"I wish I wasn't a cripple," he said, his lip beginning to tremble; "I wish I could get up and walk like other people. I want to see things."
Betty laid down her fork, and a look of sympathy and almost womanly tenderness came into her eyes.
"What kind of things do you want to see, Jack?" she asked gently.
"Oh, I don't know; all kinds of things. I get so tired looking out of the window at roofs and chimneys. I should like to see a park with deer in it, and swans and a peacock, like the one mother tells about."
"But you couldn't see that park, you know, dear, because that was in England, away across the Atlantic Ocean."
"Well, but there is a park here, too, isn't there? I heard Mrs. Flynn talking about it the other day. She said it was beautiful in the park now, with all the flowers coming out."
"Oh, yes, there's Central Park, and it is very pretty, but not so pretty as the one mother tells about."
Jack's face brightened again.
"Couldn't I go there some time?" he asked eagerly; "is it too far for any one to carry me?"