"Gone!" she said. "Gone! Then what am I to do?"
"I can't imagine, dear," said Patsy, soothingly. "What do you think you will do?"
The girl seemed dazed and for a time could not reply.
"You must have thought of this thing," suggested her new friend, "for it was quite possible Anson Jones would not be in Leadville when you arrived there."
"I did not dare think of it," returned Myrtle in a low, frightened tone. "I once asked Aunt Martha what I could do in case Uncle Anson wasn't to be found, and she said he must be found, for otherwise I would be obliged to earn my own living."
"And she knew you to be so helpless!"
"She knows I can sew, if only I can get work to do," said the girl, simply. "I'm not really a cripple, and I'm getting better of my hurt every day. Aunt Martha said I would be just as well off in Denver or Leadville as in Chicago, and made me promise, if the worst came, not to let any charitable organization send me back to her."
"In other words," exclaimed Patsy, indignantly, "she wanted to get rid of you, and did not care what became of you."
"She was afraid I would cost her money," admitted the poor child, with shamed, downcast eyes.
Patsy went to the window and stood looking out for a time. Myrtle began to dress herself. As she said, she was not utterly helpless, moving the upper part of her body freely and being able to walk slowly about a room by holding on to chairs or other furniture.