“I know who you are now,” said the lady, smiling; “you are old Dr. Winslow’s grandchildren. I have always admired your grandfather’s writing so much. I have read a number of his books, and I was so much interested when I heard his house was next door.” “Were you?” said Molly. “I’m glad you like Grandpa’s books. I didn’t know anybody did. Dulcie began one once, but she said it wasn’t very interesting. I suppose people ought to like their relations’ books.” The lady laughed such a merry laugh that Molly found herself laughing, too, though she did not know why. “I think Dr. Winslow’s books might seem rather dull to a little girl,” she said. “Perhaps I might have found them dull myself, if I were able to get about like other people, but when one has to live in a wheel-chair one is glad of almost anything to read.” “Do you always have to stay in the chair?” asked Molly, sympathetically. “I thought perhaps you had just sprained your ankle or something like that. Papa sprained his ankle once and he had to keep his foot up for three whole weeks.” “I haven’t walked a step for nearly three years,” said the lady, quietly. “Can’t you even go up and down stairs?” The lady shook her head. “I was carried up here the day I left the hospital,” she said, sadly, “and I have lived in this room ever since. I shall never walk again, the doctors tell me. But I manage to get on very well,” she added, brightening at sight of Molly’s distressed face. “You would really be surprised to know all the things I can do without getting out of my chair. Then people are very kind to me. Miss Collins, the lady who keeps this house, was an old friend of my mother’s, and she often comes to sit with me in the evening. The chambermaid helps me in many little ways, and with my books, and my dear piano, I really get on very comfortably indeed.” Molly was deeply impressed. “Could you walk when you were a little girl?” she inquired, anxiously. A shadow crossed the lady’s sweet face. “Oh yes, indeed,” she said. “I walked just like any one else till three years ago, when I met with my accident.” “What sort of an accident was it?” Molly was so much interested that she quite forgot that some people might have considered her questions rather impertinent. “I was run over, crossing Broadway one very slippery day. The ground was covered with ice, and I fell in the middle of the street. Before I could get on my feet again, a horse-car came around the corner, and the driver could not stop his horses in time. It really wasn’t anybody’s fault.” Molly rose. She was beginning to feel embarrassed again. There was something in the sight of the helpless little figure in the wheel-chair that made her feel all at once as if she wanted to cry. “I’m afraid I must go,” she said a trifle unsteadily. “I can’t leave Maud any longer. I’m awfully glad I know you, and the others will be so interested when I tell them about you.”