Judith was leaning forward, straining her ears to hear. She had forgotten Mrs. Ben's tarts--she had forgotten everything but the story that was going on out there, out of her sight. It was so much--oh, how much it was like Blossom's story! When Blossom was three, Judith had given up, too. But not till then. She had kept on and on trying to teach the helpless little legs to walk. Father and mother and the boys had given up, but Judith had kept on. "She _shall_ walk!" she had said. Sometimes she had taken Blossom down to the beach, tugging her all the way in her own childish arms, and selected the hardest, smoothest stretch of sand. "Now we'll walk!" she had laughed, and Blossom had laughed, too. "Stand up all nice and straight, darling, and walk all beautiful to Judith!" But Blossom had never stood up all nice and straight; she had never walked all beautiful to Judith. And when she was three, Judith had given up. The story out there was going on: "After that I never tried to make her walk again, poor little sweet! We carried her round in our arms till we got her a little wheel-chair that she could wheel a little herself. She liked that so much--she called it 'walking.' It would have broken your heart to hear her say, 'See me walk, mamma!'" "Oh, yes--yes, it would have," the other voice responded gently. It had grown a very gentle voice indeed. Judith wondered in the little flash of thought she could spare from Blossom, if the other mother were not thinking there might be harder things even than laying a little daughter away in a little white casket. "But when she was five"--sudden animation, joy and a thrill of laughter had taken possession of the voice that was telling the story--"a little more than five--she's just six now--when she was a little more than five, they told us she could walk! There was a way! It was not a very hard way, they said. A splendid doctor, with a heart big enough to hold all the little crippled children in the universe, would make her walk. And so--this is the end of the story--we took her across the sea to him. Look at her now! Where is she? Oh, there! Marie! Marie! Come here to mother!" Judith slipped away. She was never quite definite how she got there, but she found herself presently in the old black dory that was drawn up on the beach. It was the best place to think, and Judith wanted to think. She wanted air enough and room enough to think in--this Wonderful Thing took up so much room! It was so big--so wonderful! She sat a long time with her brown chin in her brown palms, her eyes on the splendid expanse of shining, undulating sea before her. It reached _'way across to him_--to that tender doctor who made little children walk! If one were to cross it--she and Blossom in the old black dory--and to find _him_ somewhere over across there and say to him--if one were to hold out little Blossom and say--"Here's Blossom; oh, please teach her little legs to walk!"--if one were to do that--