"I don't think," I said, "that, after all, I'd care for the front seat." "Very well," said the chauffeur obligingly, as, with a turn and twist we rolled up smoothly before my own front door, where Sarah, apron flying in the wind, stood, the tears shining on her dear old face. Front seat or back, I am to ride every day, as long as the good weather holds, for it has been prescribed for me by no less than two physicians in reputable professional standing; no matter what their respective dispositions. And, Diary, I love it so that, for the sake of the swift silent motion, I would cheerfully ride in any seat whatsoever, regardless of the driver. So low have I sunk in my new passion. "Nervous?" asked Dr. Denton, as he helped carry me to my room. I am conveyed now as children are, on crossed hands with supporting arms about my back. "Not at all!" I answered indignantly. "That's good," said he, "for I am a fearsome driver. I have," he said, sinking his voice to an awe-inspiring whisper, "been known to kill my men in my day. And any amount of dogs. Strong men as I pass have turned pale, and women fainted on the streets!" He and Mr. Denton laid me on my bed, and I could only look at him with scorn, from that ignominious position. Oh, when I can stand on my two feet, won't I--well, won't I _just_!!!! GREEN HILL November 1 Diary, this day I have stood upright, and taken my first faltering step forward. Dr. Mac was there, and Dr. Denton, one on each side. And a step away, with his arms wide, my Father. Sarah, her hand on Dr. Mac's arm, took the step with me. She was quite white. I was terribly weak, and all bendy in the middle. But I walked, Diary, I _walked_. I am in bed now, after having been fussed over and made much of. I am sure Father is out sending wires! And Sarah pops in every two minutes to see if I am still alive. I am very much alive, and my whole soul is on its knees in gratitude. Now, almost for the first time, I believe that I am to be a cog in the Great Machinery again; and no longer a little broken thing, thrown out forever on the scrap heap. I want to tell Richard Warren. But no word has come from him since my last letter. So I must wait. GREEN HILL December 8 It seems a year since I last opened you, little Blue Friend. For so much has happened. I walk, as if I had always walked, and it no longer seems wonderful or blessed. For my Father is very ill. He is up and dressed and around, but I know and he knows that it may not be for very long. He has been to town, to see other doctors. And when he came back, he set his house in order.