"Yes, indeed I have; and then Bettine gets so sorry for me, and says it isn't right, but then, I think God ought not to make me love mama and you all so much, if He does not want me to cry to see you."
"And are you ever so much better?" asked Olive.
"Oh yes, I never use my crutch now, only a little cane to help me, and the first time I really walk without any thing, I'm going to have my picture taken for mama."
"I will draw it," exclaimed Olive. "If I am here, and have you standing among the flowers."
"How nice," cried Jean; then drew back a little, and looked at her sister, as though just aware that she was really present.
"Why, Olive, you—seems to me—I don't know; but then, aren't you changed a good deal, someway?"
"I don't know; do you think I am?" asked Olive feeling the color creep into her cheeks, at the honest childish question.
"Yes, it seems to me you are;" and Jean looked undecided whether to go on. "You look so nice and pretty, and then you don't seem a bit cross; is it because you are glad to see me?"
"That's just exactly it," cried Olive, moved to hide her face.
"You don't know how glad I am to see you Jeanie, and if I'm cross a single once while I'm here, you may scold me."