The first of the family to whom I was introduced was Willy, and I soon became much interested in him. He was a pale thin boy, who spent the day on a sofa, to and from which he was carried in the morning and at night. In fine weather he went out in a wheel-chair; but he was unable to move, without help, and was obliged to endure many privations. Though he often looked suffering and weary, he was cheerful and patient, and always seemed pleased to hear other children describe enjoyments in which he could not share. Every body was fond of Willy, and anxious to amuse and comfort him. All that happened out of doors was told to him; all the kindest friends and pleasantest visitors came to see him; the new books were brought to him to read first; the best fruit and flowers always set apart for him; and all the in-door occupations arranged as much as possible with a view to his convenience. He and his little sister Rose were the dearest friends in the world, and certain to take part in whatever interested each other. As soon as Rose brought me home from the Pantheon, she ran up stairs with me to Willy, whom I then saw for the first time, sitting on the sofa with his feet up, and a table before him, on which stood several books, and my old acquaintances the paint-box and the chest of tools.
'Look at this, Willy; is not this pretty?' exclaimed Rose, laying me down on his open book.
Willy looked up with a pleasant smile: 'Very pretty,' he answered. 'I suppose she is to be the lady of the new house; and with Ned's tools, I hope to make some furniture worth her acceptance.'
'Oh, thank you, Willy dear. And will you help me to choose a name for her? What do you think the prettiest name you know?'
'Rose,' answered Willy, laughing; 'but I suppose that will not do. I dare say you want something very fine and out-of-the-way.'
'As fine as can be,' replied Rose; 'I have been thinking of Seraphina or Wilhelmina: which do you like best?'
'Call it Molly,' cried Edward, who just then entered the room; 'Molly and Betty are the best names: no nonsense in them.'
'Call it Stupid Donkey,' mumbled a voice behind him; and Geoffrey advanced, his mouth as usual full of something besides words. 'Have any nuts, Willy?' he asked, holding out a handful.
'No, thank you,' answered Willy; 'I must not eat them.'
'I wouldn't be you, I know,' said Geoffrey, cracking one between his teeth; 'never let to eat any thing but what's wholesome, and always reading, or doing something stupid. I believe you are helping Rose to play with that doll now. Put it into the fire; that is the way to treat dolls. Stupid things. I hate 'em!'