"Not in the sense you mean, Dora, but it may be she will be able in time to move about from room to room by herself, and not be quite so helpless as she is now. I shall be able to tell you more to-morrow, and meanwhile, not a word to your mother. It would be nothing short of cruelty to raise a hope that may not be realized."
After the children had gone to bed that night one little black-gowned figure stole noiselessly downstairs again in search of the doctor. It was Stella. She found her uncle reading the newspaper, which he laid aside as she entered the room.
"Well, Stella," he said with a smile.
The child stood in front of him with clasped hands, her face serious, her grave dark eyes shining like stars.
"I want to ask you—that is—" she began incoherently. "Oh, uncle, if you want money to pay the great London doctor, or anything, anything for Aunt Mary, to make her well, you will take mine, will you not? Do, do!"
"Dear little Stella!" Dr. Knight answered, "I shall not require money. The great London doctor, as you call him, will not wish to be paid. He will come because he is a great friend of mine, and I know he will not take any money."
"It seems to me no one wants my money," Stella said regretfully, "and I do so want it to do some good."
Dr. Knight was silent for a few minutes, then he drew Stella down on his knee and kissed her affectionately.
"You dear little mouse!" he exclaimed.
"Oh!" she cried, pouting. "A mouse is such a silly useless thing!"