and nice-behaved and beautiful as any supper, only there wasn't anything to eat! Oh, auntie, you know what I mean! You know I mean there were the muffins (they were splendid) and the tea and dried apple sauce. I had more than I could eat. But you don't know how I wanted to fill that pale little lady's plate with some of our chicken and gravy and set by her plate a salad, after she'd worked all day. And pile Tiny Timmie's plate tumble-high with goodies! It made me ashamed to think of all the beautiful suppers of my life that I've taken without even a ‘Thank you, God.’”
The two girls went to bed early and lay talking, as girls have done since girls began. The topics of talk drifted through the different lessons into personal subjects.
“Do you know, I'm hoping!” the Other Girl burst out softly, with a little quiver of her thin body under the quilts. “I began to last night. I'm going to do it right from now on. Maybe it's silly, but I am.”