"Why, I thought you knew that," replied Wren. "But I did not see the book after they signed, so I do not know their names. You see, mother was in a hurry, and they just gave me the book and--Oh, what could have become of my precious book!" she broke off, her voice like a cry from her very heart. "Well, now there!" soothed Jack. "I knew I should not have distressed you about it. But, you see, I had to know, else I could not find it. Now I feel I shall have it back to you in jig time. Brace up, little girl"; and he tried to impart both courage and hope by his manner. "Don't you know you are sure to get some wonderful blessing for having to stand this loss? That's Cora's pet theory. She almost drives a fellow after trouble declaring he will find joy at his heels." 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." CHAPTER XIX PAUL AND HAZEL Meanwhile, at another bed of sickness sat a girl pale and wan from nights and days of anxiety. Hazel Hastings had left the motor girls' tour and hurried to her sick brother with more apprehension stirring her heart than the report of his actual condition warranted. Paul had always been subject to peculiar spells--shocks they were termed--but Hazel knew what collapse meant, or what it might mean, unless-- Brother and sister were to each other what the whole world might be to others. Paul had kept up well under the strain of the hold-up, but when suspicion was pointed at him he collapsed. Who could be at the back of the defaming scheme to spread the report? Who could have dared to say that he was in league with whoever took those papers from the mailbag?