“I suppose it is where a king lives, and where princes and princesses play in beautiful gardens,” Gertrude replied, with her sweet smile.
“You are wrong!” the strange child exclaimed. “She is wrong, isn’t she, Fairy Godmother? God is the King, and His Highway is just wherever you are.”
Gertrude’s heart was touched by what she had seen and heard, and when they were in the street again she looked at the forlorn little children playing in the gutters and she said to Adele, “And so this is the King’s Highway, and oh, Della, I was being so thankful before we went up-stairs that we didn’t have to live here!”
Roberty-Bob was waving to them from his high window, and the girls waved in return.
“I guess I won’t grumble any more,” Amanda Brown declared. “Here I have a straight back and I can run if I want to, but it seems I’m always feeling fretful about something, and there’s that little fellow, with his crooked back, keeping so bright and cheerful.”
“Does Roberty-Bob have to sit alone all day long?” Adele asked, as the car was slowly wending its way back to a pleasanter part of the city.
“Yes,” Madge replied. “His mother works in a factory, and she leaves early in the morning and does not return until late, but Roberty-Bob is never lonely. He can wheel his chair about the room and feed his goldfish and pussy, and water his plants, and sometimes Muffin, the kitten, rides around with him. Then he loves to read, and every Saturday afternoon the children who live in the rooms near by go in and sit on the floor, and he reads to them or tells them stories. I used to take him riding in the car, and how he enjoyed it! but the jarring made the pain in his back so much worse that we had to give that up.”
The Art Institute was soon reached and the girls went to their classes. Adele and Gertrude found that they were to write a composition on whatever had most impressed them that morning. They were glad to do this, although neither had any expectation of winning the high marks, and so, on the following Saturday, they were indeed surprised when the teacher, Miss Fenton, said, “The best composition for last week was written by our newest pupil, Miss Gertrude Willis.” And then, before that astonished girl could fully grasp this surprising announcement, the teacher was saying in her kindly way, “It is our custom to have the best composition read aloud each week, and so, Miss Willis, will you please come forward and read yours?”
Gertrude, self-possessed by nature, soon quieted the tumult in her heart, and, stepping to the platform, she took the composition which Miss Fenton handed to her, and then, in her clear, sweet voice, she read:
“The King’s Highway