Wren was sighing. Her book had been to her so much. More, perhaps, than some animal pet is to the average cripple, both companion and distraction.
Miss Brown brought the bottle of alcohol, and bathed the child's temples.
"Do you know, Mr. Kimball," she said, "we have a secret for you. Wren stood up yesterday!"
"Bully for the legs!" cried Jack, with an absolute disregard of the way he was expressing his joy. The remark brought the color bark to Wren's cheeks.
"Yes," breathed Wren; "but they—my feet—are awfully full of pins and needles."
"Save them, save them," went on Jack. "I can never find a pin in this house. Cora fainted one day, and the doctor said it was pins. He had to take out twenty pins to give her back her breath."
"I wish your sister were home," said Wren, looking wistfully out of the low window beside the bed. "She is so like Clip—and Clip can't be here."
"She'll be home soon, all right," replied Jack, who was now standing at the door, "and when she does come we will all know it. Cora Kimball is a brass and a lawn mower, rolled into one piece. You should be glad she is away," he finished, his words actually accusing himself of falsehood.
"Fetch her, and let me see," spoke Wren, trying to appear as cheerful as she, had been when her visitor entered her room.
"Well, I'll fetch something next time," he replied. "If I can't get
Cora or Clip I'll get—ice cream."