"To get her into the private hospital for children. He's going to send a nurse and a proper invalid-chair in the morning, and attend to her himself, just as if he were charging a big fee."
"He's a real old brick!" exclaimed Jim enthusiastically.
"And he thinks—though, of course, I haven't told Susie—that at the end of six months she may be able to walk! He says there was a girl suffering just like Susie in a Scotch hospital, and she was cured. But there is only a chance, of course."
"What does Susie say about going?"
"Well, the poor child is rather timid and nervous but she is quite willing. It's wonderful how she has taken to the doctor."
Before getting his dinner, Jim ran up to his sister, who was in bed, and feeling rather weary after the medical examination.
"Has mother told you?" she asked, smiling bravely.
"Yes. Isn't it glorious? You don't mind going, do you? I shall come to see you on Sundays. And oh, suppose—suppose you should be able to walk some day!"
There was a suspicion of tears in her eyes as she answered, "Don't talk about that, Jim—not yet. I try not to think of it, because it may never happen."
"I believe it will, though," declared Jim stoutly. "The doctor would not say there was a chance unless he felt pretty sure of it."