But Aunt Ninette followed him up before he could make good his retreat. "Do tell me, doctor, will her arm be lame? Stiff all the rest of her life?"
"Oh, I trust not. I will call again to-morrow;" and the doctor was gone.
"'Oh I trust not,'" repeated Aunt Ninette in a despairing tone, "that's a doctor's way of saying 'yes, of course.' I understand perfectly. What will become of us? How shall we ever live through this misfortune?"
And she kept on fretting in this way until late into the evening.
When Wili's mother went in to hear her little boy's prayers that night, she did not find him as usual, cheerfully sitting up in bed, ready for a good chat with her, if she would stay. He was crouched down all in a heap, and did not even look up at her, nor speak to her, when she sat down by him.
"What is the matter with my little boy?" said she gently, "have you something wrong in your heart? have you been doing what you ought not?"
The child made an unintelligible sound, neither yes nor no.
"Well, say your evening hymn, Wili; perhaps that will make you feel better," said his mother.
Wili began:
"The moon climbs up the sky,
The stars shine out on high,
Shine sparkling, bright and clear"—