“But, Mary Jay,” said Lucy, “where is your other crutch?”
“I am not going to take but one,” said Mary Jay.
“But you always used to have two.”
“I know it, but I am better and stronger now, and can get along very well with only one; unless I have to go a great way.”
“I am very glad of that,” said Marielle. “And perhaps, by-and-by, you will get so well that you can go without any.”
“No,” said Mary Jay, “I never expect to be well enough to walk without one crutch.”
“But perhaps you will, Mary Jay,” said Lucy—“perhaps.”
Mary Jay stepped down from the step, and took hold of Lucy’s hand with that one of her own hands that was free. Marielle went upon the other side, and carried her books; and thus they walked along together towards the school.
There was a short path through the fields which they took, which was more shady than the open road. They had to get over some fences; but then there were stiles or gaps in the walls, at the crossing-places, so that they got along without much difficulty. At one place there was a gate. Marielle held it open while Mary Jay and Lucy went through. At length, they reached the school-house.
It stood in a very pleasant place between the road and the river; on one side was a grove of trees, and on the other, before the door, was a little play-ground, green and level. From the play-ground there was a path which led down to the shore of the river, where there was a smooth beach. The children, in the recesses of the school on week-days, used to love to go down to this beach, and amuse themselves by throwing pebbles into the water.